A Walk With a Purpose

This year Vince and I have become involved with the 2020 Walk to End Alzheimer’s and are volunteering with the Marketing Committee.

It has been a strange year to be a volunteer. We can’t meet with others on the committee in person due to COVID-19. We can’t do all the marketing activities the organization has done in previous years like putting informational stickers on coffee cups and pizza boxes to garner interest in the 2020 Walk and in the mission of the Alzheimer’s Association.

So we have been doing a lot of virtual activities. We meet monthly over the phone and see each other on screen like a 2020 version of the Brady Bunch.

Our current strategy is to forge ahead with plans to hold the Columbus Walk to End Alzheimer’s at the Columbus Commons on Sunday, September 27^th.  There is also a virtual component to the walk, but we don’t yet know what that is going to look like.

Vince and I have also formed a team to walk – we are Team Forget Me Not. In honor of my mom. And in memory of all those who have succumbed to this disease.

Things change. And for all we know, the virtual walk will be all we can do because of coronavirus health concerns.

So we’ll take it day by day and week by week until it’s time to join together – either physically or virtually – to bring focus to Alzheimer’s. 

Research.

Programs.

Help.

I’ve read that Alzheimer’s affects one in four people. Certainly it has affected me and my family. My mother has been in a memory care unit for nearly four years, but has had the disease for over ten.

And while I would give anything to have my mother back the way she was pre-Alzheimer’s, I know that’s impossible.  

But what I can do is help raise awareness of the Alzheimer’s Association. And I can help raise funds for research to find a cure and to sponsor the programs the Alzheimer’s Association provides.

There are many worthwhile causes and many opportunities to give – so I don’t ask this lightly. But if you are in a position to help support our walk and cause, I would appreciate it more than you could ever know.

We would be honored to have you join our team, too, if you are willing and able.

Our link is: http://act.alz.org/goto/JaneandVinceCordova

And I thank you so very much!

It's Not Business as Usual-Not by a Long Shot

I’ve written several blogs in the past week…but haven’t posted any.

It just seems disrespectful during these tumultuous times.

I want to smile and laugh. I’d love to be carefree. And I’d like to make other people smile if I could. But it’s nearly impossible to get back to business as usual.

Because nothing about life right now is business as usual.

Covid-19 is still a “thing” – even though it seems to have been pushed to the bottom of the page. Yet I still must wear a mask when I go to the grocery store. And I still cannot visit my mom inside her memory care unit, put my arms around her and tell her I love her.

Other events have come to the forefront that prevent business as usual.

If you’re like me, you are horrified, saddened and angered by the senseless killing of George Floyd. I don’t think I will ever get the image out of my head of now-fired and charged police officer, Derek Chauvin, with his hand in his pocket, kneeling on Floyd’s neck while Floyd begs to be let up so he can breathe.

Kneeling on a man’s neck with his hand in his pocket just screams nonchalance to me. As if it were no big deal.

Oh, but it was a very big deal.

Since that time, social media has been drowning us with videos, memes and commentaries.

Some are heartening to see: peaceful protesters waving placards reading “Black Lives Matter.” Operative word in that sentence: “peaceful.”

I watched a video last night that made me cry. The police (don’t ask me where) were holding a line and the protesters were standing almost face to face with the officers.

I worried as I was watching that violence was going to ensue. But suddenly, I saw officers putting out their hands to shake the hands of the protesters. And then there were hugs on both sides of the line. It was a lovely image that I wished were the case in every city protest.

But then I’ve also seen videos that made me cry for a different reason – the video out of Buffalo, NY, where an elderly man was shoved by an officer in riot gear enforcing a curfew. The sight of the man on the ground bleeding from his ear was absolutely horrifying.

And I pray that he recovers with no ill effects.

Did the officer mean to shove the man so hard he fell and was injured? What could the protester possibly have said to cause such a reaction?

I don’t know – and I don’t really care.

It is 2020. There are cameras everywhere. What actions may have been hidden in the past and covered up with lies are now exposed with every cell phone camera video.

So our actions have consequences. Even if we didn’t mean it. Or didn’t mean for things to go so far.

We can’t blanket statement anything these days – and we shouldn’t. There are good people and bad people. There are good, courageous men and women who put on that blue uniform every day to keep us safe.

Just as there are those who don’t deserve to wear that uniform.

There are good citizens of every creed and color. And there are bad people of the same.

