Seems like just yesterday I missed the Perseid meteor shower, that I started reading Aldous Huxley's After many a summer dies the swan, but am still on chapter two, the book at the bottom of my tote bag, along with some sand and seaweed, still unpacked from a week at the ocean end of June, beginning of July.

This past week, without the regular routine of taking my husband to the Adult Day Care Center, driving to the hospital instead of working out at the YMCA, packing an odd assortment of food then hoping there will be a leftover turkey on rye in the hospital refrigerator; I've neither gained nor lost weight. I'm definitely sleeping more and better. Everyone tells me to take care of myself and yet I cannot really relax or feel okay.

Trying to relay what information I'm given regarding my husband to family members has been exhausting. His side of the family still doesn't believe he has Alzheimer's. Between 2 weeks in Cape Cod and deluxe camping near the Delaware Water Gap, one of his daughters visited and criticized everything. I'm too tired to give details; suffice it to say she made things worse, then left.

Sometime before this hospital business, I half sold/half bartered my 1990 Mazda Miata to a local landscaper with two sons. His younger son is severely disabled, but he wanted to rebuild the car with his 15 year old son to race it in some Miata thing I'd never heard of before. Still feel really good about that decision. I filled out the title wrong and the two of us had to go to the Motor Vehicle Commission together, where weirdly I ran into our attorney.

I visit my husband every day; I talk to his nurses; I talk with his "spotters" who sit outside his room when he tries to wander, despite alarms on his bed and chair. His diet has been changed three times. If I'm there, I help him eat and encourage fluids. I finally got a TV guide, finding the C.A.R.E. station, which is basically scenes of nature and soothing music. Today, I threw out everything his daughter brought, telling me he needs more stimulation. Word puzzles, a complex Aztec-inspired thing to color, "organic bottled water", etc.

I'm trying really hard to be compassionate but today when I arrived after a brief BBQ for Labor Day at my daughter's, his daughter told me she had him walking the halls (he's already on meds to prevent blood clots) and that I should do the same. I thanked her, then talked with the skeletal crew of nurses. Doctor's orders have been very clear the entire time that he was to be on bed rest or seated in chair with alarm, plus nurse's assistance using bathroom. I used my fury to foam wash his hair and adjust his sheets.

As he drifted off, I spoke with everyone on shift, including a young resident who knew more about the time of surgery than I did. Before all of this, he got another room mate, also an Alzheimer's patient, who was being given Holy Communion as my step daughter was leaving. When I heard the familiar prayer, I told her to stop talking. She had NO IDEA what was going on, a thin green-striped curtain away. Before I left, I told the room mate's distraught adult daughter all that I had learned to ask for, to comfort her father.

God forgive me for any sins I've committed, in my bluntness, my attempts to advocate for my husband, and in writing this, I already know I'm forgiven, even though I feel so inept, inadequate, and awkward. The God I feel moving through my life is far more forgiving than I am of myself.

Today is the kind of damp chilly day that intensifies the pain I normally have. I stayed up later than I wanted, but not as late as I had been staying up. After a dream about dogs that were the size of horses I woke up not feeling very motivated to do anything other than pull out warm layers. I took a bath with essential oils of nutmeg and black pepper. That's supposed to help with circulation. I guess it was somewhat effective, but as I watch the rain sheet down, my mood hasn't lifted. My aunt sent me an apologetic email so I wrote one back to her. Today it feels like sanity is wafer thin, every gust of reaches my bones. I want hot cocoa with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon or nutmeg, I like sour cream in it too, but only the really good brands. I'm eating chicken with asparagus and beets for breakfast. I took my vitamin, my anti anxiety pill and a enzyme capsule hoping that will help. Last night I watched part of the Rangers/Mariners game and another chunk of the Angels/Dodgers game. Roenis Elias pitched for the Mariners, I really like him, but today I can't get into why because I'm tired and the words just aren't there. I got a good feeling watching the Rangers. I've long been a fan of Prince Fielder and I liked Will Venable when he played for the Padres. He had a sweet pair of shades, he's a player who brings his style to the game and for me that's fun to watch.

I can't remember who pitched for the Rangers. That's irking me because I don't know if that's just a function of getting older or merely a detail that's stuck somewhere because I know it will come to me eventually. Part of it can probably be atttributed to watching the Angels trot out a string of relievers after their starter was pulled. The names and jerseys blended into each other, it was late, I wasn't in the right frame of mind to really zero in on footwear so I tried to sit back and take in the game as a fan. Nick Tropeano is only 25, but he looks much older. As the game wore on I felt sorry for him the way that I do when I feel that there's a fundamental mismatch in the task people are handled, and their abillity to execute competently. This is going to be difficult to explain because I don't necessarily mean that I think he's a bad pitcher. I don't know enough about him to know that. This drives some people crazy, but I get hunches, maybe it's a form of intuition, but I want to see what he would do if he played shortstop instead of pitching. I can't say why I'm getting this from him, but I feel like he's someone who likes action and closure. Perhaps he would be a better closer, but I doubt that he would be considered a candidate for that job. Anyways, I'm an experimental person so I would talk to him about it if I was his coach or manager just to see how he feels about it. I could be wrong, but I'd like to be able to sit down and try to get at the heart of his frustrations.

Another factor that I have to consider when thinking about pitchers is who their catcher is. I don't know anyting about Carlos Perez, to me catchers have to know how to manage their pitchers. It's part of what makes Buster Posey so incredible at his job. Buster's a good looking guy, but the real reason I love him is for his low key managerial abilities. He doesn't get upset or excited. He seems to know how to give people confidence in their abilities and lets them know the team will roll with the punches. Another experiment that will never happen would be to have someone like Tropeano work with Buster, but I still have a feeling that he's been allowed to pitch when his skills are better suited to shortstop. I'm basing this on a few minutes of watching him pitch, sometimes I get frustrated when my brain won't let go of something, other times I'm like, I'm entitled to opinions that are destined to go nowhere just as much as the next person. It was really hard to watch the Angels fall apart. Greinke wasn't pitching spectacularly well, but the Angels weren't capitalizing on his mistakes as often as the Dodgers rounded the bases on mistakes made by the team in red and white. I have more thoughts on bullpen management, but this is not the place for that conversation. 

I don't have a plan for today other than to go get my oil changed and drop off some things at Goodwill. On days like this I feel like I'm wasting my time and letting down my readers. But I'm glad I took the time to sit down and put a few of my thoughts out there even if they never go anywhere except here. Being able to get them out of my head is helpful. Otherwise they fly around there and take up space that could be used for other things. This is a new way for me to watch baseball games. I'm new at it, but I think I'm onto something. If not, hey, it's fun for me to sit in front of my computer and chit chat with a bunch of other baseball minded people. I appreciate the friends I've made through various avenues, here, on Twitter, in real life, they all contribute to my well being in different ways and I know their lives are better because they know me. I just need to remember that this feeling will pass and I have to learn to love the rain that soaks into the earth and replenishes our water supply. That's big to me and something I wish I knew more about. I'm a conservationist who pays lip service to the idea while not radically changing my life. All in good time. I can only take on so many giants at a time...

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