Brunch for a Bunch or Growing up with the Reinhart's

A couple of girls in my high school class were arguing one day about who is included in one's immediate family. One insisted on only including your parents and siblings. The other just laughed. No, she said, your immediate family includes your grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all your cousins, and everyone comes to every family gathering.

My mother-in-law, Natalie, was even more inclusive. Family gatherings included all of the above plus a few neighbors, several of her teacher friends, friends of her children, and maybe a family or two from the school where she taught.

I think I fell in love with my in-laws as quickly as I fell in love with my husband. Chris was smart. He took me to meet his family very soon after we met. It was a Saturday or Sunday evening and everyone had come home for dinner. I learned, over the next few months, Chris and his 5 siblings were free to invite friends for dinner and they frequently did.

Natalie loved to cook. She had been a nutritionist in the army during WWII, stationed in England. She was used to cooking for hungry crowds. This was good, because during the next year, three of her children married, including Chris and I. As our families grew, the family gatherings grew, too. Before long, all of us were married and bringing our children along. You'd think with 6 children and their spouses and 18 grandchildren, this would be enough immediate family for anyone, but Natalie found people endlessly interesting and there would often be someone new to meet, in addition to a few old friends, colleagues, and neighbors. If anything, the gatherings became larger and included more people as the years went by.

Natalie passed away in November of 2006, five years after her husband, Paul. Chris and I visited her the day before she had the seizure from which she never awoke. She dozed on and off, but whenever she was awake, she asked about everyone in our family. Just before we left, she woke up to say goodbye. Looking up at us with bright eyes and an even brighter smile, she said, “It's been fun, hasn't it!” On the way home, Chris told me he felt she was speaking more of her life than of the moment.  It wasn't until later, we learned these had been her last words.

We still get together, but not as much. Natalie was the matriarch and truly, I believe people came together to be with her. She left us with memories of warm meals, large family gatherings which never felt crowded, and a gentle sense of humor which occasionally included novelty eyeglasses (with eyeballs on springs) and an umbrella hat.

She also left her recipes, organized in cardboard boxes, some typed, some handwritten, and some with the unmistakable purplish blue print of the school mimeograph machine. On the recipes, she kept a diary of sorts; notes on doubling the recipes and how much was left over, who came to each gathering, and how they set up the tables and chairs. Our son, John, took some of these recipes and created a lovely recipe book, which is available online.  Take a look!  He included copies of some of the original recipes, notes and all:

Easter Brunch and a Bunch More

Now, our own family is growing. Our third grandchild is due to arrive any day now. Just having our kids and grandkids together makes for a full house. Lately, however, both Chris and I have been missing the large Reinhart family gatherings and this year, we invited everyone we could think of to join us for Easter. It was wonderful!

We plan to continue this tradition, though I would never try to take Natalie's place. That would be silly. For one thing, those would be big googly-eyed glasses to fill.

​clicking on the photo will take you to the online store where one can purchase googly-eyed glasses & other novelties

Canes, Trains, and No Automobiles

I've known it for a long time.  Someday, someone would be telling me to give up my car keys.  I just didn't expect it this soon.  I also didn't expect the news to come from our mechanic.  As bad as this sounds, I'm really lucky.  I wasn't asked to give up my license, just this particular car.  The first mechanic's verdict was, "How attached are you to this vehicle?"  The second mechanic described our car with a string of obscenities.  

Fortunately, we still have Chris' truck and selling the old car for junk helped offset the cost of getting the truck in good repair.  We are now a one pick-up truck family.  I'm opting for a bus pass.​

I've been riding the bus all year to go to my classes at the University downtown, and I've really enjoyed it.  The drivers with RTD bus service in Denver have been incredibly friendly and helpful, even when I ride my mobility scooter onto the bus and take up 4 places while paying only half the fare.  I was surprised at first.  Are the drivers always this nice?  So far!

What's great about riding the bus, besides not having to look for a parking space on campus, is how incredibly independent I feel as I get off at 16th street mall, downtown.  Especially if I have my scooter, I feel I can go anywhere and do anything.  ​On campus, it's nice to be able to go faster than the students who are walking.  I haven't run anyone down yet, but I have had a couple of students get out of my way, quickly.  I know they were just being polite.

Lately, I've been using my walker instead, as my scooter needs new batteries.  Those will have to wait awhile.  Until then, I have to admit, the walker is a huge help.  It wasn't easy convincing myself to use it and sometimes I manage to fool myself into thinking I don't need it.  I tried using a cane when I first had trouble walking.  Canes are cooler than walkers.  I have several.   The purple flowered cane works the best, but the ones I really like are the carved ebony canes, one from Sudan and one from Juba. Unfortunately, a cane will often trip me up.  

