5 December 2013: Thursday ... foggy morning as I walk out to post my first Xmas card of the holiday season to Elaine Crawford ... dad was up at 3:06 a.m. ...

Dad looks at the card he and mom received yesterday, par avion, from the Isle of Man from Graham Skinner and family. I sent this photo as an attachment to his e-mail address with the proviso that he not be alarmed by dad's appearance ... did not comb his hair but that he was not in pain and doing OK.

The words inside the card were short but powerful:

Thought for The Day.
Friends are hard to find.
Difficult to leave.
And impossible to forget. 

To Rudi & Jean,
Thinking of you both.

From   Graham & Family.  XX.

I joined another online language service, speaklanguages.com, and they provide, free of charge, vocabulary lists, some of which have audio. Dutch does not, but I began to learn, fitfully but steadily, the days of the week. They are:  Maandag (Monday), Dinsdag (Tuesday), Woensdag (Wednesday), Donderdag (Thursday), Vrijdag (Friday), Zaterdag (Saturday), and Zondag (Sunday).

Earlier, made a trip to Rite Aid at 8 a.m., where an officer had two stray pit bulls that had wandered into the store (I reached down and one lifted up and licked my hand ... very friendly), and bought a gallon of milk and the pill box distributor with two rows, one for AM and one for PM, perfect for dad. 

Just set up the bubble humidifier for the oxygen concentrator on the Invacare 5L Platinum XL. Amazingly, I forgot that the tech from GlobalMedical had brought out all the necessary supplies to install one and I'd forgotten that I'd stored the materials in the closet. As a result, Delaware Hospice had to make a special trip to bring out a bubble humidifier. I need to check before I assume. It is infuriating that I don't have the materials necessary to extend his breathing line. Need to ask more questions, make sure I have the right stuff.

Dad is confused and uncomfortable with the set-up. He asked me how to get it back to the former state and I just unhooked it. If he's not OK with it, it's not worth it, and I just read for slow flows of 4L per minute of oxygen flow, the humidification is unnecessary. 

Lost my temper with dad this late afternoon because he can get particular and I can't seem to understand what he needs. It was over his evening meds and we couldn't figure out what he needed. Finally, I mentioned the metoprolol, which he takes twice a day, was required to take and he calmed and I calmed. As for mom, my voice rises and she is so sensitive. She can get like a broken record with her questions about how dad is doing and is he sleeping or eating or feeling any pain. I never know because if he's asleep, I don't want to bother him. Right now, at this time, 5:24 p.m., his eyes are firmly shut as the oxygen concentrator whirs. 

Nelson Mandela has died in South Africa at the age of 95. 

                                Born: July 18, 1918 (age 95), Mvezo, South Africa


                                         




Loyd Dillon just shared and posted the same photograph above, only cropped, on his Facebook page as a memorial to the man.




His words: "Nelson Mandela...Mandiba...has died. The world has lost a wonderful, wise, compassionate, forgiving human being."

Five Things I Am Thankful For Today:

1. The chance to be there in the mid-morning hours for dad when he needs me.
2. To have the opportunity to learn and yes, be frustrated, by figuring out how to humidify the air supply from an oxygen concentrator (to be patient and realize that you may be at fault and take presumptuous action and assume others are -- I had forgotten that supplies had been left by the GlobalMedical worker, a young and earnest man, when he dropped off the unit, an Invacare 5L Platinum XL oxygenator.) -- *Period goes inside the parentheses when the statement enclosed within is a complete sentence. It goes outside if the statement is a sentence fragment.
3. To think first and not act spontaneously when I am discomfitted by ill thoughts, like my daughter's ingratitude at my letter/check for her recent trip to visit her grands this past weekend. (I did send an e-mail but it was tempered and prompted a nice response back from my Lindsay.) The same feeling occurs with my mom on a regular basis and it is inappropriate. She is an extremely bright and aware person and yes, her constant pain and inability to move and her unwillingness to attempt change is unsettling to me and I react. Last night, in a rather Patrician act on my part, I snooted at her persistent watching of ION and those crime dramas she loves. She got mad and basically said get lost. Within minutes, I was back in her room, making amends and I parted telling her I loved her and kissing her on the forehead (little did I know how I would hug her, almost knocking her down when she called to me in distress about "your father" at 4:10 a.m.).
4. The opportunity to view the superb, as always, work of the NewsHour as they documented and displayed for 3/4s of their hourlong program, the life and legacy of Nelson Mandela. Charlayne Hunter-Gault gave a marvelous segment, obviously pre-recorded, on his life and the many times she got to interview the country founder, Nobel laureate and great humanitarian.
5. Ability to phone and have a great conversation with Gail Emerson and lie, yes I lied, about how wonderful her soup was and how the parents and I enjoyed (which I will, starting today) it so much, but more to the point, she is a good person as she talked in her bed with her Bengal tiger cat and her newest iteration of Trixie beside her on either side. (She did ask that I keep and give back to her, the photo display of Trixie and friends, including mom & dad, that was in my room for years and which I have moved safely into Doug's old room. I promised her that I would.)

