How to Kill Seven Trees in Sixteen Years

The year after we moved into our house, the township planted two ash trees in the grassy strip between our front sidewalk and the street. Jim and I hired a landscape company to put more trees, two good-sized maples, in our backyard. We then bought a decorative Japanese maple tree for the front of the house and a weeping cherry for the side. We were pleased with the appearance of our collection of flora and foliage, and were excited to think about what our six trees would look like as they flourished and grew. It was the summer of 1992.

In the fall of 1993, we were dismayed to discover that our pretty Japanese maple was dying. We consulted a nursery near our house and were informed that these trees "are just difficult to grow." We left it alone, hoping that it would somehow come back to life and sprout buds the following spring. No such luck. One tree down. We eventually swapped it for another Japanese maple that also died. Today, a plum tree stands in its place.

In 1995, our weeping cherry wept for the last time. Two trees down. After we removed the unfruitful skeleton, we decided to just replace that tree with a bush. A few years later, one of our lovely maples in the backyard began to show signs of distress. Again, we checked with a local nursery only to discover that there was no cure for the ailing tree. We ended up chopping it down and using it for firewood during a camping trip. Three trees down. We replaced the maple with another one that is currently doing well. In 2001, the infamous ash borer disease struck our two awesome, 20-foot tall ash trees in our front easement. They were bare sticks by the summer of 2002, and the township ground them up into tiny chips and hauled them away. Trees four and five down.

Last year, we were disappointed when our sixth, and last, original tree started to die. We were sure that with some TLC we could nurse it back to health. To make a long story short, Jim just finished chopping up that last, sad maple tree yesterday. Six trees down. Now, I understand that the ash borer disease was beyond our control. But, our uncanny ability to choose four other trees – five, if you count our second doomed Japanese maple – that were destined to croak seems odd to me. Obviously, we do not have green thumbs, but trees are not cheap things to replace again and again. We still do not know exactly what went wrong, though we are hopeful and optimistic that all of our new replacement trees and bushes will continue to thrive.

Knock on wood.

Airport Open House

A few years back, Detroit’s airport constructed a snazzy new building to replace one of its old and obsolete terminals. Before the “McNamara Terminal” officially opened in 2002, the public was invited to an “open house” to walk around and ooh & aah at the glitzy new layout. The boys and I visited, along with Nancy and Richie. Soon afterwards, construction began on a replacement for another of our airport’s outdated terminals. On Saturday, the brand new “North Terminal” was ready for its public debut. Again, Jim, Jacob, Nancy, Richie, and I decided to attend. We arrived at the designated parking area around 1:30 p.m. There were already a lot of people there, and a looong line was forming to wait for shuttle buses that would whisk us to the new part of the airport. I barely noticed that the sun was beating down and that the line was moving excruciatingly slowly, because we were situated just east of one of DTW’s main runways, and planes were taking off almost continuously. We did, in fact, wait in that bus line for almost an hour, but I heard very few complaints because the crowd was mostly made up of aviation enthusiasts who appreciated the awesome entertainment occurring on the runway just over our shoulders. Anyway, the “open house” was fun and we gathered lots of free brochures, books, snacks, and trinkets. The new “North Terminal” is very nice, and is styled in a similar fashion to the “McNamara Terminal,” although it is a bit smaller. The high-tech features, and a myriad of stores and restaurants will, I’m sure, make it very popular with travelers. Coincidentally, the bus that we took from the parking lot over to the airport ended up being the same bus that we took back to the car after we left the “open house.” Our bus driver informed us that he is the official driver for the Plymouth Whalers hockey team, and I told him that my 19-year-old son was not with us at the airport that afternoon because he went to the 2:00 p.m. Whalers game instead. Small world.

Jacob working at gate D 17.

Now he is at Southwest Airlines.

Uh-oh! The scale said "overweight bag."

