On This Date in 1999 (March 5)

Sandy and Charles

I think Andy’s basketball season last one weekend too long. His team is scheduled to play in a tournament this weekend, starting late this afternoon. On Wednesday, we learned that only four other teams will be participating. It hardly seems worth the effort. All the teams play against each other, and then the top two teams will play a championship game on Sunday afternoon. Although Andy plays only one game today, three games are scheduled for tomorrow. At 10:00, noon, and 3:00. After last weekend’s exciting Tri-County tournament, which Middleton won convincingly, anything else seems anti-climactic. If the boys make it to the championship, I won’t be able to see the game, as the library initiates Sunday hours on the 7th. I scheduled myself to work the first three Sundays of operation, both to work at the reference desk and get a feel as to how things go. We are expecting to be extremely busy. People in the community seem to be very excited about these expanded hours.

Sitting:  Carole, JoAnna, Paul

Standing:  Ruth, Mim

On Wednesday, just before taxiing Andy to basketball practice, he asked me, “Dad, how many times a week do we have supper as a family?”

“Oh, probably two or three times,” I answered, without giving my answer a whole lot of thought.

But I did wonder, “Why is he asking me this question?”

Later that evening, I picked up a copy of the Elm Lawn newsletter that he brought home. It was just a single sheet of paper with short articles printed on both sides. The one that caught my eye: How Often Families Eat Dinner Together.

Nights per week:

• Seven 22% 
• Five or six 30% 
• Three or four 26% 
• One or two 17% 
• None 5% 

So then I thought about it. Today (Wednesday) is a no. JoAnna’s at an Airport Commission meeting, and I got home from the library too late to fix a meal for the boys and me. Tuesday is my evening to work. I usually spend two hours at home in the middle of the afternoon to break up a long (11-hour) workday, but since I have to be on the reference desk at 5:00, a family supper is not an option. On Monday, JoAnna fixed chicken cacciatore in the crockpot – and almost didn’t make it home in time. Though a bit rushed, it was a family meal. ONE. JoAnna and I attended my cousin Charles’s wedding late Sunday afternoon, leaving the boys to fend for themselves. Following Andy’s championship game on Saturday afternoon, the family went to Culver’s for an early supper before 5 o’clock mass at St. Bernard’s. TWO. Friday evening, in Mount Horeb, where the basketball tournament was held, JoAnna and Eddie and I went out for supper at the Main Street Bar & Grill between games. The coaches wanted to keep the boys at the school. Outside of Crandall’s take-out, it was the first fish fry we had in quite some time. Thursday. I can’t remember that far back. Wait a minute. I think it’s coming into focus. Another crockpot meal. Stew meat simmered in cream of mushroom soup served over noodles, family style – literally. THREE. 

Sitting:  Shirley, Ruth, Carole

Standing:  Don

Perhaps you’d like to read more about last weekend’s basketball tournament. The four best teams in the two 5th grade leagues were matched up. Middleton handily won both its games Friday evening, 51-37 against Stoughton, and 37-28 against Waunakee, two victories which put them in the championship game against Sauk Prairie, the team that tagged Middleton with its only loss, one of their first games of the season. There was electricity in the air of the gym Saturday afternoon. The bleachers may not have been packed, but both teams drew large and vociferous contingents. Except for the last minute of the game, it was a see-saw battle, the fans loudly applauding each team’s good plays and generally screaming encouragement. With Middleton leading by two points with 1:00 showing on the clock, our guys scored six unanswered points. Andy scored a critical basket on a fast break, which put Middleton up 31-25 with 20 seconds left. The crowd acted as though it was at the Kohl Center for the NCAA finals. But it was one of the most truly exciting sports contests I have ever watched, and I don’t just say that because Andy was part of it, although I can’t deny that our son’s presence certainly gave the game an extra edge. Everyone was breathless by the time the final buzzer sounded, the fans more so than the players. I wish someone had videotaped this game. Even after-the-fact, you could have felt the intensity. You would have also been very proud to see how well Andy played. He has very noticeably improved his game this season. 

