Virtual-Doug

Christmas as Memory

She has been working for weeks now – going out to the storage shed, rummaging through boxes, and finding her Christmas treasures.

(Be sure to click on the photos to see a larger version.)

This is a quiz – how many “Christmassy” things are in this picture?  Everything you find is from her past, except the large candle and fall flowers display which is a thanksgiving present from one of her daughters.  The macramé tree on the back of the sofa; the “Joy” wall hanging; the angel candleholder; the ceramic caroler.  Each is from a Christmas long past, and she has enjoyed fussing and moving and getting ready for Christmas.

Of course, Christmas is about family – children in particular.  She may not always be able to remember the names of the grandchildren or great children, but her emotions register the happiness of those children.   Seven Christmases ago she received these cutout hand prints of four of her great-grandchildren.  She beams with pleasure as she remembers happiness, even if she cannot remember their names now.  Be sure to look on the chrome and glass shelf – there are Christmas treasures there too.  At the far left there are more on her desk.

Even the kitchen has memories.  Its easy to find the stocking hanging on a rack intended for paper towels, and there are decorative towels hanging on the handle of the oven.  A crochet and foam Christmas tree adorns the countertop.  What you can’t see are Christmas cups on the kitchen table, and magnets on the refrigerator.  All this took weeks to do – and it kept her busy.

Slowly rocking in her chair, she likes to talk quietly of her memories.  They are comforting and bring pleasure.  We share a laugh over something trivial and funny from a long time ago.

Then she is quiet in a moment of reflection.

Thanksgiving – and the MGB

Americans love their holiday called Thanksgiving.  We eat too much and watch a lot of football.  It’s a gathering of family and friends.  A day to be, eh, well - - thankful.

And I am very thankful.  Today is also the Mystery Guest Blogger’s birthday.  She is a wonderful woman, though her taste in husbands is highly suspect.  She has been the love of my life for 35 ½  years.

The MGB is the kind of woman that could be described as a “fine Christian woman.”  Though that phrase is often misused to mean a kind and gentle person (and of course, the MGB is that kind of person), I mean it in the truest sense.

I don’t mean “churchy.”  I don’t mean “holier than thou.”  I don’t mean she spews scripture all the time.  I mean she acts out her faith in ways many people don’t.

Living nearby is a sixty-five year old grandmother who left a good job in California to come to Texas and care for her grandchildren.  You see, Dad was in prison, and Mom was a junkie.  The MGB picks up Grandma to take her and the kids to church, buy groceries – even call the police during a domestic problem between Grandma and another son.  On a recent chilly day, she took the whole brood to Wal-Mart to buy warm clothes – and sheepishly told me about it later.  The MGB hasn’t had a newspaper story written about this – she just does it because that is what Jesus wants her to do.

When we lived in Việt Nam, our job was to teach and build relationships.  The MGB did just that – built strong relationships.  She recently sent a goodie box of hot chocolate mix to a young man who calls her “Mom.”  Saturday mornings is when the MGB gets up at 4 AM so she can instant message with the young lady who used to be her language tutor.

Ever read the story of Ruth in the Bible?  It’s the one where the daughter-in-law tells her mother-in-law that she will always be with her.  That story fits the MGB and my mother.  They are so close that I joke about it - - if the MGB and I were to break up, I think my mother would choose to stay with the MGB rather than with me.

She doesn’t let technicalities get in the way of loving people.  She knows perfectly well that the man in Florida we both call “Son” is not her birth child, but she loves that man as if he came from her own body.  And - - don’t even start to suggest that the beautiful daughter-in-law is not her own daughter-in-law, or that those four grandchildren are not hers.  The love the MGB has for that family is total and unconditional.

Oh yeah - - did I tell you she’s a great cook?  If you have seen me, you know I eat well.

Happy birthday, Mystery Guest Blogger.  I love you.

Nap Time - - and W

I used to love the lunch hour in Việt Nam when most people eat then take a nap.  And, living next to Mexico as we do here in deep south Texas, I am familiar with siesta.

But – napping under a truck off to the side of a busy highway interchange?

But, here is the picture I have been waiting for - - President Bush wearing a tradtional men's ao dai during his visit to Việt Nam.

Retirement – and Golf

Pretty, isn’t it?  Early morning light over a golf course pond.  Quiet enough to hear the mockingbirds tell you that you’re interfering with their morning.  This idyllic pond is in the retirement park where I live – in fact, its just down the street.

(Be sure to click on the photos to see a larger version.)

Soon the quiet was chased away.  The course workers had to be out early to get the greens cut,  flags moved, and tee boxes cleaned up.  It promised to be another busy day on the course.

And soon, “they” arrived.  Golfers – lots of golfers.  They had been getting ready since dawn.  This was Friday, and Friday is tournament day.  Teams are set up randomly – that gives everyone a chance to meet new people.  Most foursomes were actually fivesomes – and in some cases, sixsomes.   They played best ball.  And they had fun - - lots and lots of fun.  The only person I heard gripe all day was a 93 year old man who is legally blind.  He left the tee mumbling to himself that he was “trying to hit the ball too hard.”

Before the Gentle Reader thinks I live next to Pebble Beach, this is a “senior course.”  The fairways are so short, there are no par ratings on the holes.  There are no bunkers, and the only hole where you drive over water is the pond – the men drive 147 yards, and the ladies tee is off to the side of the pond so they don’t have to hit over water.  The greens are flat (except for the forward slope to help balls from going over the back) and the flag is moved once a month.  There are no spike marks because spikes aren’t allowed on the course.  There is no rough.

Nobody cares – the players are all residents of the park, and that means all the players are 55 or older.  You could tell some of them knew what to do with a golf club – and they’d spent some money on lessons.  For others, once elegant athleticism has turned into short stiff swings, but you can tell they don’t really care by the raucous laughter coming as the result of a muffed shot.  The loudest laughter usually came from the duffer. 