What we must do is hold ourselves – and our officials – accountable. Which, to me, is what the protests are about. And I applaud that.

What I don’t applaud is the violence or the rioting or the looting or the senseless destruction of property and burning of buildings.

How does this help? How can it possibly help?

I just read that a friend of mine in Cleveland was attacked, pistol whipped and his car stolen in a random act of violence during this turbulent time. I’m grateful he is going to be all right, but he is hurting right now – in both body and soul.

And for that, I’m sorry.

I wish I could make things better. I wish I had a solution and could magically make people treat each other right. Where we could all live together in peace.

Where mothers would never have to sit with their children of color and give them “the talk” – the one where they have to tell them how to behave if they are ever pulled over or stopped by the police.

And I think of those fresh-faced, beautiful children and I hope that by the time they are adults, the world will be a little better and they won’t have to fear being held down on the ground with a knee on their neck as they beg for breath.

So, no. Nothing about life right now is “business as usual.”

And that’s the point.

Quarantine 15?

In the past week, Vince and I have planted flowers, dug tree roots out of the ground, and pulled weeds. I also helped him with his latest Farmer Brown scheme of building a raised bed in which to grow vegetables this summer.

This, as you may know, is wayyy more diggin’ in the dirt than I prefer.

Frankly, I’d prefer to keep my hands as far away from the dirt as possible. Like if I never had to touch a rake or trowel again, I’d be perfectly fulfilled and happy.

But when the neighbors’ dogs head straight for your yard to chew on the weeds for their daily doggie salad, well, you bite the bullet and start diggin’ and pullin’.

Despite these dirty, sweaty efforts, I find myself woefully unprepared for the summer.

Why?

Well, because I fear I have joined the ranks of those who have gained the Quarantine 15. You know – those fifteen extra pounds that creep up when you can’t get to the gym to work off all that comfort food you’ve been consuming over the past several stay-at-home coronavirus months.

Sure, walking Maggie Minx five or six times a day is helpful. And lifting and dumping 25 lb. bags of dirt into the raised bed in the 90 degree heat has to count as some sort of exercise. Doesn’t it?

But when I put on my favorite summer parrot shirt and it’s a little snug around the waist when I button it, well, that does not make for a happy me.

I guess it’s a good thing Farmer Vince is planting vegetables.

And it’s a really good thing I don’t know how to bake bread.

One of the biggest complaints we had during the height of the shelter-in-place order was that we couldn’t stick with the fresh vegetables and daily salads that we’d previously enjoyed. Only going to the store every couple weeks precluded having fresh lettuce and veggies on hand.

The other thing that was a little disconcerting during this time was that we found ourselves purchasing comfort foods like chips and cookies and cheese and bread. These are items we had pretty much eschewed while we have been living a healthier lifestyle the past couple years.

So I say it’s time to get back to that healthier lifestyle. Besides, I’m getting a little sick of the junk food, believe it or not.

Now we just need those homegrown veggies to hurry up and grow.

Bring on the salads – and I don’t mean the doggy salads in our flower bed!

The Old Green Leather Wallet

I was cleaning out some things today and I came across my mom’s old green leather wallet.

The wallet she has had for decades. The wallet that is falling apart at the seams. The wallet we tried many times to replace for her – only to have her stick with the old green one she already had.

She liked the smaller size of it. She liked that it didn’t have too many pockets and slots for credit cards. She liked that it had softened with age and she liked that she knew where the treasured photos of her husband and children and grandchild were.

 

She also knew which compartment held the ratty card on which she’d written the phone numbers and addresses of those important to her.

I hadn’t looked in the wallet since mom moved in to her memory care unit nearly four years ago. When she first arrived, she carried her purse. Mom never went anywhere without it and moving to a memory care unit was no different. While I knew she wouldn’t need a purse there, I didn’t try to dissuade her from bringing it.

But we looked inside her wallet so I could take her ID and health care cards and any other important information she carried. The only money mom had in the wallet was a $10 dollar bill, which she handed to me.

“Well, I guess I won’t be needing this anymore, she said. “Why don’t you keep it, Jane?”

I was already an emotional wreck having to bring mom to this place that I knew she’d never leave, so the act of handing over the last little bit of cash in her wallet almost did me in. I had to excuse myself for a moment to recapture a little composure.

When I rejoined her, she’d already forgotten about her purse, the green wallet and the ten dollar bill.

So when I came across her wallet in my purging frenzy today, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I hadn’t looked inside that wallet for ages.