My cousin Charles, Lila’s son, who is 62 years old, got married for the second time last Sunday at Bethel Lutheran Church in Madison. JoAnna and I were expecting a short, informal service, but it turned out to be a musical extravaganza. Charles is an accomplished organist and composed much of the music for the ceremony. My cousin Mim, from Beloit, sang five different songs at various intervals. (She also sang at our wedding.) There was a reception in the church basement afterwards. Both Lila and Signe (two of my dad’s sisters) did not recognize JoAnna or me. In fact, Lila chillingly reminded me of my dad. Her face has the same mask-like appearance that my dad now wears because of Parkinson’s. Lila must be similarly affected. Ruth, my dad’s youngest sister, is, at 84, as spry and vivacious as ever. She’s the only child of Herman and Anna who still has all her marbles, so to speak. I don’t mean to sound disrespectful. As they say, sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying. 

Genevieve and Tom

According to Mom’s recent letters, Dad’s situation continues to deteriorate. He is sleeping more now, which, in a way, is a blessing for her. He’s very contrary; he won’t listen to her when she tells him to do something and will occasionally try to hit her. Once in awhile he’ll lose his balance because of this uncharacteristic movement and fall. Being a fulltime homecare provider is taking an even bigger toll on her now. It may sound like a horrible thing to say, but she seems to be getting to the point now where she thinks Dad would be better off dead. And I can understand that. Physically and mentally, there is very little left of Dad. In her latest letter, Mom says she tries to concentrate on the 50 good years of their relationship and not the stress and sadness and loneliness of the past five. I’m sure Mom often feels like a prisoner in her own house. She doesn’t get a whole lot of help, even from Larry, Barb, and Dale. And maybe I’d tune out of this situation if I lived in Warren. 

Enough depressing stuff. 

The boys and I are doing an instant replay of last year’s spring break. Since JoAnna is unable to get away for an entire week, having just started her new job in the Department of Justice, I decided a visit to Warren was in order since we may not have an opportunity to do so this summer. We’ll leave Middleton around noon on Friday, March 26th – the boys being able to leave school early – and drive as far as a Holidome in South Bend or Fort Wayne. I’m sure it will be a quiet visit in Warren, which is now or has never has been a happenin’ place. The boys and I will sleep at Larry and Kim’s cabin, which means they’ll be able to stay up late watching TV without disturbing Grandpa. We’ll begin our return trip on Thursday and spend a couple day in Chicago. I bought tickets for a Bulls game on Friday, April 2nd. Plenty of cheap seats are available now that Michael Jordan has retired. I’d also like to take the boys to the Art Institute, which I think Eddie would really enjoy. Otherwise, our itinerary is still in the formative stages. 

JoAnna is flying out to Pennsylvania for Julieanna’s christening. She’ll leave Thursday after work and return late Sunday evening. The plane ticket costs $300, but then Madison to Allentown requires two stopovers, I think. At the same time, she bought our tickets for the Louisiana trip. The total: just over $1,000, which I think is very reasonable for the four of us. We leave on a Wednesday and return on Tuesday. This will be a short (thin?) vacation that will likely be sandwiched between the end of Andy’s baseball and the beginning of his football seasons. 

I got a call from Andy’s teacher yesterday. She was very concerned about the irresponsible attitude he’s been developing lately, over the last couple weeks, specifically. I mentioned that JoAnna and I were concerned, too. All of a sudden, he didn’t have any homework. “I did that at school,” he would say whenever we pushed for details. As it turns out, he was blowing everything off – not completing classwork, not noting assignments in his homework folder, not returning school library materials when asked. As a result, he was given an in-school suspension yesterday, with my blessing, on a day when the rest of his class went on a field trip to the Madison Civic Center to see a play about Thomas Edison. That consequence provided Andy with a much-needed slap in the face. I talked with Mrs. Ball again this morning, and she reported an immediate improvement in Andy’s attitude. I scheduled a conference with her for next Wednesday, since I felt very strongly the need for a face-to-face followup. Andy, of course, will be included in our discussion, since this is all about him.

