Every time I encounter a glitch, curiosity or system problem in any of my electronics I identify with Alice In Wonderland as she fell down, down into the rabbit hole finding herself in a world that made no sense and for which she was ill equipped to negotiate.
If you do not have the pleasure of knowing me you will not know that I am famous for buying a pig in a poke or, if you are not rural enough to understand that phrase, I am impulsive. Impulsive in spite of the many scenes of carnage scattered behind me from previous impulsiveness. Impulsiveness disguises itself as the brilliant deductions of a quick minded intelligent person. Or so it seems to those of us who possess this trait, in the face of all evidence to the contrary.
This is precisely the position I find myself in at the moment. I lost a phone. My phone to be specific and, though I complained about it, the phone worked and I could use it. I could use it because I had used that same type of system for years. The operating system operated as I anticipated because I did not know what operating system operated the phone. It was a given. It was one of those functions I expected to perform without a thought on my part. To be fair to myself I could have found the name of the operating system if I needed to know it. I did not, however, understand that one operating system can be quite different from the other nor did I pay attention to what I did know. I did know that operating systems are not always compatible. But the ones I used always seemed to like each other well enough so, like the renowned fictional character Scarlett O'Hara, I would think about that tomorrow. This is where I will admit that impulsive behavior operates out of a fictional assumption that things will always work out right in the end. At the time of making a decision based on that assumption I am blind to the assumption. At times I will sense a gut instinct that I am in dangerous territory but I scoff at that instinct. Remember, impulsive behavior operates on the belief that it is birthed from a quick-minded intelligent person. Which is exactly why I have spent an inordinate amount of time looking for a VPN for my new Windows based phone with the latest update.
There I said it and I cannot take it back. I bought a Windows based phone. For people who understand operating systems and acronyms of the electronic world and navigate from one system to the other this is not an alarming confession. I am not of that ilk. Every setting that needs adjusting is a lesson in extensive research for me. And so it is with my search for a VPN number.
I am going on the assumption that the internet article from Windows explaining why I am having difficulty sending text messages on my Windows based phone with the new, miracle update is accurate. I am pretending that I have a clue about MMS and cellular something or other. I have had multiple windows open on my laptop. My search has led me to a site from Microsoft who owns the Windows operating system and now all I have to do is understand the therory of relativity in conjunction with world peace and the mechanics behind a thermal nuclear reactor and I will have my precious VPN number. It will then, after multiple inputs and configurations, allow me to send text messages without interruption. The thingy will know when the something or other is going to block a text message from being sent and jump right over that block, which will still happen, and make a connection allowing my important, critical text message stating, "K" to be sent.
None of this would be an issue if I had paid attention to the "windows based" comment the sales person made when I bought my phone. I heard the comment. It was made in passing because the sales person was one of the chosen ones who is not intimidated by such verbiage. I laughed a cunning and intelligent laugh and impulsively bought and paid for a windows based phone. That is why I am looking for a VPN number which will allow the jump over the block and connect me whenever I need to be connected. And I so need to be connected.
If you need to contact me dial 1-800-Looking For A VPN! !
Monday, June 26, 2017
Saturday, June 17, 2017
I Hang My Hat
My large, orange cat just dashed across my chest and onto the arm of the couch. He started to scratch the couch arm, made the motion but kept just above the material. Watching him I realized that all the emphasis we have placed on stopping him from scratching the arm of the couch has finally made a mark stronger than the instinctual mark he has to scratch the fabric. Because he is a cat and a strong willed cat, even for a cat, I was caught off-guard by his choice not to follow through. I anticipated flailing arms at him, saying no firmly and with a loud voice, yelling no in a frustrated, human way that cats bring to the forefront of our natures and maybe the need for the occasional spraying of water while making noises of disapproval. Instead he placed himself squarely on the arm of the couch, stretched out one leg towards me and fell asleep. If I were not on the laptop he would make the extra effort to place his paw on my arm or my side. He likes a small area of contact. He rarely chooses to curl up in our laps or to be held.
