Cannery Row

Yesterday afternoon we went down to Cannery Row for a coffee. We found a corner in the shop where we could sit by an open window overlooking the main drag, sip our coffee, and watch the world go by.  It was just one of those perfect late afternoons.

We've been having a small "heat wave" which for us is anything over 80℉.  

I'm venturing into black and white photography, along with the previously announced "project" that v and I are embarking on. I hope to have more on that in the near future.

This seagull was sharing his pole with the little Brewers Blackbirds that hang out on the row when someone with a loud rumbling engine gunned it, sending the little blackbirds off in a flurry.  

Nearby is the Cannery Row Brewing Co.  I always find their sign of hanging barrels intriguing.  

The day before we had driven up the coast to Swanton Farm to pick the ollalieberries that are now in season.  Jams, jellies, syrups, and cobblers will be on the menu.  We freeze them so we can have ollalieberry cobbler on a cold, damp winter's day.

We try to go berry picking every summer to mark the season.  This year the farmers have cleared the original fields and berry picking required a bit of a hike to the new ground.  I used to take my father up there to pick berries.  Even with his dementia he thoroughly enjoyed the outing and adventure.  He wasn't as discerning in his choice of berry, but the under-ripe ones help with the thickening of the jam and jelly.  

Quick update on v:  he is putting on weight and his energy is high.  He has five more infusions left before the next CT scan and we remain as hopeful as ever that he will continue to show improvement.  He feels he is winning this battle.  To watch him and to listen to him, it is hard to believe he is ill at all.  Only the loss of his eyebrows and lashes gives evidence.  It has been nine months of chemo.

In bocca al lupo.  m & v 

Dementia Chronicle

Today is Wednesday and dinner will be an old fashioned pot roast. I make it the way my grandmother made it; in a Dutch oven on the stovetop. My grandmother married in 1918. I come from a family who has never been in a hurry to have children. I grew up with children who's grandparents were younger than my parents. It gives me an odd generational perspective.  I was lucky that my grandmother was able to live into my high school years.

My father lived a long time as well. However, he developed dementia and a long period of my life was put on hold while I cared for him.  It was difficult caring for him.  He's been gone a little over ten years, a lot has changed since that time. A lot has been written and there are far more resources. For us, my father and I, there was little respite.  One evening on my way to work I suddenly came to the realization that the only time I was ever alone was while commuting to and from work. 

In the beginning of his descent into dementia I worked twelve hour shifts at night. He would be alone. I would call him, periodically, to check on him. There would be times when he wouldn't answer the phone for several hours, but he'd finally be there and tell me he'd been outside, or sleeping.   One evening on my way to work I realized I'd forgotten something. When I returned to our house there was a taxi waiting in the driveway and my father was just on his way out the door to greet the driver.  Upon seeing me the driver jumped back into the taxi and sped off.  It was then that I discovered he'd been going out almost every evening I worked.  I didn't know how he was paying for these taxis until my checking account started to become overdrawn.  Within the period of a month he had gone through several thousand dollars, mostly on taxi rides.  He handed them, or perhaps just her (the one who'd been waiting in the driveway that day), blank checks.  The only recognizable writing on them, of course, were his signature and the amount which was never less than five hundred dollars for, at most, a ten mile drive. The bank couldn't help me track them as they were never deposited, only cashed, and I hadn't noticed the name on the taxi not realizing what was happening at the time.  

I took him to a doctor who, after tests, called me to announce that my father had dementia and to wish me luck.  This was in the early 90's. We didn't have internet and dementia wasn't impacting the rest of the baby-boomers just yet.  In response to my questions the doctor only responded with irritation.  I developed my own do-it-yourself dementia caregiving plan.  We muddled through for the next nine years. 

Life Savers: The Salvation Army Adult Day Care Center in Seaside, California with director Vincent Raj.