​It's those pliés.  My legs still seem to think it's a good idea to practice dancing at odd times.  Nothing I say will convince them to at least inform me when they decide to do this, so the walker is a good idea.  My only challenge with the walker is in the classroom building.  With nice smooooth tile floors and long hallways, it's oh, so tempting to run a little and jump on for a ride.  

This is not tempting on the sidewalk, especially in the older neighborhoods.  Those sidewalks are not designed with older people in mind, especially those older people whose bladders don't like to be jarred suddenly.  ​

Back on the bus, I am treated as a very important passenger.  I get to ride the lift up the steps and I can sit up front.  If I have the scooter and another scooter or wheelchair rider is there, we spend the whole ride comparing our vehicles as though they were a couple of sport's cars.  We've immediately become comrades.  My regular bus drivers know me by now and they know where I get off.  

I haven't ridden the light rail in Denver yet, but I took my scooter to Chicago last fall.  Frontier Airlines staff were exceptionally nice and I was able to ride all the way to the gate.  Once in Chicago, we took the buses and trains.  I love the trains in Chicago.  They are rather old, though.  Riding with the scooter meant letting the station attendant know I'd need a ramp.  He or she would go get it, a heavy metal platform, and, when the train arrived, would place it down so I could board safely.  Then the attendant would phone ahead to where I was to get off and alert the attendant there to be ready with the ramp.  ​

At this point, I still have my driver's license and I can still drive.  When the time comes for me to give up driving completely, I want to smile and say, "Sure!", because I know I won't be giving up my independence.  ​

​In fact, as soon as I have new scooter batteries, I won't miss the car at all.

​Denver from the Auraria Campus

Magic

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you

because the greatest secrets

are always hidden in the most unlikely places.

Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.”

Roald Dahl

Thirty-five years ago, I broke up with a boyfriend and decided I wasn't going to have any relationships for at least a couple of years. I was only 20 years old, after all, and had a lot I wanted to do. The next day, I met a quiet, handsome, older man (he was 24) named Chris Reinhart. We'll celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary in May.

I believe in magic love.

Two weeks ago, when we started looking at our house and deciding where to paint, one wall stood out with its ugly, dirty, yellowish color and pencil scribblings. This wall definitely would not be painted. It's our sacred growing wall, telling the stories of our children in graphite lines, scrawled names and dates.

About ten inches from the floor, the name written for the marking is Isabel Gosling, 6/16/02.

Almost even with our daughter, there's another line. The name written by it is familiar to our family. Lisa was our daughter's imaginary friend for years before, “you know how it is, Mom. Sometimes imaginary friend's moms just want them to come back home”. But before Lisa went home, she left her height mark on our growing wall.

I had an imaginary friend when I was younger, too. Her name was Linda. Where do these friends come from? I don't know, but I believe they are real.

I believe in magic friends.

Once, when traveling, I was introduced to a wonderful woman named Bella. She immediately came over and embraced me, then stepped back, looked away for a moment, and chuckled. Turning back to me, she said, “You brought someone with you, in spirit.” I replied, “Yes!” When I returned, I told a friend about this. He looked at me very seriously and said, “It was me”. I smiled, because I knew.

I believe in magic people.

We watched our donkey make friends with a fox and play in our yard together. Later, when the kits were born, the fox and his wife brought them out to meet the donkey. We watched from the window.

I believe in magic animals.

We heard Chris' mother's last words, wrapped them up in our love and sorrow, and gave them to the rest of the family.

I believe in magic moments.

Our paychecks nearly always carried us through from one month to the next. When they didn't, my father would loan me a novel, telling me I had to read it. As we walked out the door, he would grin and say, “don't lose the bookmark”... a $20 bill.

I believe in magic fathers.

Being diagnosed with Parkinson's disease means I can stay at home, write, do art, cook, dance, do yoga, see friends, take classes, and take naps whenever I want to.

I believe in magic gifts even when they come in crazy wrapping.

The puppy only peed in the house once today, my husband danced with me, and our son has a job interview on Friday.

I definitely believe in magic.

 “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

 W. B. Yeats

Ikea Overload

We needed a new light fixture for our kitchen and had tried most of the stores in our area without finding what we wanted or could afford. Then we looked at the Ikea store website. Good selection, affordable, this looked like our best bet. We had heard a lot about this store and there was certainly a lot of excitement when it opened in Centennial, south of Denver.

