Just a Trim

[originally posted September 2 2011, 6:43 AM]

Two things on my mind today. OK. Two hundred things. I'll just focus on the two main themes.

Dad needs a haircut. Just a trim. His hair is actually longer than mine.  St Elmo, like a growing number of American small towns don't have barbershops anymore. Or blacksmith shops. But this isn't really a social commentary. 

Looking at my dad, it's not just the hair that strikes me as shaggy. He's 84, more stooped than I remember, and more unfocused and scattered than ever. He manages to get his breakfast, but he looks like someone who has a dozen other things on his mind. Dad has Alzheimer's Disease, and today is a very big day. His children are aware, but he won't be until a little later in the day.

Today, we plan to move dad to his new home in Columbia MO, called The Bluffs. He won't be thrilled to hear this news. He's likely to be concerned that we are going to get rid of his car, or throw away more of his accumulated treasure. We kids have examined the treasure, and it's mostly saved plastic detergent bottles, Little Debbie boxes, empty Kleenex boxes, all stuffed with McDonald's receipts, napkins, straws, plastic grocery bags, etc. Part of the treasure is his kingdom of electrical Rube Goldberg devices.

That stuff needs a trim. 

There is a network of dangerous electical cobwebs (take the video tour) that have accumulated in the upstairs and the garage, the sacred domains of my father. After Dad hops in the car to go to my sister Lori's house, my brother Brad and I plan to remove miles of old extension cords, adapters, splices, half-broken lamps, and other odd parts to reduce the fire risk, and to set our minds at ease. We could never have done this with Dad in the house. 

The hoarding has resulted in the accumulation of so much broken stuff that it will take a few dump trucks to do the job. Today is a more focused effort. Only the wires.

Just a trim.

Treasure Hunt

[originally posted May 26 2012, 5:27 AM]

I'm returning to my hometown of St. Elmo IL to tend to some family business. I thought of it as sorting through a bunch of hoarded junk in the garage and upstairs of my parents' house. After some reflection this morning, I'll think of it as a treasure hunt instead. 

This house is a sacred place where I was lovingly taught important values that have shaped me for the better. It was a place of security and safety, and of modest abundance. My mother died almost a year ago, and my father moved soon thereafter to a nursing home because of his dementia. The house has been empty of inhabitants but is still full of memories. 

So when I'm lifting heavy scraps of metal, or sorting through endless small boxes stuffed with napkins, receipts, and plastic grocery bags, I'll remind myself that it's the treasure we find that makes it worthwhile. It may come in the form of a precious photo tucked inside a book, a diary of our grandfather's final days, or merely a recollection of simpler times. 

All told, instead of a chore, I'll see it as an adventure -- a treasure hunt.