I carefully opened it up and inside that old wallet were the parts of one’s life that seem mundane – until the person no longer has any use for them.

Inside her change compartment were, yes, a few coins – but she also carried some bobby pins for her hair. That compartment also held a religious medal – the same medal that mom gave me from time to time in moments of strife.

She meant to give me some peace by sending me that small token – but whenever I see those medals, I think of mom.  And while it brings a little sadness, it also does bring me a sense of comfort.

Also in the change purse was a small polished green stone. I suspect she picked it up on one of their many trips around the world. But I don’t think we’ll ever really know why that stone had such significance that mom kept it in her wallet.

I removed her frequent shopper cards for a grocery store and several pharmacies in Alliance.  

The card she always carried for the grocery store in Wareham had already been discarded. It could be that dad took it out of her wallet when they sold the cottage at the Cape knowing they’d never need that card again.

For some reason, she carried dad’s library card in her wallet, although perhaps they both used just one card when they borrowed from the library.

Or perhaps with the advancement of her dementia mom lost her library card and rather than replace it, they simply used dad’s card.  

But seeing dad’s signature on the back of the card brought me to tears. So many memories came flooding back.

I remember going to the library with them as a child and later visiting the bookmobile on my own whenever it came around my neighborhood. I’d check out as many books as I was allowed and then I’d struggle to carry them home careful not to drop any of my treasures.

I am incredibly happy that my parents instilled a love of reading in all their children – so much so that sometimes when we’d all gather together, we would quietly spend time together reading or doing crossword puzzles or jumbles.

Sometimes we’d all be so still, someone would invariably say, “Aren’t we a lively bunch?!”

But it was a comfortable silence broken only by someone commenting on an interesting passage or someone else asking for an answer to the clue in the crossword puzzle.

Nowadays, people can gather together and quietly spend time scrolling or texting or YouTubing or whatever it is they’re doing on their phones, but that togetherness doesn’t seem to have quite the same camaraderie.

In later years, I’d drive my parents to the small library in Wareham. Vacations at the Cape meant I got to catch up on lots of reading and I’d check out as many of the new best sellers as I could manage in the time I had there.

Dad went from reading regular books, to reading Large Print books and then later still when macular degeneration was winning the war against his eyesight, he’d borrow books on tape.

Mom, meanwhile, transitioned from historical novels and biographies to cookbooks where she could read snippets of dishes she’d most likely never prepare. But she always liked looking at cookbooks.

Toward the end of their visits to the library Dad would help her choose travel books where she could look at the photos and he’d help her try to recapture some memories of her time spent in those locales.

Finally, inside that old green wallet were photos of her husband and her children growing up. Our high school graduation photos were in there and tucked behind them were one or two of our grade school photos.  She also kept several photos of her granddaughter, Chloe, whom she adored.

There was a small black and white photo of dad taken in April of 1953 in Winnipeg. Dad was nattily dressed in a bow tie and an overcoat smiling as he sat on some steps in front of a vast pillar.

Shortly after they returned from their honeymoon, he had been given orders to report to an Air Force station in Winnipeg, the capital of the Canadian province of Manitoba. In later years mom and dad both recounted stories of that time, with her travelling by train to the remote station and staying with him in housing with no running water. 

It was a picture of dad that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. And it made me nostalgic for times that had passed and can never be recaptured again.

Much as that old green wallet captured snippets of mom’s life. She will never relive those times again, but in looking through her wallet, I got to experience some of those special moments in her life – and ours, too.

Oh, What a Night!

The other evening I took Maggie Minx for her 29^th walk of the day (this is only a slight exaggeration), and I happened to glance up at the sky. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets I think I’ve ever seen in Westerville, Ohio.

I was barely able to snap a quick photo before our abnormally strong 10 pound dog dragged me on our way. If she’s out, she could care less about the pretty sunsets. She just wants to sniff and leave some pee mail for her fellow canines as if to say: “Maggie Was Here.”

Like most of the neighborhood doesn’t know that Maggie. Was. Here. She can be rather, uh, vociferous on occasion. No one would ever deem her the shy, retiring type.

Anyway, back to the sunset.

On the way back to the house, I managed to snap another shot and this one may have been even prettier.

 

Not only that, but I glanced in another direction – and I saw a faint rainbow. Which made me think of my dad.

After my dad fell and hit his head in June of 2016, I drove my mom to Canton to visit him after he had been admitted to the ICU. This was the beginning of a three week odyssey of ups and downs and progression and regression that ultimately ended with his death.