The weather turned nasty today. We might have as much as five inches of snow on the ground tomorrow morning. The trip to Oregon, for game one of Andy’s basketball tournament, took twice as long as usual. They crushed a Madison team, 55-8, Andy scoring 8 points, coming this close (||) from a breakaway game for him, i.e. 16 points.

On This Date in 1999 (January 22)

It 5:15 on a Friday afternoon, what a great time of the week, especially when I can look over the past five days and feel that I accomplished everything I wanted to do. At least at work, that is. The house is in a state of disarray, a situation JoAnna and I will probably address tomorrow. Now that both boys come home right after school, they have more time to trash the place, legos here, toy soldiers there, the signs of their presence everywhere. “Clean up this mess!” is an order that JoAnna and I frequently bark.

The house was quiet when I returned home from the library, which struck me as odd since both boys were supposed to be here. They didn’t run off somewhere, to Meaghan’s house, I wondered. 

Walking through the living room, I noticed that the bathroom door was closed. As I knocked, I announced my presence,

“Hello, I’m home. Who’s in there?”

“It’s me, Dad,” Andy replied.

“Where’s Eddie?” I asked.

“In the bathroom,” I thought he said.

“What Eddie doing in there?” I demanded, my hand about to reach for the door handle.

“In the back room,” he said, carefully enunciating the last two words.

“I didn’t see him there.”

“Well, maybe he’s in the other bathroom.”

That’s where he was.

Eddie called out to me as I walked back into the kitchen. Then he started to describe the details of a picture of an airplane in a book that he was browsing through. His voice was muffled so I couldn’t hear every word he spoke, so I resorted to standard responses like “That’s interesting” or “Cool!”

JoAnna’s had a busy day. In fact, she’s had a busy week. In fact, she’s been very busy ever since she agreed to plan Shirley Abrahamson’s re-election campaign to the Wisconsin Supreme Court. You should be very proud of your daughter. Her name is always at the top of the list of progressive candidates when a campaign manager position needs to be filled. Both Russ Feingold and Rick Phelps wanted her to take on that responsibility in their respective campaigns, i.e. Senate re-election and 2nd Congressional election. She declined both times because she knew she’d have no family life. It was the right decision – both times. In this case, though, JoAnna is freelancing, signing on for three weeks, although I wouldn’t be surprised if Shirley extends her contract for a week or two. So far, JoAnna hasn’t heard anything from the Department of Justice regarding the Legislative Liaison position, which has her name written all over it. Jim Doyle told her that the position wouldn’t be filled until sometime in March.

I just returned from dropping off Andy at his basketball practice. Eddie’s in the bathroom again. I hope everything’s OK. JoAnna and I came down with colds last weekend. Both of us had scratchy throats Saturday morning and from there it progressed to an achy body and runny nose. Neither of us missed any work this week, although I was definitely still on the mend on Monday. Since Tuesday, I’ve just been waiting for my head to clear. I think I have another day or two to reach that goal. Andy stayed home from school Wednesday morning. He was in an ornery mood on Tuesday, probably due to his feeling out of sorts. He wouldn’t get out of bed for band practice, which starts at 7:20 at Kromrey Middle School. We may have been a little harsh with him considering the circumstances, at least from the vantage point of the end of the week, but JoAnna and I told him – no band, no Playstation for a week. We also had an argument over bringing his trumpet home from school, which he routinely refused to do.

“I don’t like carrying it,” he regularly complains.

We talk to him about responsibility, following through on commitments he has made, which probably sounds like so much blah blah blah to him. Maybe not, though. During a Tuesday afternoon outburst, while I was home during a late afternoon break from a long day at the library, Andy was sent to his room and ended up tidying up the bookcase headboard of his captain’s bed. 

He’s still reachable, I told myself. He’s not a teenager yet, in mind or spirit.

Eddie participated in his second annual Pinewood Derby last night. Once again our model couldn’t sprint to the finish line. We were one ounce above the five-ounce legal limit, and it showed in the home stretch. We always got off to a good start on the slope but ran out of gas on the flat homestretch. Once again, Eddie won “Best Overall Design, which I think should go to Dad. I admit that Eddie created his design on paper, but I sawed and sanded the block, and then reminded Eddie every day for ten days, “You need to put the primer coat of paint on your car,” “You need to paint your car,” “You need to put the decals on your car.” “You need to put the wheels on your car.” 

