And From Another One a Few Years Later

From a Santa Barbara Ramble of Previous Years

Ramble Conclusion: Carpinteria October 2013

Devoted readers of this blog may be somewhat puzzled by the absence of a close-out post during the recent Carpinteria Ramble. Some have even suggested a failure by your humble blogger to meet his blogging responsibilities.

This post is intended to silence those misguided souls. The reason there was no final Ramble post was because, well, to be frank, my laptop died...again...and I couldn't enter a post until I returned home. Where I am now. Blogging. To you now. With this blog entry.

It may not be quite exciting as a one-sentence description of a 7.1 earthquake in Japan, but it counts.

The second reason for the delay is, as many devoted readers wisely inferred, that the Ramble took a toll on your humble blogger's state of mind and blogging was somewhat problematic, so to speak.

But all is well that ends well. Or so they say. So here's a picture of my father with his cane in Carpinteria Baptist Church:

And here's another picture of Casa Poco y Humilde Carpinteriero (or something like that) with Auto Project de Jeur, aka Shiny Junk Heap, in front:

As for your blogger's current state of mind, it is as sound as it ever was. Not exactly reassuring, I know, but it's better than it could be and that just about says it all, or something. Maybe.

One final note: Some devoted blog followers have expressed an interest in the latest news of the other leading characters in this Ramble. Latest word is that they have been giving away and selling what remains of their possessions (and there are lots and lots of possessions) and planning for "The Garage Sale" on November 1st. This in preparation for the as-yet-unscheduled move to the retirement home, which will be soon or later. Probably later because, as Mom says, "We might have to have two or maybe three garage sales." How could anyone move before garage sales?

There you have it.

Breakthrough! Or Not. October 13

After making my blog post last night I returned to the home of my parents and was surprised to find them up. Even more surprising, they had been discussing the visit to the retirement center and then...the biggest, strangest and most worrisome surprise of all: They're moving to the retirement center.

So this day consisted of hearing about the non-plan to move toward the non-decision with semi-pointless and incoherent preparations like using all the extra wood to build doghouses and having garage sales for metal scraps.

Will it happen? If it does, will it even work? One can only wait and see, and I'm so burned out listening to the absurdity and chaos I'm no longer willing to try to engage constructively.

In the meantime I'm in a beautiful place with beautiful weather.

 

Not Vaduz, but almost as good.

 

 

I have also been having a fun time polishing up the old Mercedes, which for an old wornout wreck is now looking pretty darn good:

 

 

 



 

Navigating Through the Fog, October 12

The degree of seriousness is now evident. There can be no decisions, nor plans, nor reasoned discussions nor structured thinking in any form about circumstances or options. There are only spasmodic declarations that rarely bear any relation to reality and are quite often contradictory, sometimes within the same sentence. The fog will lift suddenly and the listener will be surprised by the temporary lucidity. But it is always quite temporary, so he must be always ready.

Example: Dad admits he has been falling. He has fallen something like five, or ten, or four, or seven times in the last six weeks. Most probably five. No way to be certain. He connects falls from a week ago with falls from three years ago in conversation, so parsing incidents is difficult. Many of the falls are completely fictional. Recent falls, however, have been not only real but covered up. They're discovered when my mother finds bloody laundry or bed linens. In any case he disagrees strongly that there is a problem because the falling "goes in streaks" and the latest streak is over! And of course, he'll never fall again because the streaks are over, too. So why discuss it?

Mom says he's fine but she's worried about him but she doesn't worry and she has to watch him closely but he's fine and besides that he's fine except when he gets confused or angry which is often but it doesn't happen very often. It frightens her but she's not worried, so it's fine.

There are two coping mechanisms. One is to declare Fine. The other is to redirect the conversation with a contrived, painfully lame quip followed by extended forced laughing, hoping the topic will evaporate. Very hard to witness.

There is a shell of a previous plan that is, quite obviously, unworkable. Their names are on a list for a local retirement home. But they're upset because the found out it serves "liquor" (wine) with dinner. And it costs too much. For my mother anything over ten dollars would be too much. The retirement home starts at $5,000 per month and goes up as more services are required. There's no way on God's green earth that either parent will come to peace with the liquor or the cost.