21 November 2013: Thursday ... Joe Brennan just stopped by on his walk to check in at 9:48 a.m., Lois & Ginny plan to stop by early this afternoon, ...

Dad listened to this (The Writer's Almanac for November 21, 2013) seated in the chair just prior to getting into bed where he is sleeping, soundly, at this typing -- 12:06 p.m. It may be the first time he's heard Garrison Keillor recite the program.

Such a nice moment between Dancer & Mom ... she was welcoming to my photography and to my posting onto Facebook. It worked out wonderfully ... their eyes are fixed on one another. I've had almost 30 likes so far this early Thursday evening as a fascinating documentary of Hubert Humphrey and John F. Kennedy running for the democratic candidacy for president in 1960 on Turner Classic Movies. Dad is all snuggled in the bed and I'm about to close out this post and feed a nosy Dancer who has been poking me w/her nose.

Permission Granted by David Allen Sullivan You do not have to choose the bruised peach or misshapen pepper others pass over. You don't have to bury your grandmother's keys underneath her camellia bush as the will states. You don't need to write a poem about your grandfather coughing up his lung into that plastic tube—the machine's wheezing almost masking the kvetching sisters in their Brooklyn kitchen. You can let the crows amaze your son without your translation of their cries. You can lie so long under this summer shower your imprint will be left when you rise. You can be stupid and simple as a heifer. Cook plum and apple turnovers in the nude. Revel in the flight of birds without dreaming of flight. Remember the taste of raw dough in your mouth as you edged a pie. Feel the skin on things vibrate. Attune yourself. Close your eyes. Hum. Each beat of the world's pulse demands only that you feel it. No thoughts. Just the single syllable: Yes ... See the homeless woman following the tunings of a dead composer? She closes her eyes and sways with the subways. Follow her down, inside, where the singing resides.

"Permission Granted" by David Allen Sullivan, from Strong-Armed Angels. © Hummingbird Press, 2008. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