“Dad, you’re taking this too serious,” was his usual response.

Not as serious as many other dads, it appeared to me as I saw the line-up of cars on weigh-in day. Our entry was the result of two to three hours of work. Some of the cars, though, looked as though they had been designed by professionals, untold hours of planning, design, and development.

I’m sure you’re eager to hear about the weather in Wisconsin. Earlier this week, we had close to a foot of snow on the ground, which since Wednesday has dissolved to half that depth due to a couple days of rain. Everything looks so ugly now. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d actually prefer another foot of snow. It’s Wisconsin. It’s January. I can live with it. For this weekend, the weather sounds like it can’t make up its mind, a mixture of rain and snow in the forecast.

News flash. I just realized that my parents’ anniversary – their 54th – is on the 26th, just four days away. I haven’t bought them a card, so any greeting from us won’t arrive on time, so I’ll have to make sure I order flowers tomorrow. This anniversary offers an interesting perspective. Four years ago, on my parents’ golden anniversary, the celebration was kept lowkey, since by that time, the Parkinson’s had kept my dad pretty much housebound. I know the members of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church, my dad’s parish for 24 years, would have loved to honor my parents with a reception, but Dad was already past the point of dealing with crowds of people.

I did a little research on Parkinson’s after we returned from our recent trip to Warren. It said that those who suffer from this disease can only focus on one activity at a time. For example, this morning, while I was brushing my teeth, I noticed some hairs of JoAnna’s in the sink, so without stopping the movement of my right arm, I grabbed a kleenex with my left hand and wiped the sink clean. Someone with Parkinson’s can’t do that. I suppose it’s the same with conversations and room noise. If there is numerous conversations going on at one time or people talking with the TV droning in the background, nothing makes sense. This, of course, is a layman’s interpretation of a disease I don’t know that much about. A few weeks ago, I kept asking myself, “What really goes on inside the mind of a Parkinson’s sufferer?”, as I observed Dad in his pitifully debilitated state. So far I haven’t been able to find much about someone who is an advanced stage of the disease, which is definitely where my dad is.

On This Date in 1999 (January 2, Part 2)

We’ve been home almost 24 hours and still don’t have all of our suitcases unpacked. At least the van has been emptied and cleaned out. Our focus last night was the Rose Bowl game. Plus JoAnna was eager to get our kitchen cupboards and drawers reorganized as a result of our Christmas bonanza: new dishes, silverware, glasses, plasticware, etc. This morning Andy played his first basketball game of the season, giving us another reason to postpone putting our clothes away. This afternoon, JoAnna cleaned out and rearranged the rest of the kitchen cupboards, and I wrote a letter to my parents after going grocery shopping, something -- the shopping -- I wanted to do last night, but none of the local grocery stores were opened after 5:00. Since I didn’t want to make sandwiches out of a two-and-a-half-week-old loaf of bread (no mold in evidence), I ended up calling Pizza Hut. They could have doubled their prices last night and still done a land-office business. I was surprised they were able to deliver in less than 40 minutes.

Right now Andy and Eddie are with the Johnson boys, Alex and Rex. Both Meaghan and Matt were busy, a situation that Andy didn’t seem to mind as soon as I hooked up his Playstation unit to the family room TV. In a way, I was surprised he accepted Rex’s invitation to play. Real people, real activity are still an important part of his life. I would have been concerned if the video game had caused him to tune everything else out all afternoon.

During his basketball game, Andy didn’t look like he spent most of his Christmas vacation in a reclining position watching TV. He scored 2 points and grabbed 5 rebounds, contributing to a convincing 40-19 victory over a smaller Verona team. His team plays again tomorrow at 3:30. Isn’t that during the Packer game?