His name is Tigger. He was adopted by a family who was not prepared to care for him and who ultimately chose to let him go. He was skittish from having been handled and chased after by children. He wanted a home. He settled in with our other two cats without challenging the hierarchy cats establish in their shared worlds. Tigger often seemed invisible. He was quiet and found places to be out of the activity of our home. He was at home though and he shared that impression by claiming space.
Time passed. We took in another cat. Our family of adopted cats now stood at four and we decided that was our limit. The entire "adopt a cat" process began as a response from me to the loss of our dachshund. His death was preceded by the death of our two cats, Rico and Sugar. Sonny, the dog of my life, left a hole the size of a passel of animals in my heart. Still there was no plan to have animals for awhile. I went to Pet Smart just to be around animal stuff and met Max, who became our first adopted cat. Then there was Zeus, then Tigger and then Kitty-Kitty. If we had planned on an animal it would have been a dog. Four cats were not on our list. Little did we know that four cats were perfect for what was to come in our lives.
I don't remember now when my husband began to show signs of the rare and elusive disease known as Frontal Temporal Degeneration. I suspect there were signs long before the symptoms that were obvious and demanded attention. Time has passed and the symptoms have morphed and morphed and they will morph again. I am a full time caregiver and my husband is confined to our home. Our routine is varied and each day is unpredictable yet mundane. But one thing is clear to both of us. We would not be able to look after the needs of a dog. I could not be sure that I could walk him as needed and we never know if stays in a hospital or home are on the horizon. It is evident that four cats are great company, aggravating and, I won't argue, more than a little over the top. I will never know if adopting these feline creatures made any sense at all. Once an animal becomes a part of our family that question has no bearing on whether they will remain a member of our family. It is understood by all of us that we are under the till death do us part commitment.
When Tigger chose not to scratch the couch and to take a nice long nap instead I realized how far he has come since moving here. He chooses, at times, to be near and to fling himself across me or to jump into the middle of my chest,nuzzle my face and zip off on a mission that is entirely secret. He also chooses to hibernate in my bedroom for hours at a time and, once in a rare moment of complete abandon, he will groom and be groomed by one of the other cats.
At a time when our lives are dominated by so much that is out of our control and by the tedious day in and day out of caregiving these cats participate in the journey. They are, for the most part, self-sufficient yet needing affection on their terms. We are, for the most part are self-sufficient and need to be needed when allowed.
Love works in mysterious ways. It comes to us in moments and in ways we least anticipate. It is on this belief that I hang my hat.
His name is Tigger. He was adopted by a family who was not prepared to care for him and who ultimately chose to let him go. He was skittish from having been handled and chased after by children. He wanted a home. He settled in with our other two cats without challenging the hierarchy cats establish in their shared worlds. Tigger often seemed invisible. He was quiet and found places to be out of the activity of our home. He was at home though and he shared that impression by claiming space.
Time passed. We took in another cat. Our family of adopted cats now stood at four and we decided that was our limit. The entire "adopt a cat" process began as a response from me to the loss of our dachshund. His death was preceded by the death of our two cats, Rico and Sugar. Sonny, the dog of my life, left a hole the size of a passel of animals in my heart. Still there was no plan to have animals for awhile. I went to Pet Smart just to be around animal stuff and met Max, who became our first adopted cat. Then there was Zeus, then Tigger and then Kitty-Kitty. If we had planned on an animal it would have been a dog. Four cats were not on our list. Little did we know that four cats were perfect for what was to come in our lives.
I don't remember now when my husband began to show signs of the rare and elusive disease known as Frontal Temporal Degeneration. I suspect there were signs long before the symptoms that were obvious and demanded attention. Time has passed and the symptoms have morphed and morphed and they will morph again. I am a full time caregiver and my husband is confined to our home. Our routine is varied and each day is unpredictable yet mundane. But one thing is clear to both of us. We would not be able to look after the needs of a dog. I could not be sure that I could walk him as needed and we never know if stays in a hospital or home are on the horizon. It is evident that four cats are great company, aggravating and, I won't argue, more than a little over the top. I will never know if adopting these feline creatures made any sense at all. Once an animal becomes a part of our family that question has no bearing on whether they will remain a member of our family. It is understood by all of us that we are under the till death do us part commitment.