It's the birthday of anthologist and writer Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (books by this author), born in Cornwall in 1863. Quiller-Couch published fiction and literary criticism under the pen name "Q" and was best known at the time for his publication of the Oxford Book of English Verse (1250-1900), a book that remained the most popular anthology of its kind for nearly 70 years. But Q is remembered by writers today — or rather, not remembered — for one of the most enduring but non-attributed pieces of writing advice ever given. He wrote in his 1916 book On the Art of Writing, "Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it — whole-heartedly — and delete it before sending your manuscript to press: Murder your darlings." Now a popular catchphrase among editors especially, "murder your darlings" admonishes writers to refrain from being too precious about their prose and to trust in the values of simplicity and efficiency. It's the birthday of French satirist, philosopher, and social revolutionary François-Marie Arouet, better known as Voltaire (books by this author), born in Paris (1694). The son of an influential lawyer, Voltaire from an early age showed little interest in toeing the line or respecting authority. His father's attempts to remove him from the bad influence of freethinkers and libertines — periodically sending him abroad and promising that the next trip would be to prison — had little effect. In fact, his father hadn't needed to threaten jail time; others followed through on the idea soon enough. Voltaire was just 21 when he was expelled from Paris for writing a satirical poem about the decadence at Versailles; within months of his return he offended another member of the royal family, which landed Voltaire in the Bastille. He was reportedly delighted, having visited a friend there many times, and hoped he would not be set free before completing some work. His wish was granted, and he wrote his first play, Oedipe, behind bars. The tragedy was a great success, and it helped establish his career in the theater. It was there, several years later, where his biting wit got Voltaire into trouble yet again with a nobleman. This time his cleverness was repaid with a beating and a direct order from the king to be thrown back in the Bastille. Voltaire secured his release by promising to leave the country altogether. He fled to England, where his involvement with the country's leading intellectuals helped shape his future philosophy. Upon his return to France in 1733, Voltaire wrote Letters Concerning the English Nation, an ironic criticism of the French religious and political establishment. This time, the book's publisher was sent to the Bastille, and Voltaire hightailed it to Lorraine, where he lived and wrote for the next 15 years, until the death of his mistress, when he began yet another cycle of relocating, offending someone in power, and fleeing. He returned to his hometown of Paris only months before he died, in 1778, a hero among the common people. Voltaire was not as logical or systematic a philosopher as most in the Age of Reason, which is in part what made his writing the most influential. His were not the standard philosophical treatises, but instead relied heavily on satire and humor to make his case, and used forms like fiction, poetry, and plays to reach a broad audience, despite being widely censored and banned. Voltaire's views on religion, for example — that Judaism and Christianity were essentially corrupt and superstitious, and that any cosmic Designer or Creator was very possibly amoral — were radically polarizing, but he expressed them with such wit and irony that his writing was immensely popular. (Some consider Voltaire the founder of modern anti-Semitism because of his arguments against Judaism, which were cited to prevent Jews from becoming citizens during the French Revolution.) The novel Candide , Voltaire's most famous work, argues against the prevailing philosophy of the time: that this is the best of all possible worlds, and that everything that happens is ultimately for the best. The book's laughably naïve protagonist, Candide, trusts his corrupt and insufferable teacher despite every imaginable evil, believing that it must all be for the best despite all appearances, until at last he retreats to spend the rest of his life tending his garden. Looking on the bright side was simply an excuse for those in power to remain in power, Voltaire argued — a way to ignore injustice and shirk responsibility. Voltaire said, "If God did not exist, man would have to invent him." He said, "As long as people believe in absurdities they will continue to commit atrocities." It's the birthday of author Isaac Bashevis Singer (books by this author), born in Leoncin, Poland, in 1904 — or is likely his birthday; Singer long claimed it was several months previous, but that was probably a fabrication he invented to avoid the draft. He came from a family of rabbis — his father, as well his maternal grandfather — and grew up in a Jewish quarter of Warsaw. Although he broke away from his Orthodox upbringing and immigrated to the United States in 1935, he composed his dozens of short-story collections and novels, his memoirs and many children's books, almost exclusively in Yiddish — and did so on a Yiddish typewriter that was no longer manufactured by the '70s. Most of his work became known from its English version, which he translated, edited, and referred to as the "second original" — like his short story "Yentl the Yeshiva Boy," which Barbra Streisand adapted for an Oscar-winning film that Singer himself despised, in part because of its happy, hopeful ending. When Singer received the Nobel Prize in 1978, he delivered part of his acceptance speech in Yiddish, and said, "Yiddish has not yet said its last word. It contains treasures that have not yet been revealed to the eyes of the world." It's the birthday of writer and director Harold Ramis , born in Chicago in 1944. One of the least-recognized but most influential screenwriters of the last century, Ramis co-wrote of some of America's most beloved comedies, including National Lampoon's Animal House (1978), Caddyshack (1980), Stripes(1981), Ghostbusters (1984), Groundhog Day (1993), and Analyze This (1999). Ramis is lauded for a sense of humor that rejected the slick, packaged Hollywood comedies of the past and channeled the anger and disaffection of his generation at the country's sacred institutions, like fraternities, country clubs, and the Army. Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.®

Visit from the Greefs (Lois, 82, & Carl, 93) and Ginny McCool, 84, (born the year of the Stock Market crash in 1929) on this Thursday, 21 November, 2013. 