I suggested we pack a lunch, some blankets, a flashlight, and a tent. I told the kids they would most likely be on their own for dinner. We also brought my mobility scooter, which was good. Walking continues to be my most challenging activity. For those of you who shop at Ikea often, you know how much walking is required. It was our first time. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. Chris drove. I told him where to go.

Twenty-two miles down the highway and around numerous twisting roads, we finally pulled into the huge parking garage belonging to Ikea.

Twenty feet inside the door, my remaining dopamine producing cells (DPC's) went on strike. They do this sometimes, usually when I need them the most. This time I was ready. I took some Sinemet. Though this medication usually slips in unnoticed and gets the work done, today it was no go. The DPC's were patrolling and the Sinemet was caught picking the lock. Today the DPC's were in no mood to allow a SCAB across the picket lines. 

Unfortunately, as most of us with Parkinson's know, there are times when the meds don't work. It's anyone's guess why this happens. Stress? Fatigue? Stores the size of small towns? DPC's are fickle, especially when there aren't enough of them. They decide when to work and when to tell me to take a hike – or not.

I was in trouble. I knew if I stayed on course, I was on my own. The tightness in my chest was not going to go away, my eyes would steadfastly refuse to blink, and I was at risk for falling asleep in the middle of the store. However, I did not come 22 miles to be thwarted by my own substantia nigra. After all, I had my husband AND my scooter with me.

All things considered, we did well. Having come for just one item, we made it out with less than ten. We found a nice light fixture for our kitchen, another light for over the sink, toilet brushes, a ceramic pot for Chris' Norfolk pine tree, and at least one more thing I can't remember. It took about three days to get from one end of the store to the other. Had I not brought the scooter, we'd still be there.

I think I need to go back. We forgot the light bulbs... and there was this cute little kitchen greenhouse, and candles, vases, pictures...

Better pack a lunch.

Living Well - Exercising the Heart

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.

The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference.

The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference.

The opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.” 

Elie Wiesel

In other words, I'm not talking about aerobics.

Physical exercising will help keep my physical body strong, yet there may come a day when my body isn't strong anymore. Making lifelong learning a priority will help keep my mind sharp, yet there may come a day when my mind slows and I don't remember things so easily. Life doesn't come with guarantees.

Even if there aren't any guarantees, I'm still going to place my bets on living a long life and staying upright. If there's any possibility I can keep myself going longer by doing something about it, I'll do something about it, but I won't go overboard. Once in awhile I'll even have a McDonald's cheeseburger. I'll fudge a little here and there. I won't fudge when it comes to taking care of my heart – and doing whatever I can to help care for the heart in every person I come in contact with.

Six years after being diagnosed with Parkinson's, I went back to the very first article I wrote for this journal. Do I still feel the same way?

Here's part of what I wrote.

* * *

If I ever need others to take care of me, I want people around me who will allow me to live a normal life.

This means:

· Friends and family who will get me out of the house and into the world, even if I am grumpy about it.

· Friends who will pour me a glass of wine and help me drink it, even if I’m not supposed to have it.

· Friends who will tell me bullshit stories and make me laugh.

· Friends who will make me cry.

· Friends and family who won’t mind if I tell the same stories more than once.

· Gossip. If there is a juicy story, I will want to hear it.

· Adult stories. I don’t ever want to be talked to as a child. Politics, religion - don’t stick with “safe” subjects!! I want to always have an opinion. You can even swear, if you need to.

· Friends who will get mad at me from time to time. And who will take it if I get mad at them.

· Friends who will tell me if I’m out of line.

· I want my friends and family to tell me what is going on in their lives, even if it’s painful. Don’t keep things from me so I don’t worry. You are my family and my friends and I have every right to worry about you.

· Friends and family who will hold my hand or put an arm around my shoulder.

· At least one friend who is not afraid to kiss me on the lips, even if I drool.

· Someone who will sing with me, no matter how I sound.

Being normal, being a real living human being means experiencing life. And life is both beautiful and painful. Experiencing life means experiencing disappointments and triumphs, joy and intense sadness. Sometimes it means getting really pissed off, too. And it can be delightful to get really pissed off from time to time. It’s energizing and it keeps the brain working.

I don’t want to be wrapped in cotton wool. Being safe doesn’t mean padding all the corners and keeping me from falling down. Being alive means getting hurt from time to time. I don’t ever want to be too protected. I want to be able to struggle – physically and emotionally. I want to wrestle with the real questions of life and love and friendship and what does it all mean, anyway?!

I want to keep bumping into life and crashing into love. Life does make its marks on each of us, but don’t worry. The marks you see on me?

They’re just love bruises.

* * *

Do I still feel the same way? Yes, but I rarely think about it. When I do, I know that what I want more than anything is to be able to do all this for my family and friends.