We had a wonderful visit in Pennsylvania, even though my dad really wasn’t a part of it. As a cousin of mine who visited my parents in October wrote on her Christmas card, “Parkinson’s is a cruel disease.” Not so much for the victim but for the family that has to watch this inexorably slow physical and mental deterioration. It breaks my heart to see my dad slumped in a chair, unconscious (I’m not sure if I can call it sleep), all day long, as he was this past Wednesday. Thursday he was more alert, which meant that he stayed awake for most of the day and even seemed to be following the storyline of The Glenn Miller Story, the movie JoAnna and I were watching on TV. At least his eyes were open and his face looked as though he was aware of his surroundings. After dinner, he spent an hour studying a pair of Andy’s wind pants that he had found on the living room carpet. Maybe the smooth, cool feel of the fabric fascinated him. He even attempted to put them on. JoAnna, Kim, Larry, Dale, Mom, and I were sitting around the dining room table and couldn’t help but laugh. Not out of cruelty. More to mask the pain of what has happened to this once vital and intelligent man. When we left the house Thursday night, our final departure, I had the sense that Dad didn’t know who I was as I bent down to kiss his cheek and squeeze his shoulder. Mom does her best to take care of him. Her biggest frustration and loss is not being able to communicate with her husband anymore. I wish I could remember just how she phrased it to me one day during our visit. His contributions to a conversation are surreal. One night he seemed to be counseling someone about the appropriateness of a home funeral. It had nothing to do with the lively chatter that the rest of us made It’s very likely he was repeating the exact words he spoke 30 or 40 years ago. During the week we spent in Warren, I made a note to myself to investigate the effects of the advanced stages of Parkinson’s Disease. I want to get a better understanding of what is happening to Dad. At the same time, I hope to find some information that will make things easier for Mom. God forbid if anything happened to her, because I don’t think that Larry, Barb, and Dale, not individually, but all three of them together, are willing to provide the kind of care and attention that Dad requires. Mom look like she’s lost at least ten pounds since the summer. Both JoAnna and I couldn’t help but notice now baggy her slacks were when we arrived in Warren late Saturday afternoon. Fortunately, her energy level remains as high as ever. In that regard, she doesn’t skip a beat. She’s a very youthful 78 year old. 



Tara returned Boxer last night. You should have seen that cat when she opened the grapefruit box in which he was transported. He raced through the kitchen and bounded across the living room as if celebrating a major event in his life. He was obviously so happy to be home. The boys felt likewise, practically smothering him with affection. He joined JoAnna and me in bed during the Sugar Bowl game and padded up my right leg to my sternum at five o’clock this morning, tapping his right paw three times on my chest as if to say, “Time to get up, Daddy. I need my strokes.” I, too, missed Boxer, but not that much. I rolled over onto my stomach and slept until 7:00, when I returned to the Walkfit for the first time in two weeks.

I suppose you’re getting organized for your Arizona departure. When I look out the window right now, I can’t help but think, “They probably wish they left yesterday.” We are getting dumped on big time. And the wind is blowing the snow into tsunami drifts, which we haven’t bothered to shovel yet. Why bother? It’s still snowing. Watching the Weather Channel earlier today, I noted that the only warm places is the U.S. are southern Florida and a southwest arc of Arizona that looks like it includes Buckeye.

By the way, we have your address, don’t we? Otherwise I won’t know where to mail all the letters I plan to write to you. And I’m sure you want to stay up-to-date on all the events taking place in our lives, especially those of your grandchildren.

Stay tuned for Tri-County Basketball League updates, new artistic endeavors, the big job hunt, and expanded services at the Middleton Public Library. Thanks again for sharing such a wonderful Christmas with us.

We enjoyed our stay in Two Rivers and just the opportunity to do nothing if we were so inclined. Our busy family schedule requires putting life on hold every once in awhile.

On This Date in 1998

Dear Mardi,

Thanks for remembering my birthday, as you always do.  You make me feel like such a derelict.   Your birthday’s in March, right?  The 5th?  Am I close?  Anyway, next year I expect a big card for a very big event.  Can I say “50”?  Probably not without some  pained effort.