27 October 2013: Sunday, a brilliant sunrise and lingering milk smoke downstairs from Cream of Wheat overflow (fan and open windows and door/door window)

I thought about this e-mail, seriously, and wrote it this morning after an "extraordinary" Saturday with our father and a Dutch couple's dinner visit to our home:Doug,

In thinking of a subject header for this post, which I will make brief (sort of) honoring your skill at being concise, I came up with "extraordinary" to cover a wide emotional space.

The first and foremost was the drive, one of our last, in the country with our dying father, still with it, thankfully, and how perfect I felt it went. Not talkative, dad, still, in his silence, soaked in the beauty of that Sat afternoon.

The second event was my imposition and its initial, though not continuing, upset on you, dad and mom. It was an imprudent and selfish decision on my part to invite the Stams over for dinner. Granted it was thrust on me by the couple's overt, encompassing generosity, but, nonetheless, I should have discussed (it with our parents and you and Norma). Enough said. My apologies, post-incident.

We are entering a new phase of our lives. We shall soon, hopefully not too soon, be the surviving generation. My hope, my dear brother, is, that despite our divergent temperaments and worldviews  that we continue to share the beauty of a fall afternoon and realize what is truly lasting -- our love as a family.

May it be so ... and in loving humankindness, your brother, always,
rudy
Went to church and with no choir practice, went for a walk around Paper Mill Park and came to a trail that led me to some nice homes and this horse and baby/small goats with budding horns:

Just off the asphalt track around the athletic fields of Paper Mill Park is a trail that led to this enclosed area with goats and this sociable and obviously, hungry, horse. I had nothing to offer him/her but an iPhone. Not going to get it but I did grab this image as I walked prior to the start of service at UUSMC. Walked for a total of 1.5 miles. Nice activity prior to the service where I got to sing with Kristen and Laurie on a hymn late in the service with Larry Stomberg accompanying on cello. He is an Assistant Professor of Cello at University of Delaware School of Music (Loudis Recital Hall).

Doug posted some amazing photos from our Saturday (yesterday) afternoon trip to the country with our father:

Travel to the country and The Whip this afternoon but it was packed due to the Eagles football game versus the Giants (they were losing 15-0 late in the 4th quarter) and so we traveled, thanks to Doug's expert GPS in his droid phone, to the Greathouse at Loch Nairn and had a nice late lunch, leisurely served by 18-year-old Eliza, younger than the cat that observed the dining area through the door outside (Doug went out to her and fed her some bread), who might be 19 or 20 years of age. Dad ate well -- an oyster stew -- and even drank a martini, his first in ages.

Male Muslim attire required at Greathouse lunch table ... with apologies to the Muslim faith. 

He waxed a little nostalgic about the place, he's eaten here so many times, he goes back a long way. Prior to coming into the restaurant, took a nice photo of Norma and dad, which I sent to Doug, Norma, and Norma Virginia via an e-mail and attachment. Here is the photograph:

Norma and dad posing in front of the Greathouse at Loch Nairn waiting for Doug to return after parking the car and going in for lunch on this sunny, beautiful Sunday, 27 October 2013. 



Mid to late afternoon, Dancer needed a walk so I got Norma to come with us to Bark Park for a walk, even though she wasn't wearing the exactly right shoes for the trekking adventure. We did the trails and the park for a little over a mile walk into a brilliant sun which became my thrown together Daily Dancer pic for the day.

A few short hours after our fairly big meal (good bread, filling) at the Greathouse, Doug made reservations for Feby's but dad was unable to go. We left our parents recumbent on mom's bed watching a TCM offering on the wide screen TV. Prior to that, I'd brought up the oxygen for dad for a second time and he fiddled with the nasal cannula to get it fitted properly and I set the level at 2.0. Doug had ordered, earlier, pulse oxygen reader on the Internet and it should be arriving soon. We will determine dad's levels and see if he does need the supplemental oxygen, but now, if he feels the need, he's going to get it, of course. Dinner was too filling and the restaurant was packed, many ordering the lobster due to a special of 3 courses for $30.00.

 
The view of Feby's as you turn into the restaurant's parking lot off Maryland Avenue.

