American Chimpanzee

    My family spent the holidays sick with the flu.  First my father caught it. Then my wife. My youngest daughter and I were next. Last was my granddaughter.  When I was young I would get sick, then quickly recover. These days it takes longer for me to bounce back, but that's okay. It gives me an opportunity to catch up on movies I’ve recorded from TCM but haven’t had the privacy to watch. I can’t be in the middle of watching Sonny Corleone being brutally gunned down in The Godfather only to have my granddaughter walk in wanting me to put a box on my head.      My beautiful wife drove us to a medical clinic. My daughter laughed through her misery when she saw me carrying a box of Kleenex and a small trash can, but I knew what I was doing. At any given time I could sneeze or throw up. Hopefully, not at the same time. On the drive there she asked me for some Kleenex, then tossed the used tissues in the trash can.    ...

   My father insists on going for a walk every day, rain or shine. He went out for a walk just before Christmas and came back with the flu. He’s over it now. While that’s the end of  that  story, life has a way of continuing past the ending. My father got better, but Santa then brought the rest of my family the flu for Christmas. First, my wife. Then my youngest daughter and I caught it. Lastly, my granddaughter. She started Christmas morning feeling chipper, but by Christmas Eve she had the chills. Maybe we got it from my father, maybe not.  Who knows?  You never realize how sad and quiet your home can be until one of your babies get sick. I knew she was better when she handed me an empty cardboard box one of her Christmas presents came in. She had drawn a face on one side, so I put it on like a helmet. “Do you smell anything?” she asked me. “Why?” I asked her back. “Because I farted in it.”  

My father and I were visiting an old friend of his at the nursing home he now called home. “Wouldn’t you like to stay in a facility like his?” I asked my father on the drive there. “No,” he answered. I don’t think my beautiful wife would like it either.  Like the end of  Down & Out In Beverly Hills , we’d all stand there looking at him leave, and then, at the last second, make the mistake of inviting him back to stay with us. His friend was happy to see us.  “You look good, you son of a bitch!” he told my father. “I lost twenty pounds,” my father bragged. “Yeah?”  “Yeah,” my father assured him, “but you should have seen me before I gained it all back.” 

My father and I went to visit a friend of his in the nursing facility he now lives at, b ut I told you that last week.      In the middle of our visit, we were asked to leave the room while someone from the office came by for a little talk. I'm assuming it had something to do with his having pulled the fire alarm, and I'm assuming it went something like, "DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!"      Those are MY capitalizations.       "What was that all about?" my father asked him when we were let back inside.      "I have no idea," his friend said.       When it comes to dealing with my father, who's been diagnosed pre-Alzheimer's, I've learned to just go with the flow. Whatever he tells me, I just accept that's what's true for him in the moment. It saves a lot of aggravation. On his part, as well as mine.      My father?       He has other ideas.      "Don't ...

There was quite a kerfuffle going on at the facility my father and I were at.      We had gone there to visit an elderly friend of his. They've been friends since childhood, so I guess that makes my father elderly as well. Sadly, his friend suffers from Alzheimer's, so visiting with him is hit or miss. Sometimes he remembers who we are and sometimes he just pretends he does, but he's always nice and polite. If his condition makes him aggressive, I've never seen it. In the case of my father, who's been diagnosed pre-Alzheimer's, his doctor has prescribed what my wife and I call magic dust for him. We sprinkle it on his food and the aggression magically goes away.  Anyway...      As we pulled up, I saw workers in their scrubs herding some of the residents and their visitors back inside.      "I guess something happened," I said to my father.      My father didn't say anything.      I wondered if I should ...

The last Saturday before Christmas was busy.      By the time I got home it was dark. My wife was already in bed watching something on her tablet. I'd tell you what, but I've forgotten. That's nothing unusual. I can forget any number between one and ten just by counting scoops of coffee into my coffee maker. My wife, on the other hand, says I don't listen to her, or some such nonsense.      My two daughters were getting ready to go out and my granddaughter was by herself watching  Home Alone  in the living room. On the TV screen, a young girl was busy miscounting the children.      Personally, I’ve never cared for  Home Alone . With the exception of John Candy, there’s not one likable person in it. Sure, little Kevin is cute, but do you really like him? In a reflective moment inside a church, even  he  admits he’s a bit of a turd.      I wanted to get on...