The boys and I made two trips to Warren this year, but no one outside of my family knew about it since I curiously and intentionally didn’t tell anyone else beforehand or contact anyone after our arrival.  Our visit in March was relatively short.  Four days, I think.   Most of my daylight hours were spent walking back and forth between my parents’ house and Beaty Field or the house and Jefferson schoolyard.  I was in constant demand to play basketball or catch.   On the way back to Wisconsin, we stopped in Chicago for two days, stayed at an expensive Lake Shore Drive hotel, and took in the sights.  Mostly museums, plus a trip to the top of the Hancock building, which absolutely fascinated the boys.  JoAnna stayed home as she was coordinating a special senate election and temporarily had no life outside of work.

In early August, a week after our high school reunion, we spent seven days in Warren, staying at Larry and Kim’s cabin on Valentine Run.  What an idyllic setting.  I just tuned out the world and focused on family and the 700-page book I was reading.  The boys and I did spend two day at Kinzua Beach, remembering to bring footwear the second day.    If I had called you, we could have traveled to Renee’s bat mitzvah together.  When JoAnna decided she couldn’t make the trip – gearing up for the general elections this time – I still considered making the trip to Lorain.  Once I settled into Warren, though, I told myself, I’m not driving anywhere until it’s time to return to Wisconsin.  Driving is not the joy it used to be.  And the boys aren’t to blame.  They are actually very good travelers.  Anyway, give me a big kick in the seat of the pants for missing this opportunity.  I have yet to apologize to Renee because I still feel like such an idiot, just like I did in 1970 when I missed her wedding.

I think part of my attitude of Warren aloofness has to do with our family situation.  Parkinson’s Disease keeps eating away at Dad’s physical and mental well-being.  The decline over the past couple years has been especially painful to observe, even from a distance of 700 miles.  Dad has great difficulty getting around on his own.  In fact, earlier this year the kitchen nook was transformed into a sleeping area for him.  He can’t negotiate stairs anymore.  During the day, he spends most of his time in a motorized upholstered chair, one that provides mechanical assistance in sitting down and getting up.  He’s almost always in a dozing position.  He gets easily confused; his mind, during moments of what now for him passes as lucidness, focuses on past events.  Last year during our December visit, he shuffled across the kitchen floor, stopped abruptly, and said, “I have to preach tomorrow at First Lutheran.”  Or he’ll talk about Mom in the third person and refer to some event that took place early in their marriage as if it were yesterday.  I’ve been meaning to read more about the debilitating effects of Parkinson’s, mostly to get a better understanding of how it affects the mind, especially in the later stages of the disease, which I suppose is where my dad must be by now.  It was 1990 when the first, very subtle , changes in his physical bearing became noticeable.  What really bugs me though is how little support Mom gets from the rest of her children.  I wanted to take her and the boys out to lunch, but Barb couldn’t be bothered to stay home and keep an eye on Dad.  There’s no way he can be left alone now.

Hey, great Christmas letter, huh?  Really upbeat.

Sorry about this self-indulgent rambling.

We’ll be in Warren from December 26th (the evening) through New Year’s Eve.  In fact, you and your mom are already aware of our upcoming visit.  (Yolanda probably, said, “If he’s not going to call me, I’ll call that runt myself!”  Again, the cabin will be our base of operations.  I will call this time, and when we get together, you can administer the appropriate punishment.
 

On This Day in 1998: Monday, March 23

Considering the number of times Andy called you last night, I should probably offer to pay my folks’ new phone bill. He certainly was all fired up about the game. I knew the outcome without asking as soon as I heard his groan of disappointment at 11:05. What a heartbreaking loss, huh?

On Friday morning before I dropped the boys at school, Eddie’s thoughts were not yet completely focused on the trip. While taking care of my last-minute packing, I overheard him say to Andy, “ wish we could leave on Saturday.” Once he considered the full impact of leaving school early, he realized he’d be missing art class.

“But Eddie, if we left tomorrow, we wouldn't be able to stay in a motel,” I explained.

Suddenly art class wasn’t so important anymore.