Got home after 8 p.m. and dad was still up, but not for long, and they said their goodbyes and headed for the Holiday Inn Express, an early departure in the AM in the plans, probably 5 a.m. Doug set his phone alarm for 4:30 a.m., as though he needs it. Well, it was a good visit and we got a lot of time with dad as he went out of his way to travel in the Chrysler 200 (a car Doug poo-pooed as inferior) over the hills, valleys, and narrow causeways of rural Maryland and Pennsylvania. Just a beautiful weekend. The challenges remain and Doug will be here if I need him. Tomorrow, it's back to the office in the afternoon after flying in to Atlanta in the morning and making their way, about 45 minutes, to their home in John's Creek. 

26 October 2013: On this brilliant Saturday morn in late October, started dad on O2 this am, for a short period, due to shortness of breath, he's making his bed now (8:18 am) ...

THE DAILY DANCER: Chilly in the AM in Delaware, I brought her inside and although initially restive, she calmed and then needed to be outside once the sun came up.

Juliana Jimenez, waitress/cook/eponymous co-owner of "Juliana's Kitchen" with

her husband Edwin, serves a steak entree to Doug last evening, Friday, 25 Oct. 2013.

Norma was there too and we went at the suggestion of dad, who remembered our memorable

visit in mid-May when I found the restaurant on Yelp and then later, posted a review,

which was still on the site when I checked last night.

Got him into listening to some music ... YESSS!!! ... here, to the song cycle by Schubert about the miller's daughter, Die Schone Mullerin (sic), with tenor Patzak and pianist Klien. He mouths the words to the lieder and asked, at the end of the first side, to hear some more. Now, as I type this, I have Mahler, Das Lied Von Der Erde (please excuse my German spelling) -- Song of the Earth of thereabouts, regardless, it's Mahler that dad loves --  on with the same tenor conducted by Bruno Walter, a lifelong friend.

Saw the two pics below downstairs, decided to copy them and post them. Got an edifying commentary from Cindy, who lives in Naples, FL, now about the photo below. Will post her comments below the picture.

"I believe your parents were with you intermittently at my wedding. They drove you i believe. They were at

the restaurant during the reception, but I feel like I remember them dancing too???

Anyway I love this pic!! Can really feel the emotion there! Might have been august '84 at the reception.

.... And yes I apparently have a double lol!!" FB comment by Cindy Aiman Stimeck

Their traveling days, my parents pose at Iguacu Falls on the border of Brazil and Argentina.

Just a fantastic road trip into the country of Pennsylvania courtesy of the driving prowess and GPS ability of his droid phone, one Douglas Alan Nyhoff. We traveled roads that I did not know existed and in several cases, the road narrowed to the width of almost a cart path and the GPS intoned or showed that their was civilization ahead. Speaking of which, we passed Amish plowing their fields with horses and just on the horizon were 21st century banks and a Sunoco gas station. What a proximity and there was a hawk, some vultures, several deceased deer (one in the back of a pickup and the other on the side of the road), and the fall colors and the leaves sweeping across the narrow roads, navigated expertly by my brother while he looked down at his phone to get directional aid. Little harrowing but he's one heckuva of a driver and is very conscientious, although he did run his sports Audi into another car while looking at his phone causing $10K of damage to his fancy sports car.

Tonight, to the initial anger and upset of everyone, I took it upon myself to invite Gerrit and Marli to our house for flounder, which Doug and Norma picked up at Acme, among many other items, because of an e-mail that stated that they planned to come over in the late afternoon with a platter of Marli's famous Dutch cooking. Well, I just knew that mom would love preparing the food and she has, even though she is winded and that means asking for a few Xanax, but she is in her room and plans to walk to balcony to greet our guests when they arrive. The flounder, soaking in butter, will be put in shortly, along with carrots. Doug bought salad and the Stams will bring their dish. Should be interesting. Stay tuned.

I managed to get off and walk Dancer for a short one around Bark Park and get to Acme for dog biscuits and then the needed napkins. I think we are ready for our impromptu dinner party.
 

Gerrit Stam gives mom and dad a slide show after a dinner of flounder, sausage, carrots, salad, and companionship  with the Stams. The pics were from a recent short trip to western Maryland where they saw a bear and beautiful fall colors in Hancock, Maryland, where the width of the state, from Pennsylvania to West Virginia is less than 2 miles.