Glen Campbell was born on my father's first birthday, which is kind of weird and coincidental. He also grew up in the church of Christ, which is kind of weird and coincidental. We watched a documentary on Netflix a couple months back about this group of studio musicians called "The Wrecking Crew", and, interestingly enough, Glen was one of 'em. And then we watched another documentary this week about his final tour, "I'll Be Me", which was very, very sad. Because it was like having a front-row seat to Altzheimer's.
I'd already had a front-row set to that particular disease way back when Grandma and Grandpa Meyer were living in Longview and I'd spend my weekends there (while working during the week in Seattle). Grandpa couldn't remember when he'd eaten last. He couldn't remember what time it was. He couldn't remember my name half the time. The only thing he could remember was that he loved Grandma, and she cried every time he said it. Because she was so frustrated with trying to deal with him, even knowing that his brain was slowly fading away, knowing that none of it was his fault or her fault, but that didn't make things any easier.
And watching the documentary on Glen Campbell, watching as his family had to deal with his inability to remember things, brought all those memories flooding back. Sitting in the living room in front of the huge color television with both grandparents in their respective recliners watching Hee Haw or Lawrence Welk or Golden Girls, with Grandpa asking when dinner was going to be every five minutes, and Grandma leaning forward trying to make her dead eyes see the screen which had all her favorite performers on it. Watching the tears sliding down her cheeks because life was so unfair. Her world had become darkness, and her husband was losing his mind.
In the case of Mr. Campbell, it was strange that the last ability he seemed to lose was his ability to play his guitar. Even when he couldn't remember the lyrics, his fingers still seemed to know how to play. And when those fingers finally couldn't remember anything, they knew it was time to close out the tour and go quietly into the night.
That was in 2012. In 2014, he was checked into a long-term care facility. This year, 2015, he lost the ability to speak for himself. The world would never hear his voice again outside of a recording.
It's depressing when these people, who have been icons my whole life, get old and fall apart. It's a reminder that we're all getting older and falling apart. And, as the Bible says:
It's been very stressful this past week not having a paying job and wondering when things were going to start up again. I don't really fancy the life of a contractor, not when we're living on the edge of the razor with regard to income and outgo. Even a few days of missed income is sorely missed.
Contractors normally get paid a lot because of two things: one, they never know when their next job is coming, so they have to save as much as possible when they're actually making money, kind of like teachers who have to set aside some money to make it through the summer months; two, they have to pay for their own health insurance, which is beyond ridiculous these days. Unfortunately, since I haven't been contracting very long, we haven't set things up on that basis yet. So there's a bit of a panic that ensues when suddenly one contract is up and the other hasn't quite started yet.
So when the word came down that another contract was going to start soon, we breathed a very tiny sigh of relief, and then got very nervous while waiting for the paperwork to get done so we could actually get started.
It took most of the week.
We finally started working on Friday, and then there was a mad scramble to get in as many hours as possible before the end of the pay period (which is Saturday); but it's still going to be a very short week (i.e. a very small paycheck), and that's not necessarily a good thing when Christmastime is right around the corner. We've been so busy fretting about all the things going on around here, we've had barely a thought about Christmas. Which is just as well. There's no room to put up a tree, and there isn't a lot of money to spend on presents, and the basement still isn't done yet, and I'm frankly just not in the mood for it.
Haven't been in the mood for it in several years, actually.
Last year, I was fretting about getting all the Christmas cards done and mailed while trying to finish the basement plans so we could get the permit and get started working on it.
The year before, there was so much going on that we didn't even have time or energy to write or send out cards, except to immediate family.
Every year, seems the worst stress comes around Christmastime. We just can't keep up with all the things we're supposed to be doing, like getting out cards and shopping for presents and finding time to visit with friends and family and taking vacation time to rest and relax before we have to go back to the old grind once the new year rolls around.
We read about our friends and relatives on Facebook taking vacations to Hawaii and Florida and the ski slopes and DisneyWorld and other fantastic places and wonder if perhaps there's something wrong with because we don't go to amusement parks or campgrounds or resorts, we don't lay out in the sun and get tan while drinking fancy fruit drinks or hang out by the fireplace at the ski slope and drink hot chocolate and we're probably denying our children some incredible experiences.
But how can we enjoy ourselves at those exotic locations when there's so much that needs to be done at home?
And once it's done, once we've gotten it to be the perfect little home we wanted, why on earth would we want to go spend our free time somewhere else? That just doesn't make any sense.
Unless it's visiting family. Or friends. Those are good reasons to go someplace.
:::
We've been studying a lot of Asperger's literature in order to better understand Adam. And the more we study the subject of mental processes and their aberrant disorders, the more we are able to identify the aberrant behaviors in our own seemingly "neurotypical" brains.