Eddie repeatedly reminded me to bring along my Walkman. He didn't mention what music he wanted to listen to, so I offered, “Let’s take the Beatles tapes.” We listened to the early Beatles between Rockford and Chicago, the boys impressed with my ability to sing along with every song, rarely stumbling over the words.

During Saturday’s road trip, Eddie listened to the first side of the early Beatles tape three times. He bobbed his head in time to the music and sang the words to some of the choruses. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.” That bit of exuberance brought a quick cry of “Be quiet, Eddie” from his brother, who was quizzing Dad with questions from the newest edition of Trivial Pursuit.

The Holiday Inn where we stayed in South Bend is literally a flying leap from the Interstate. Due to he placement of the exit, we had to drive a circuitous two miles in a driving snow on slushy streets before reaching the front door to the motel.

The boys were so excited about getting to the swimming pool that they dashed away with the plastic card to open the door to our room before I had a chance to gather up the luggage I had dumped at my feet. They found their way to room 212 without incident, but I did have a talk with them about the importance of responsible behavior – not getting all wrapped up in the excitement of the moment. For the rest of the evening, I didn’t have a single problem with them.

The arrangement at the South Bend Holidome is similar to the one in Stevens Point, although where we stayed the pool was completely enclosed, separated by a glass wall from the arcade. Although I saw no signs to confirm this, it appeared that motel management preferred that guest not use the arcade area in their dripping wet or completely dry swimwear. I observed everyone there wearing street clothes.

The pool was 4’8” at its deepest, and the shallow end was indeed very shallow, so Eddie didn’t need to wear his floatation device. At this request, we had left it in the room anyway. After battling some of the ruggedest Chicago rush-hour traffic I’ve ever encountered and dealing with snowy and slippery condition during the last hour of the trip – we counted at least a half dozen cars that had skidded or spun off the road – I enjoyed the therapeutic effects of the warm pool water. I was ready to stretch out on a poolside chaise lounge when the boys announced that they were done with their swim.

I think that Andy was secretly hopig that the snow would keep us stranded in South Bend for an extra day. He and Eddie had made a few acquaintances Friday evening, which made our present location, in his mind, the best place to be. He exhibited some resistance as I pushed to get us on the road. You know the symptoms. The elongated, “Nooooo!” in answer to any question. Whining. A scowl upon his face. Fortunately, it was a short-lived performance.

We stopped at a Bob Evans for breakfast. Andy, of course, ordered lunch. Eddie inhaled his bacon but only nibbled at the edges of his silver dollar pancakes. My entrée was not quite a scramble, not quite an omelet, but included eggs, diced potatoes, sausage, gravy, and grated cheese. Not the healthy heart selection either.

Our Saturday road trip was uneventful. Andy slept for on hour. Traffic was surprisingly light.

The road trip continued.

Grandma greeted the boys with a shriek of delight, her day-long, pent-up expectations bursting forth like water breaking through a dam. Grandpa got up out of his chair in the dining room, shuffled to the edge of the carpet, and stood unsteadily in the doorway. Even though his eyes were teary, I had the strange, unsettling sensation that he wasn’t quite sure what all the commotion was about. I thought I heard him mumble something about “going to” rather than “coming from”. His confused condition, his obviously worsening case of Parkinson’s, put a damper on the initial moment of reunion for me.

Naturally, Grandma had the dining room table set and dinner just about ready to be served. She had prepared two casserole dishes: one mostly cubes of chicken with dressing pressed into a baking dish, the other a very tasty spinach-and-rice combination.

After supper most of us remained around the dining room table to play Trivial Pursuit, at Andy’s request. The Pennsylvania team beat Wisconsin.

Sunday morning I debated whether or not to be the dutiful son and attend church with Mom, but instead I took an hour-long walk, picking up a New York Times along the way. When I returned home, Dad was sitting alone, in silence, in the living room. I joined him there to read the paper, but the quite soon started to spook me. (Dad is very close to the point where he can no longer carry on a conversation.) I asked him if he wanted to watch TV. He surfed for awhile, demonstrating some remaining manual dexterity, but found nothing of interest. I offered to put on a CD. I selected a Mozart recording and that seemed to momentarily perk him up. I saw a hint of life in his face.