The greens are in pretty good shape.  There’s not much to “read”, so squatting down to look at your line is not only unnecessary, but most of the players can’t squat down.  Nice touch with the putter, though.  Funny thing – I didn’t see any of those long putters favored on the pro senior tour.

The form may not be perfect.  Age does that to the body – its not as flexible as it once was.  But these folks were having fun – and every now and then somebody would have a great shot.  I watched one gentleman put the ball within inches of the flag on the 114 yard 17th hole.  As one of the fivesome said to me as she was leaving the tee, “That’s why we play golf.  He’ll remember that shot for a year and tell himself that if he can do it once, he can do it again.”

Getting a hole-in-one on this course is a two-edged sword.  If you do it, you get a big sign put in front of your house telling the world that you’re the latest person to get a hole-in-one.  But - - you also have to buy the booze for the entire park.

At the end of round, there are friends – the 93 year old and his young buddy who is 87.  They walk 18 holes every day.

Golf has been described as a good walk spoiled.  Maybe it can also be described as a friend maker.

Veteran’s Day

Last year I was living in Huê on the American holiday known as Veteran’s Day.  I posted a story  that day – and there are parts of that story I must correct.

While it is very true that Sergeant Alfredo Gonzalez was from deep south Texas and was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, I was in error as to the location of his death.  At the time, I thought it had happened in an old church building that no longer exists.  My thoughts were based on old books – written by Americans.  As often happens, memories are not always clear.  Freddie was killed in Catholic school compound across the street from today’s St. Francis Xavier church about three blocks from where I originally thought it happened.  I took this picture from the sixth floor of a nearby new hotel.  You can tell the school was built during the French era by the dark red color of the paint.  Today it is a government school filled with laughing kids.

I remember seeing an elderly Vietnamese veteran of the 1954 battle that ended the French colonial period.  He sat on an old tank, and even at his age had the far away look in his eyes that said he remembered the fierce combat.  I have no doubt he is as proud of his service to Việt Nam as I am of my service to America.

Soldiers are an odd bunch.  We once  tried so hard to kill each other, yet as age softens us, some realize that their former enemy is somebody who can understand what they went through.  I once had lunch with a Vietnamese family whose daughter was one of our students.  The lunch was delightful, and our student willingly translated.  I sat next to the father, now retired from a government job.  The modest home rang with good food and good cheer.

I saw a certificate on the wall and asked our student Nhi what it was.  The certificate lauded the father for his service to the revolutionary cause.  That prompted the father to get out his small collection of photos.  He showed me this – taken in 1966 as he and his three buddies went out for one last night on the town before moving out into the jungle to begin their training as regional Viet Cong soldiers.  He told me he fought against the Americans – and said we were good soldiers.  I smiled and returned the truthful favor – the Viet Cong too were good soldiers.

We were both young back then, doing what we thought was right.  Time has blurred the reasons why we fought and left us with the feeling that we understand each other now.  I look at his picture from 1966, and realize its not much different from American men who were drafted and went out for one last night on the town.

We were soldiers - - a long time ago.  We’re glad we are not soldiers now, nor do our countries need to fight each other any longer.

We’re both proud veterans.

The Mom Report

Many bloggers chronicle their lives through this medium.  Though most of my time and energy is consumed caring for my mother, I find I blog the least about the topic.  Maybe that’s because it’s the intense personal nature of writing about witnessing one’s mother dissolve into Alzheimer’s  – personal to her and to the Mystery Guest Blogger and to me.  I am certainly more protective of her privacy than my own, and I find I have become more protective of her as her condition worsens

Alzheimer’s is cruel disease.  Part of its cruelty is that it is a gradual affliction.  Nancy Reagan described it as the long goodbye.  Part of the long goodbye is the knowledge inside the person’s mind that they are indeed “loosing it.”  How painful – how frustrating – it must be for my mother to be unable to remember things, and yet still have the mental capacity to know she can no longer remember things.  Her conversation is loaded with these uncomfortable references.  Pointing to a picture of my father, she said “Have you ever seen a picture of that man?”  Trying to tell the MGB that her television stopped working, she talks about “the big box – you have one – its where I sit.”  It breaks my heart to watch her sign her name and hear her mumble to herself that “My writing used to be so pretty.”  Her memory continues to recede deeper into the past – she now refers to her last residence in Florida as “up north.” 

Alzheimer’s is cruel also because it is so inconsistent.  While her vocabulary declines, she still takes good care of herself, puts on her makeup, and dresses neatly.  While her inability to participate in social activities with large numbers of people continues to decline, but she can still read letters and the newspaper.  While she is still basically healthy, the walk is with a greater stoop, the feet shuffle more, and the grasp is weaker.

Alzheimer’s is cruel because it changes personality.  The last time I remember her being angry with me was when I was a child, but now she accuses me (and yes, accuse is the word I want, as strong as it is) of not giving her the medicine she needs since she arrived here from Florida.  I doubt if she has ever “accused” me of doing anything, so it is difficult to avoid retaliating.  My humanness is all too evident at times.

But, Alzheimer’s seems to provide some sort of mechanism to ease life a bit too.  Mom was never a cat lover, but she has taken a new friend – our cat Bao.  Each evening as she comes over for dinner, she expectantly looks forward to petting Bao and talking to her.  Funny thing about animals – they seem to sense when people are not well and need some loving.

There is an old adage that says we are all once an adult, but twice a child.  While I see the basic truth in that, I also know that the fundamental differences in the two periods of childhood are this:  a young child learns and develops, but an old child unlearns things and goes backwards.

The long goodbye.