For example, I cannot handle choices. Too many choices overwhelm my brain. And I'm not talking about trying to decide which cereal to get when faced with an entire grocery aisle containing hundreds of different brands. I'm talking about deciding whether to route the wire to the outlet box horizontally through the studs (which means boring holes through all the studs) or vertically from the joist (which means boring holes through all the joists and then down into the stud wall). I have spent hours contemplating those kinds of choices. Which may explain in some small way why it is taking me so incredibly long to get the electrical work done in the basement.1
There are lots of neuro-atypical behaviors in this family. Some of us cannot look people in the eye when we're talking to them. Some of us get extremely nervous and jumpy when in crowds. Some of us are exhausted by social interaction. Some of us respond to stress by mindlessly stroking an object of clothing until it wears out.
The spectrum of behavior is very wide, and we're all on it somewhere. Our family tends to bunch towards the introverted end of the scale, right close to the drop-off where shades of autism start to darken the lines. When you walk into our house, you will not find a bunch of kids bouncing off the walls in need of a jog around the park; you will typically hear the soft strains of music leaking from headphones and the pitter-patter of little fingers typing on keyboards or iPods, each in his or her own room, each in his or her own little world. Those inquiring for playmates to engage in physically demanding games will not find takers. And woe unto you who disturb a reader immersed in a well-written story, for your name shall be Mud and you shall be cast out forevermore!
Yet we are not really that unique, not (at least) among the set of people of our close acquaintance. Perhaps it is merely a case of "like calls to like". Perhaps it is because our children associate with other children of the same mindset, and we are pulled into close orbit with those families which display the same idiosyncratic behaviors. Perhaps it is because we don't know what to do with people who dress up in their favorite sports teams' attire and spend far too much money to go sit in football stadiums in the middle of winter to cheer on groups of people they don't even know in the hopes that they will win a game that has very little significance in the grand scheme of things.
For the most part, we're happy in our delusions of neuro-typicalness. It's everyone else who is weird.
1There are very simple rules to follow when wiring a house. They are all specified in the National Electrical Code (as amended by the specific State or Local guidelines). But they are not all as obvious as one might think.
For example, the Code says that all basement wiring has to be ground-fault protected. But should I use ground-fault outlets everywhere or just use a GFCI circuit breaker for each branch circuit? If I have to add an extra branch to an existing branch that is already behind drywall, should I split the line between two junction boxes in the ceiling so I don't have to remove the wall, or just rip off the drywall and do the whole thing from scratch?
The same thing happens when I work on the car(s). A (relatively) simple fix ends up taking days because I'm contemplating all the possible ways it could be done. It took me a couple weeks to fix a bad brake line because I had to figure out the optimum route for the new line in order to avoid going up and over the gas tank (where the original line was routed).
I'd already had a front-row set to that particular disease way back when Grandma and Grandpa Meyer were living in Longview and I'd spend my weekends there (while working during the week in Seattle). Grandpa couldn't remember when he'd eaten last. He couldn't remember what time it was. He couldn't remember my name half the time. The only thing he could remember was that he loved Grandma, and she cried every time he said it. Because she was so frustrated with trying to deal with him, even knowing that his brain was slowly fading away, knowing that none of it was his fault or her fault, but that didn't make things any easier.
And watching the documentary on Glen Campbell, watching as his family had to deal with his inability to remember things, brought all those memories flooding back. Sitting in the living room in front of the huge color television with both grandparents in their respective recliners watching Hee Haw or Lawrence Welk or Golden Girls, with Grandpa asking when dinner was going to be every five minutes, and Grandma leaning forward trying to make her dead eyes see the screen which had all her favorite performers on it. Watching the tears sliding down her cheeks because life was so unfair. Her world had become darkness, and her husband was losing his mind.
In the case of Mr. Campbell, it was strange that the last ability he seemed to lose was his ability to play his guitar. Even when he couldn't remember the lyrics, his fingers still seemed to know how to play. And when those fingers finally couldn't remember anything, they knew it was time to close out the tour and go quietly into the night.
That was in 2012. In 2014, he was checked into a long-term care facility. This year, 2015, he lost the ability to speak for himself. The world would never hear his voice again outside of a recording.
It's depressing when these people, who have been icons my whole life, get old and fall apart. It's a reminder that we're all getting older and falling apart. And, as the Bible says:
"No one remembers the former generations,
and even those yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow them."
:::It's been very stressful this past week not having a paying job and wondering when things were going to start up again. I don't really fancy the life of a contractor, not when we're living on the edge of the razor with regard to income and outgo. Even a few days of missed income is sorely missed.
Contractors normally get paid a lot because of two things: one, they never know when their next job is coming, so they have to save as much as possible when they're actually making money, kind of like teachers who have to set aside some money to make it through the summer months; two, they have to pay for their own health insurance, which is beyond ridiculous these days. Unfortunately, since I haven't been contracting very long, we haven't set things up on that basis yet. So there's a bit of a panic that ensues when suddenly one contract is up and the other hasn't quite started yet.