Life in the Slow Lane

Bev is kind-of-sort-of becoming accustomed to life at the senior home. I say this with an air of hesitation, though, since I actually have not been to visit her yet this week. Ok, maybe it just seems like she is finally adjusting well, only because I have not sat with her for any extended period of time lately and listened to her moan about how she “has it all together” and she “will be just fine at home.” Bev still phones me frequently asking the same things over and over and over again. I have begun to save her bizarre messages on our home answering machine and on my cell phone lest anyone doubts that she truly has Alzheimer’s disease. That way I can just hit the replay button for any skeptics and it will amaze them that I have taken care of the woman for this long and have still managed to keep my sanity intact. Bev is smoking like a chimney, not using her oxygen properly, and making rude & embarrassing comments in front of the other elderly residents. I accompanied her to the dining room for lunch last week, and when she was given her plate of food, she screeched, “Look at the sh*t they expect me to eat.” (Incidentally, she ate every last bit of the sh*t.) One of her tablemates, an adorable woman named Betty, refers to Bev as "a real hoot." Well, I imagine Bev does spice up the previously mundane mealtime conversations with some outlandish, fabricated anecdotes, punctuated by her colorful language. So goes life with a disgruntled dementia patient.

The Bear

We went camping at our farm over the weekend with 23 of our closest friends and relatives. Most of us slept in tents outdoors because, unfortunately, the farmhouse is in a pitiful state of disrepair. It does boast a toilet and running water, though, so that alone makes up for many of its inadequacies. The trip was an annual gig that our gang normally takes in July. Some members of our group have attended every trip for over 35 years. We all refer to the weekend as “The Bear,” since we often camp at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park. But, we have discovered over the past few years, if you do not make campsite reservations early enough in the season, you run the risk of ending up at the family farm, which, mercifully, is always available for our group. All 23 of us went canoeing on the Platte River Saturday and had a blast. A few people spent some of their time bike riding and others went to the beach at Lake Michigan. Five of the more adventurous folks took a grueling 4-hour hike on Sunday over the sand dunes. We had campfires each night and shared many amusing stories, often laughing hysterically. All in all, it was a great weekend, and it was nice to get away from at-home responsibilities, even if only for a few days.

Adam and Muffin hang out while the farm grass is being mowed.

The grass is finally shorter and some tents are going up.

Five fearless hikers, ready to embark on their journey.

Adam, in the black shirt, doing what he does best at the beach. Notice the dune hill off in the distance.

Adios Playset

We had the family over for a BBQ on Sunday to celebrate Jim’s, Eric’s, and Annie’s birthdays. Lots of fun, as usual! That evening, we began to disassemble our old, neglected backyard playset in order to get it ready to be hauled away by some friends. The friends have three young kids that actually want the swing set at their house, unlike Jacob, who has not used it for years. Jacob never was much of a swinger anyway. Jim and our next-door neighbor worked on disconnecting the plastic slide from the main structure and I made myself useful by wiping gross web-like larva crud off all the wooden boards. We plugged away for at least an hour and a half until it got dark. On Monday evening, Jim and Adam removed one of the main 12-foot long crossbars that held the set together. That took them about an hour and a half. We figured that it would take around 7 or 8 additional hours to finish taking the thing apart. On Tuesday, Ken, the swing set recipient, came over, and after about an hour and a half he had dismantled the entire wooden playscape and organized it into tidy stacks ready to be loaded into his vehicle. Hmmm. Well, he is an engineer, so we will just say that is the reason he was able to complete the task so quickly and efficiently. It couldn’t be that Jim, Adam, our neighbor, and I are just pathetically inept and hopelessly un-handyman-ish, could it?

Going . . .

Going . . .

Gone!