But neither of those issues is as serious as the other two. We visited the center today (they offered Mom a free birthday lunch and she pounced) and it's occupied by about 3:1 women to men. My father acknowledges he simply cannot accept that, and he's right. In fact, he really can't be around women at all for any extended amount of time. Especially old ones. There's a bigger problem. I watched the other residents and listened to them carefully. They're all lucid and capable of gracious, discrete, appropriate conversations. About things like reality. I heard nothing like motorcycle races at the cemetery or Saracens invading Holland. So I don't see any way the retirement home can work.

Which leaves us ... where?

Santa Barbara Area October 11

I had to kill some time this afternoon so my parents could nap. So I drove around:

 



 

 

I befriended a nice couple at the Courthouse. They were taking a picture of each other taking a picture of each other. So I took a picture of them. When I offered to take a picture of them together the wife insisted I capture her pretending to beat up her husband. I liked that.

Others have posted pictures of urban rooflines in their blogs. So I'm doing it, too. This is a lot prettier than Seoul.

Still there. Still closed. And junkier than ever.

Carpinteria October 10

Birthday Dinner and Blog Idas

My mother requested a birthday dinner at Clementine's in Carpinteria. It's a very good and locally famous restaurant, but the request was out of character so I decided to ask her about it. Turned out the owner of the restaurant owed her $22 and she wanted to press her for it.

The dinner was delightful. Dad made a very nice Happy Birthday banner that we hung on the wall. Evan came in from UCSB and my sister's always-good-natured family was there, too. One of Clementine's dinner features is that homemade pie comes with the dinner. If there's one thing Bauers and Van Zeyls enjoy it's a good homemade pie. And Clementine's pie turned out to be quite tasty. So all in all, a grand feast.



During the course of our dinner conversation Evan insisted I had no idea what a blog was. Oh, foolish genius young physicist. He even refused to believe I had one...until he was introduced to your humble blogger's own blog on the nephew's iPhone, which you, devoted reader, are viewing yourself right now. Mega-Toastation Burn Idas!

The downside of this Epic Victory Over Evan was that he now knows I have a blog and he knows how to find it. Uh-oh.

Before we left for Dinner Evan decided to split wood. I guess it's a tradition with him or something. He went to the woodpile, which seems to get bigger every year,  and to attract piles of discarded ranch materials, but he couldn't find the sledge hammer. So no wood got split.



Running Errands

"They're very educational."
 

Cees makes his own bungee cords from worn out bicycle tires.



 

Helped the parents run errands today: Delivered frozen birds (!) to the museo, picked up the mail for a hospitalized friend, etc.

The story of the Mercedes is slowly coming out. It's a 1999 E320 that my father saw in an AutoTrader magazine. He bought it immediately, thinking the Check Engine light was unimportant. The day after he bought it he couldn't get it started. But that's not important, either, because he discovered that he can just charge up the battery whenever he wants to drive it, which is now never because the DMV took his license away. But he says he intends to drive it up and down the driveway because nobody can tell him what to do on his own property (!). Before the suspension he took it to a local mechanic who just happened to be a friend of my Sister, so we got the story backchannel: the Check Engine light revealed seven problems. Five of them were fixed and when Dad got the estimate on the other two he lost his temper and stomped off.

While driving to the Museum of Natural History today I asked him about the Check Engine light without him knowing I already had part of the history. He explained that it was for California emission controls so not only was it completely unnecessary, it wasn't important. And also the mechanic refused to fix it because it was too expensive and he couldn't change the mechanic's mind not matter what. He doesn't even know how much it was! The mechanic just wouldn't tell him!

Dad also showed me the letters from DMV informing him his license had been suspended. Bottom line: extensive written documentation of how he failed his test and describing an incident in which he "exhibited hostility" toward the evaluator after it was complete. Thankfully, he appears to be slowly coming around to the idea that his driving days are over. But he still wants to keep his "new" Mercedes.