But that first night, he was awake and alert and we had hope even though he looked awful and we were so very worried about him.

On the drive back home to Alliance, there was an incredible double rainbow that lit up the sky. And we hoped that was a positive sign that dad would come out of this.

While it was not meant to be, I can never see a rainbow in the sky without thinking about my dad.

Just as sunsets and clouds make me think of my mom. 

One of the things I noticed once Alzheimer’s had a firm grip on my mother was her fascination with all manner of meteorological happenings.  She constantly commented on the color of the sky, particularly on those days when the sky was a vivid cerulean blue.  

And she obsessed about the shape and type of clouds, which had me scrambling through my memory banks of sixth grade science class trying to remember the difference between nimbus and cirrus clouds.  (When we couldn’t differentiate between them, I was able to consult Google. Gotta love the Google.)

Anyway, I suspect that by this point, Mom had lost her grasp on current events and recent memories, so she was able to contribute to the conversation by talking about the clouds.

There were moments I was sad listening to her talk about the sky – mostly because my mother had been an incredibly intelligent woman and she was never without an opinion on pretty much any topic.  But she could no longer track a conversation and didn’t really participate in our back and forth banter.

So now, whenever I do take a moment and look up at the sky, I think about my mom and her ruminations about the sky and the clouds.  

And I think to myself that maybe it’s not such a bad thing – to stop what we’re doing and look up at the sky and reflect on how beautiful and amazing our world is.

Guess mom can still teach me a thing or two, can’t she?

So…thanks, mom.  I miss seeing you due to this coronavirus thing. I hope we get to be with you soon.

And I miss you, too, dad. So much.

To-Do Lists and Whatnot in the Land of Covid-19

Happy Tuesday one and all. How you doin’?

I’m okay. This is the third day in a row I’m attempting to finish a blog. Let’s see if I can finally cross this off my To-Do list. {Flexes fingers in anticipation of some speed typing ahead…}

So here goes:

My Sunday’s entry was about how I had no motivation to do anything and all I managed to accomplish was a single load of laundry. Didn’t even put it away. Nor did I make the bed – and I’m a bed maker approximately 99.99% of the time.

I attributed my lack of motivation to the fact that Sunday was cold and rainy and dreary.

Yesterday, on the other hand, was warm and sunshiny and beautiful. And I was a busy bee scurrying about washing floors, polishing tabletops and cleaning glass. I washed, dried and put away three loads of laundry (plus the load I hadn’t put away on Sunday). And I cleaned four bathrooms.

Go me!

Vince also helped by vacuuming. I hate vacuuming. And when I do vacuum, I run the sweeper over the carpet like I’m trying to qualify for the Indy 500. I’m not even sure the wheels touch the ground.

This doesn’t, as you might imagine, make for deep cleaned carpet. Vince is slower and more methodical and picks up enough Jane hair to make me a wig and enough cat hair to build another cat. Well, if we had the other spare parts. And, heaven forbid, if we wanted a third cat in this house.

Which we don’t. Because then I’d probably have to help with the vacuuming.

So it’s good we were able to get some things crossed off our to-do list. Why? Well, because otherwise we’re going to let this house arrest thing with the current pandemic get to us.

And we don’t need that.

Worry these days is sort of par for the course. And, while I know worrying doesn’t really help matters any, it’s hard not to succumb.

I miss being able to spend this last little bit of time mom has left telling her in person how much we love her. And I worry I won’t get another chance. I also worry that her last hold on who we are will fade from her memory before we can see her again.

I worry about those who work in the health care field and I pray for their well-being as they take care of the sick and the elderly.

I am sad and frightened for those I know who have contracted COVID-19 and I pray for their return to health.

And I mourn with all those people who have lost loved ones during this time when they can’t even grieve their losses properly.

So we are adhering to the stay-at-home orders we’ve been given without complaint. (Well, without too much complaint, anyway!)

For the most part, I’m a rule-follower and try not to do things that will (a) land me in hot water, or (b) cause harm to me or those around me.

Yeah, I know. I’m a goody two-shoes from way back. What can I say – I can’t help it.

It wasn’t until I married Vince that I ever heard the saying, “It’s better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.”

What? This makes ZERO sense to me. Why would one want to live their life constantly asking people to forgive them for stuff they did that they could’ve avoided in the first place?