WOW - Not so Amazing

Our cable, internet, and phone have all gone kaput lately. All at the same time. More than once. And sometimes for hours at a stretch. I am beginning to think that signing up for a bundle package from one company – WOW in our case – might not have been such a swell strategy. Yesterday, for example, I was on the computer and Jacob was doing something in the family room with “The Suite Life of Zack and Cody” blaring in the background. Suddenly, I heard a loud, static-y sound and Jake, by now used to WOW conking out, just yelled matter-of-factly, “Cable’s out again.” Great – and right when I was poised to post some documents onto a website to which I contribute. My mom was trying to call me, and after repeatedly not getting through, she finally tried my cell phone, which, fortunately, was charged and working. Our WOW also went down during an Olympic gold medal ceremony that I was watching last week. Very annoying, especially because I love medal ceremonies and they do not broadcast enough of them as far as I am concerned. Oddly, Richie, who only lives a mile away from us and has the same WOW package, said he has not experienced any service interruptions. He claims that the problem, therefore, must lie with the outdoor wiring in our neighborhood. Anyway, we are notifying WOW, and Jim has threatened to deduct the outage times from our monthly payment. Which would really just make the company chuckle because so far it would amount to less than a dollar or two. But it is the principle of the thing here. I never realized how much I relied on technology until it was not available!

Father-Son Weekend Camp

Jacob and Jim arrived home from their camping trip Sunday evening after spending an extra two hours sitting in a traffic jam on the freeway. They had a wonderful weekend along with Jacob’s good friend and his dad, who coincidentally is one of my oldest buddies. The camp they attended is owned and operated by a Catholic organization, although you do not have to be particularly religious to go there. The father-son pairs participated in many organized activities together, including horseback riding, archery, swimming, and a multitude of outdoor games. And for those of you who think that Catholics do not have a sense of humor – the bathroom building at the campground was officially labeled “St. John.” After leaving the camp on Sunday, the foursome visited Fort Michilimackinac in Mackinaw City before heading home. Here are a few pictures snapped by Jim.

Jacob and his buddy at the campfire building contest. Young pyromaniacs at work!

This horse loved Jacob.

"St. John" in the distance.

A "Redcoat" at the fort.

A nice view of the Mackinac Bridge, looking north.

Busted Again

Jim, Jacob, and I dropped in to visit Bev yesterday. We could not find her in her apartment, in the dining room, or in the activity area. On a whim, we decided to check the outdoor porch, and, alas, there she sat puffing away on a cigarette. Bev admitted that Debbie had broken down, bought her a pack of smokes, and given her a lighter as well. She claimed that she had been hiding out and smoking in her bathroom until one of the patient care workers caught her. Not only has her doctor advised her not to smoke, but – hello – she is using oxygen. Plus, we can be fined $250 if she does light up inside her room. How unbelievably lame is Debbie? I cannot tell you how often Bev has phoned us recently not even being able to recall where she was or how she got there. She maintains that she will only smoke outdoors, but it is just a matter of time before she forgets that, too. The staff is aware that she has cigarettes and a lighter in her apartment, and they realize that Jim and I do not trust her with anything that can be lit, yet they permit her to keep her stash. I spoke with Bev’s doctor on Wednesday, and he confirmed that her oxygen level is so low that a combination of smoking and not using her oxygen regularly will ultimately shut down her organs. So, besides worrying about that, I will also have to fret that all of the sweet senior citizens that we have come to know will be rendered homeless when Bev blows up the extended care facility. Can anyone control this woman?

P.S. Jim and Jacob left for a weekend father/son camping trip on Friday afternoon, so I hope to have news and pictures of their adventures soon.

Jacob Kicks Butt at Senior Bingo

We moved Bev into the extended care facility on Saturday. Her furniture is filthy and reeks of stale smoke, but she insists on having her own things there. We reluctantly brought her favorite chair, even though it is truly repulsive and it does have a 5”x 5” burn hole in it where her cigarette started a small fire when she fell asleep one day. After we checked Bev into her apartment, she easily wheeled her new walker to the dining room for lunch. She also willingly agreed to attend bingo later that afternoon, and Jacob accompanied her to the activity room. While there, the activity director invited Jacob to join the seniors. Jim and I eventually went to track them down, and found Jacob sitting at Bev’s table with his own bingo cards and a bucket of bingo chips. He had a rollicking time playing, the old folks loved his enthusiasm, and he won $2.00 – at 25 cents a victory. They informed me that Jacob is welcome at senior bingo any time, even though he won about half of the games. We ended up spending a large part of our Saturday with Bev - over 6 hours! After we left, she called us ten times wondering why we hadn’t picked her up yet from “the motel.” Apparently, she also phoned Debbie, accusing her of not telling her anything and demanding some cigarettes. Bev tends to get more confused and extra agitated in the evening, which is a phenomenon with Alzheimer’s patients commonly known as “Sundowning.”