When Tigger chose not to scratch the couch and to take a nice long nap instead I realized how far he has come since moving here. He chooses, at times, to be near and to fling himself across me or to jump into the middle of my chest,nuzzle my face and zip off on a mission that is entirely secret. He also chooses to hibernate in my bedroom for hours at a time and, once in a rare moment of complete abandon, he will groom and be groomed by one of the other cats.
At a time when our lives are dominated by so much that is out of our control and by the tedious day in and day out of caregiving these cats participate in the journey. They are, for the most part, self-sufficient yet needing affection on their terms. We are, for the most part are self-sufficient and need to be needed when allowed.
Love works in mysterious ways. It comes to us in moments and in ways we least anticipate. It is on this belief that I hang my hat.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Any Landing
I worked at a military base for 29 years. They repaired military
aircraft. One of the sayings I heard was, “Any landing you can walk away
from is a good landing.”
I was reminded of that saying today as I guided my husband to the part of the couch where he sits to take his meals. When I prop him up with pillows so that he can reach his tray to eat he often begins to lean to his right. Slowly but surely he is eating from an awkward angle, doesn’t say a word, just keeps on trying to eat. After months and months of doing this same thing over and over I finally came to the bright idea that if he sat in the right hand corner of the sofa the problem would be fixed. Voila! Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing. Once more I saw the wisdom of accepting circumstances and being blind to obvious solutions and finding it hilariously funny once recognized. Then I wonder how many other processes I am complicating when a simple “move to a corner” will fix the problem.
Navigating a wheelchair offers ample opportunities to use the landing saying. Most offices have wheelchairs and all doorways are wide enough to negotiate but the darn entrance is raised up just enough to catch the wheelchair in mid-roll. My poor husband has been shaken, jostled, and frightened by those moments. I do so well with helping him out of the car and getting him into the wheel chair. I learned to pull the wheelchair backwards over obvious obstacles. I did not learn how to get up enough steam to make it over some of the higher obstacles. Therefore I begin with a high degree of confidence and end snagged on the door jamb. Robert experiences being flung around in a wheelchair, being pulled backwards with all the energy I can muster and then snagging with a jolt on the darn golden colored door thingy. Robert loses his cool. It could be the sheer terror of almost being thrown out of the wheelchair. Every time someone eventually comes and helps pull my husband over the door jam. It is rarely graceful and often embarrassing but we make it. I think about the landing we just walked away from. How scary it must feel to be moving backwards with your seat beginning to tilt you backwards and suddenly realizing the person pulling you is out of control. I don’t bring up the “any landing…” saying at those times. I stay quiet. I got smarts real good.
I am clumsy. I trip over a shadow. It is an inherited family trait. There is no clear reason why I do not fall at least once every day. I am exhausted from caregiving and exhausted from thinking and I move like a character in an old black and white picture show. I trip, stumble, catch my foot on a towel or a shoestring or a blank space on the floor that looked like something to me. This goes on all day. The two of us undoubtedly were meant to be together. Robert watches me from the corner of his eyes. I wonder what he is thinking. I never know because he has perfected the phrase, “Oh nothing, dear!” He has smarts real good too.