Six years can make a difference.

Living Well - Exercising the Mind, or Keeping the Marbles Intact

It really is use it or lose it, and this is the one part of the whole mish mash of who I am I'd really like to keep healthy and in good working order. This means keeping it lubricated and making sure I give it frequent tune ups. I was more than pleased when my doctor said she no longer thinks brain surgery is the best option for me. They have yet to perfect the electrodes so they can up and down like My Favorite Martian. I have my standards.

Since an overhaul is not in the forseeable future, this means I'd better take regular maintenance seriously. My husband approves of this, so I'm learning to eat fish, using olive oil, and exercising my brain. Opportunities abound for sharpening the wit, inspiring the imagination, encouraging creativity, and convincing the little gray cells, and white cells, to keep on working. Here are some suggestions:

Audit classes at a local college

You can take classes for credit, of course, but auditing is much less expensive and less work. You don't have to write papers or take exams. If I have to miss a few days, it's not such a big deal.

http://www.cualum.org/services/senior-auditors/

At the University of Colorado in Boulder, any Colorado resident who is 55 years old or older may audit classes for a nominal fee. This year (2012/2013) the fee is $25.00 per semester.

http://www.ucdenver.edu/prospective-students/Pages/SeniorCitizensProgram.aspx At the University of Colorado at Denver, Colorado residents age 60 and older may audit for free.

In both these programs, acceptance is dependent on a space available and permission from the professor. There are a few other limitations, but there are plenty of opportunities. Last semester, I took the class, “Introduction to American Political Processes”. Considering we also had the presidential election last fall, this class was relevant, practical, and taught by a master teacher who had us laughing while we learned. This semester, I am taking a class on World Religions.

Learn a language

After getting to know a Spanish speaking family in Chicago last April, I was determined to brush up on my skills so conversations in Spanish would be easier for me. This was the second class I audited last fall. Unfortunately, I had to drop the class. Two classes were just too much. Fortunately, there are other ways to learn languages which are free and fun.

www.saysomethinginwelsh.com

I'm not sure how many people out there want to learn Welsh, but this is the best language program I've ever experienced. It's auditory; the teacher gives you certain words and patterns, then will speak English phrases, which you will say in Welsh, using the tools you've been given. I was hooked after the first lesson, possibly because I had been saying “I like speaking Welsh”, “I want to speak Welsh”, “I'm going to speak Welsh”, for twenty minutes.

www.duolingo.com

I'm working on German and Spanish with this program. It's fun and easy, though I don't remember the vocabulary as well as I do with the Welsh. They also have French, Italian, and Portuguese.

There's also: www.learnalanguage.com, www.word2word.com,www.123TeachMe.com, www.digitaldialects.com,www.mylanguages.org, and www.omniglot.com. This last one is very useful, especially if you want to learn some very practical phrases like “My hovercraft is full of eels”, “How much is that doggie in the window?”, or “Could you send for the hall porter? There seems to be a frog in my bidet.”

I figured I'd learn Welsh so I could impress my friends. I also figured it would be safer than most languages. How many people in Colorado speak Welsh? Not even everyone in WALES speaks Welsh! I could impress my friends and they'd never know if I made a mistake. That's when I found out I have a friend whose husband is a fluent Welsh speaker.

Learn to play a musical instrument – or SING

Suggestions for easier instruments to learn: Ukelele, guitar, bodhran, mountain dulcimer, autoharp, rhythm instruments, and tapping your feet. Don't forget your voice. It's the easiest instrument to access and it's always with you.

Brain games

Crosswords puzzles, Sudoku, Cryptograms, Scrabble, Clue, Solitaire, there are many choices out there. There are brain puzzle sites on the internet which claim to tell you your “brain age”. If you take these tests, make sure you have a mouse. Some of them are timed and trying to trace your finger around the pad and put things where they need to be can age you quickly.  I really prefer games to play with my family, but there is one internet game I am addicted to.

www.wordsqared.com – this is a must for scrabble fanatics, but don't attempt to play it on a notebook computer. You need a large screen. 

Read books, write real letters, write stories

Take a holiday from email and write a real letter to someone, in your own handwriting. Write down some of the stories you remember from your childhood or from when your children were small. Write poetry. Write songs. Don't worry about whether or not it's good. That doesn't matter. It's yours.

Have grandchildren who visit and a puppy in the house

This is the best game of all. See if you can remember where you put your cell phone, laptop, purse, glasses, and anything else you put up while the grandkids were visiting and/or the puppy was playing. After several hours of entertaining the above, see if you can make a phone call and speak coherently. Deduct points if you introduce yourself as Gwampa or Gwamma.