When we returned to visit Bev on Sunday, she was crabby. We stayed for over 2 hours, and when we got up to go she sarcastically thanked us for “leaving her in hell.” Jim became angry and began lecturing her about how she never used to eat or take her meds at home, and how she has never had any interests outside of gambling anyway. She just whined about having nothing to do, and we immediately countered her grumbling by reading aloud the extensive list of activities available for her. She moaned about not wanting to do any of that stuff, which did not surprise us in the least, since she has been that way her entire life. So, does anyone have a copy of Tolerating the Irritable Senior for Dummies?

Disaster Averted

On Tuesday, we finally chose an extended care “residence” (their word, not ours) for Bev. We picked out one of the available apartments there, and then began the preliminary steps for discharge from the rehab place. Which, unbeknown to us, has ended up being quite an extensive procedure. Even lengthier, however, is the process to get into the new place. Besides filling out mounds of paperwork and securing numerous doctor signatures, we had to arrange for Bev to undergo an “interview” to make sure that she would be “a good fit for the extended care community.” Yikes! An interview!? I really sweated that one out all day long today. I just imagined the stories that Bev might tell the folks from the new senior place. I worried that she would possibly use some colorful language or even tell them all where to go. And I thought for sure that she would inform them that she had no intention of living at their @*%#& facility. Apparently, all went well because she was accepted this afternoon and can move in on Saturday. WHEW! We have been attempting to clean some of the furniture (*gag*) at her house and plan to move it into the new apartment tomorrow. Along with all of the other paraphernalia that emphysema-riddled, Alzheimer’s patients need. I will try to remember to snap some photos at Bev's new place this weekend. I only hope that she doesn’t despise it too much.

Bev Almost Gets the Boot

Bev’s Alzheimer’s disease has been diagnosed as late-stage. The neuropsychologist that I spoke with explained that Bev’s quick decline was due to a number of factors, including lack of oxygen, improper nutrition, extreme fragility, improper medications, and her fall. Ever since that diagnosis was made two weeks ago, though, Bev has made some pretty impressive progress. She is no longer delusional, although she is still very forgetful and quite confused. She has been prescribed a myriad of medications that I think are partially responsible for her improvement, but we still plan to request a re-evaluation of her Alzheimer’s since it does seems to be more middle-stage now.

To add to our daily fun, the rehab place called late Saturday afternoon to inform us that Bev was set to be released on Sunday. HUH?! I had recently attended a meeting with all of her caregivers, and it had been determined that she still required weeks of physical therapy in order to do simple things – like say, walk, for example. Jim and I rushed up to the nursing facility and had a discussion with the social worker who had just phoned. She said that Bev’s Medicare only covered 20 days of skilled care, so we would have to either a) pick her up the next morning, or b) pay $206 per day out of pocket if she stayed. To make a long story short, I met with someone there today and resolved the Medicare issue. Most of the blame for the mix-up lies with Jim’s sister, Debbie, as the rehab place mailed some materials to her house instead of ours, and she just threw everything away without opening it. (Not the first time this has happened; she once pitched a $2,000 insurance check unopened into the trash because she "didn't recognize the return address!") Jim, Debbie, and Jay had hoped that Bev would eventually be able to return home, but realize now that she really does need 24-hour care. This became apparent to them when it was established that the three of them would be the main parties responsible for providing this daily supervision. The fact that it would include dressing her, giving her meds three times a day, making her meals, assisting her in the bathroom (eeew!), and taking turns sleeping over at her house proved to be a bit more than any of them bargained for. We have looked at so many assisted living residences lately that our heads are spinning. I guess we will be choosing one any day now. And if anyone ever needs assistance in securing living arrangements for an elderly friend or relative, just ask us. We have become somewhat-reluctant, yet well-informed experts in the field of senior care.