So when the word came down that another contract was going to start soon, we breathed a very tiny sigh of relief, and then got very nervous while waiting for the paperwork to get done so we could actually get started.
It took most of the week.
We finally started working on Friday, and then there was a mad scramble to get in as many hours as possible before the end of the pay period (which is Saturday); but it's still going to be a very short week (i.e. a very small paycheck), and that's not necessarily a good thing when Christmastime is right around the corner. We've been so busy fretting about all the things going on around here, we've had barely a thought about Christmas. Which is just as well. There's no room to put up a tree, and there isn't a lot of money to spend on presents, and the basement still isn't done yet, and I'm frankly just not in the mood for it.
Haven't been in the mood for it in several years, actually.
Last year, I was fretting about getting all the Christmas cards done and mailed while trying to finish the basement plans so we could get the permit and get started working on it.
The year before, there was so much going on that we didn't even have time or energy to write or send out cards, except to immediate family.
Every year, seems the worst stress comes around Christmastime. We just can't keep up with all the things we're supposed to be doing, like getting out cards and shopping for presents and finding time to visit with friends and family and taking vacation time to rest and relax before we have to go back to the old grind once the new year rolls around.
We read about our friends and relatives on Facebook taking vacations to Hawaii and Florida and the ski slopes and DisneyWorld and other fantastic places and wonder if perhaps there's something wrong with because we don't go to amusement parks or campgrounds or resorts, we don't lay out in the sun and get tan while drinking fancy fruit drinks or hang out by the fireplace at the ski slope and drink hot chocolate and we're probably denying our children some incredible experiences.
But how can we enjoy ourselves at those exotic locations when there's so much that needs to be done at home?
And once it's done, once we've gotten it to be the perfect little home we wanted, why on earth would we want to go spend our free time somewhere else? That just doesn't make any sense.
Unless it's visiting family. Or friends. Those are good reasons to go someplace.
:::
We've been studying a lot of Asperger's literature in order to better understand Adam. And the more we study the subject of mental processes and their aberrant disorders, the more we are able to identify the aberrant behaviors in our own seemingly "neurotypical" brains.
For example, I cannot handle choices. Too many choices overwhelm my brain. And I'm not talking about trying to decide which cereal to get when faced with an entire grocery aisle containing hundreds of different brands. I'm talking about deciding whether to route the wire to the outlet box horizontally through the studs (which means boring holes through all the studs) or vertically from the joist (which means boring holes through all the joists and then down into the stud wall). I have spent hours contemplating those kinds of choices. Which may explain in some small way why it is taking me so incredibly long to get the electrical work done in the basement.1
There are lots of neuro-atypical behaviors in this family. Some of us cannot look people in the eye when we're talking to them. Some of us get extremely nervous and jumpy when in crowds. Some of us are exhausted by social interaction. Some of us respond to stress by mindlessly stroking an object of clothing until it wears out.
The spectrum of behavior is very wide, and we're all on it somewhere. Our family tends to bunch towards the introverted end of the scale, right close to the drop-off where shades of autism start to darken the lines. When you walk into our house, you will not find a bunch of kids bouncing off the walls in need of a jog around the park; you will typically hear the soft strains of music leaking from headphones and the pitter-patter of little fingers typing on keyboards or iPods, each in his or her own room, each in his or her own little world. Those inquiring for playmates to engage in physically demanding games will not find takers. And woe unto you who disturb a reader immersed in a well-written story, for your name shall be Mud and you shall be cast out forevermore!
Yet we are not really that unique, not (at least) among the set of people of our close acquaintance. Perhaps it is merely a case of "like calls to like". Perhaps it is because our children associate with other children of the same mindset, and we are pulled into close orbit with those families which display the same idiosyncratic behaviors. Perhaps it is because we don't know what to do with people who dress up in their favorite sports teams' attire and spend far too much money to go sit in football stadiums in the middle of winter to cheer on groups of people they don't even know in the hopes that they will win a game that has very little significance in the grand scheme of things.
For the most part, we're happy in our delusions of neuro-typicalness. It's everyone else who is weird.
1There are very simple rules to follow when wiring a house. They are all specified in the National Electrical Code (as amended by the specific State or Local guidelines). But they are not all as obvious as one might think.
For example, the Code says that all basement wiring has to be ground-fault protected. But should I use ground-fault outlets everywhere or just use a GFCI circuit breaker for each branch circuit? If I have to add an extra branch to an existing branch that is already behind drywall, should I split the line between two junction boxes in the ceiling so I don't have to remove the wall, or just rip off the drywall and do the whole thing from scratch?
The same thing happens when I work on the car(s). A (relatively) simple fix ends up taking days because I'm contemplating all the possible ways it could be done. It took me a couple weeks to fix a bad brake line because I had to figure out the optimum route for the new line in order to avoid going up and over the gas tank (where the original line was routed).
1 comment:
Yay for a new contract!!!
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