Most of our days now we are flying by the seat of our pants. We have never been on this path before. Each day begins with a look around and questions about how he feels and how I feel and what’s for breakfast. Each change in symptoms has a meaning but we do not know what kind of a meaning. So we go along as best we can with the day ahead and our minds half in the drama and half on the t.v. We rarely discuss the future. Heck, we do not have a clue about the future. What, when, where and how are speculations that hang in the air. They annoy us. There is no rhyme nor reason to the pattern of symptoms or to the remarkably good days when it seems all is well. We fly along together dodging first one thing and then the other. I daydream and he sits staring ahead with the FTD stare. His face is in a grimace. He seems in pain but he is not in pain. We land. I help him get up and out and he goes off to take a nap. He stumbles. I gasp. He is in bed. I trip over a shoe while grabbing a chair to stay upright. Whew, I think as I narrowly escape a cat barreling by me chasing one of the “unseen” things in our house. The cats see them. I try to get out of the way. All of us, the entire family are just grateful to be here and to keep it simple. Real simple. “Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.”
Flying the friendly skies of FTD. It is not for the faint of heart!
I was reminded of that saying today as I guided my husband to the part of the couch where he sits to take his meals. When I prop him up with pillows so that he can reach his tray to eat he often begins to lean to his right. Slowly but surely he is eating from an awkward angle, doesn’t say a word, just keeps on trying to eat. After months and months of doing this same thing over and over I finally came to the bright idea that if he sat in the right hand corner of the sofa the problem would be fixed. Voila! Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing. Once more I saw the wisdom of accepting circumstances and being blind to obvious solutions and finding it hilariously funny once recognized. Then I wonder how many other processes I am complicating when a simple “move to a corner” will fix the problem.
Navigating a wheelchair offers ample opportunities to use the landing saying. Most offices have wheelchairs and all doorways are wide enough to negotiate but the darn entrance is raised up just enough to catch the wheelchair in mid-roll. My poor husband has been shaken, jostled, and frightened by those moments. I do so well with helping him out of the car and getting him into the wheel chair. I learned to pull the wheelchair backwards over obvious obstacles. I did not learn how to get up enough steam to make it over some of the higher obstacles. Therefore I begin with a high degree of confidence and end snagged on the door jamb. Robert experiences being flung around in a wheelchair, being pulled backwards with all the energy I can muster and then snagging with a jolt on the darn golden colored door thingy. Robert loses his cool. It could be the sheer terror of almost being thrown out of the wheelchair. Every time someone eventually comes and helps pull my husband over the door jam. It is rarely graceful and often embarrassing but we make it. I think about the landing we just walked away from. How scary it must feel to be moving backwards with your seat beginning to tilt you backwards and suddenly realizing the person pulling you is out of control. I don’t bring up the “any landing…” saying at those times. I stay quiet. I got smarts real good.
I am clumsy. I trip over a shadow. It is an inherited family trait. There is no clear reason why I do not fall at least once every day. I am exhausted from caregiving and exhausted from thinking and I move like a character in an old black and white picture show. I trip, stumble, catch my foot on a towel or a shoestring or a blank space on the floor that looked like something to me. This goes on all day. The two of us undoubtedly were meant to be together. Robert watches me from the corner of his eyes. I wonder what he is thinking. I never know because he has perfected the phrase, “Oh nothing, dear!” He has smarts real good too.
Most of our days now we are flying by the seat of our pants. We have never been on this path before. Each day begins with a look around and questions about how he feels and how I feel and what’s for breakfast. Each change in symptoms has a meaning but we do not know what kind of a meaning. So we go along as best we can with the day ahead and our minds half in the drama and half on the t.v. We rarely discuss the future. Heck, we do not have a clue about the future. What, when, where and how are speculations that hang in the air. They annoy us. There is no rhyme nor reason to the pattern of symptoms or to the remarkably good days when it seems all is well. We fly along together dodging first one thing and then the other. I daydream and he sits staring ahead with the FTD stare. His face is in a grimace. He seems in pain but he is not in pain. We land. I help him get up and out and he goes off to take a nap. He stumbles. I gasp. He is in bed. I trip over a shoe while grabbing a chair to stay upright. Whew, I think as I narrowly escape a cat barreling by me chasing one of the “unseen” things in our house. The cats see them. I try to get out of the way. All of us, the entire family are just grateful to be here and to keep it simple. Real simple. “Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.”
Flying the friendly skies of FTD. It is not for the faint of heart!
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