Yes, Vince knows he is supposed to have the
mask higher to cover his nose. We were in a selfie-hurry!

Fortunately, Vince is behaving himself and doesn’t need to beg for forgiveness for anything.

We’ve been on only a few grocery runs in the past six weeks, although we did venture to Costco last week wearing our masks. Ugh. I’ve gotta tell you, for me it was pure torture.

Besides the obvious health reasons we’re being asked to wear these masks, I think the covert objective is to limit our time out. Those masks are so uncomfortable I couldn’t wait to get home so I could take it off.

My ears hurt where the elastic fit around them. And my glasses were so fogged up I couldn’t see. I nearly bumped into an end cap of Pirates Booty popcorn and came very close to knocking the whole thing onto the floor.

I guess I would’ve been begging for forgiveness then, wouldn’t I?

Fortunately, the number of shoppers in the store was limited so I managed to avoid bumping into actual people. Heaven forbid I break the six foot social distance rule.  

As it was, I found myself weirdly holding my breath if anyone ventured anywhere near me. I’d scurry away from all humans and then take a deep breath so I didn’t pass out in the cereal aisle. This wasn’t a good thing as I started feeling like I was hyperventilating.

But we weren’t there for a casual stroll through the ginormous warehouse club and, really, once we were able to snag some fresh produce and finally scored our humongous case of toilet paper, we were outta there.

Since then, I’ve read of ways to reduce the amount of fog that wearing a face mask with glasses can produce by cleaning the glasses with either shaving cream or dishwashing liquid. I’ll have to give that a try before our next foray into the real world.

 

I don’t anticipate needing another Costco run for a while anyway. Our toilet paper shortage has been alleviated and we no longer have to ration our supplies.  

Maybe, in time, the “can you spare a square” line will fade from my memory.

And, maybe, in time, this whole COVID-19 pandemic will fade from our collective memory, too.

Probably not. But happy Tuesday to you all, anyway. Stay well.

How May We Be of Service Today?

So it’s Day 296 of the COVID-19 pandemic and we’re still shelter-social-distancing-in-place. I’m channeling my 9-year-old inner child and hoping everyone keeps their cooties far away from me.

What’s that? We’re nowhere close to the 296 day mark? You gotta be kiddin’ me, pal! (Now I’m channeling my old friend, Mrs. B!)

This stayin’ at home thing is a wee bit harder than I thought it would be.

But to keep myself occupied I’ve tried to find a few ways to be of service.

Some people – like my talented seamstress cousin – are sewing masks for hospital

and front-line workers. Some people are helping out their elderly neighbors by picking up food and supplies so the more vulnerable among us don’t have to risk their health.

And some people – like me – are trying to plant a few smiles.

I’ve been sending out cheery cards and newsy notes by the truckload. I’ve even sent cards to people I don’t know. I figured there must be residents in the assisted living/ memory care facility who are alone and lonely during this lockdown. So I’ve sent out cards to hopefully bring a smile to their face. At the very least, it might give them something to puzzle over:now just who is this Jane person and why is she sending me a card?

One day last week I was out at Big Lots and I was inspired to pick up a big yellow Easter basket. And then I quickly walked through the store filling it with treats for the residents at my mom’s memory care.

While I was at it, I also purchased some non-perishable food items and paper products for the staff at mom’s facility. Some of the workers there don’t get home until late and are having a difficult time finding the staples they need.

So Parkside sent out a note to our community asking for donations to their “pantry.” I happily filled a few bags, although – alas – I was unable to provide any of those much-sought-after packages of Charmin’.

But I felt good being able to do something to help.

And then a couple days ago a neighbor asked if we’d be willing to make twenty peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as a part of a church effort to feed the homeless. Normally, the group provides about 100 of these lunches, but the need has substantially increased so they were looking for 1000 bags.

So she put the word out and several neighbors stepped up to the PB&J plate, as it were.

While a thousand lunches sounds a tad bit overwhelming, twenty was nothin’ – so Vince and I got to work. We had an assembly line going the likes of which would have made Henry Ford himself proud. Well, if Henry Ford had needed an assembly line to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, that is.

We filled the paper bags and brought them over to our neighbor to distribute the next day.

And we went to bed that night feeling like we’d made a tiny little difference in someone’s life. Even if it was just for that one meal.

It’s never a bad thing to be of service to one another. And maybe we can even keep this effort going once our lives return to normal.  

In the meantime, I’ll be asking that question more frequently: how may I be of service today?