After I've done all that, I reward myself: a glass of wine, a hot bath, some good chocolate, and then I forget everything for awhile - guilt free!

Living Well - Getting the Body in Gear

Q. What's the best kind of exercise?

A. The one you will actually do.

(from the Davis Phinney Victory Summit Symposium)

Last week, I had my regular appointment with my neurologist. She asked me a lot of questions about how I was taking care of myself. What was I doing for physical exercise? What was I doing to exercise my brain? And was I getting out into the community and being with people?

In other words, what was I doing to exercise my body, mind, and soul. I'll tackle the first one today. One thing at a time.

I was happy to tell her I was continuing with yoga and dance. I know I could also use more aerobic exercising, but at least I'm doing something regularly. She emphasized the need to do stretching exercises to keep limber. I get it. Keeping limber won't prevent dystonia, it just makes it less painful when it happens.

Yoga or dance, aren't just exercises for my body, they also challenge my thinking. I have to remember things like right and left, forward and backward, grapevine... which foot do I start on? Oops, sorry. We're going the other way? Oookaay. Dancing is also a social art.

When I was first diagnosed, we bought a recumbent exercise bicycle. It's a wonderful idea. I can ride for 30 minutes while watching a movie or listening to an audio book. I can program the bicycle to whatever difficulty level I want, and the little screen alsways tells me I have done a

Great Job! 

After we bought it, I was religious about my bicycling. Every day I upped the time slightly and in those first months, I never missed a day. I still ride it at least three times a year.

When I qualified for Medicare, I also qualified for another program: SILVER SNEAKERS! This is a great program which allows free access to the recreation center. I can use the treadmill and other exercise machines, play basketball or raquetball, and use the pool. I prefer the lazy river walking followed by a nice soak in the hot pool. Again, when I first got in the program, I went several times each week. When I go back again, I'll probably have to ask directions to the pool.

Exercise studies are also a good motivation to get physically active. There have been any number of exercise studies for people with Parkinson's in our area. It's like having a free personal trainer for anywhere from six to twelve weeks. I was just called last night about another study. This was a backwards walking treadmill study. Talk about playing to my strengths! I walk backwards well, whether I want to or not. I signed up quickly

I signed up for this study, but after thinking about it, I called back and declined. I am doing enough now. The last time I over extended myself, I ended up exhausted for weeks. Being exhausted for weeks means I fall – a lot. Too much is too much.

The best advice I've received is from Paul Zeiger, my yoga teacher. He constantly reminds us how we can turn any and every daily living activity into exercise. Before getting up in the morning, I can do simple stretching exercises in bed. When I am sitting, I can sit up straight, doing a mountain pose from the waist up. Working in the kitchen? I can still watch my posture, practice shifting my weight from one foot to another, and even balance on one foot, a modified tree pose. Before getting up in the morning, I can do simple stretching exercises in bed.

Having our grandchildren visit provides unlimited opportunities to exercise.

My posture has improved dramatically from before I was diagnosed, or rather, from before I started in yoga class. My overall coordination has improved since starting dance class. Another yoga teacher, Carol Fisher, insists we can still move gracefully, no matter how old we are, even if we have Parkinson's disease.

That's motivation.

Living Well

Next month, I will celebrate an anniversary. I'm hoping for a party, of course, but would settle for presents and a bottle of champagne.

Hmmph!

I startled. I'd know that hmmph anywhere. Mo was back, standing on the narrow space above my keyboard and craning her neck to read what I was writing.

Mo: And it's blasted uncomfortable, too. It's like trying to watch a movie while standing on the floor right in front of the screen. Could I have a chair, please?

Me: Who says you can read my writing before I'm finished, anyway?

Mo: I do. It's about time you got back to writing more often. I've had to take an extra job, just to stay in business.

Me: An extra job? What else are you doing?

Mo: I've got my own column now, didn't you know? It's an advice column called, “Ask Mo”.

Me: This I've got to see. Who in their right mind would ask you for advice? Opinions, maybe, but advice?

Mo: Just listen to this, “Dear Mo, I am 88 years old and still like to go shopping. I do just fine, but invariably some young woman will come up to me, put her hand on my arm, ask if I would like some help, and call me dearie. What should I do?” JP

Me: What was your response?

Mo: I told him to turn to the young woman, wink, and say, “Sure Sweetie, you can help me anytime”.

I think Mo will do well.

Me: Okay. How about if I ask you a question. Dear Mo, next month I will celebrate a special anniversary. It will be six years since I was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. I would like to have a party with champagne, but my husband would prefer a quiet dinner and some beer. What's your advice?

Mo: As long as you don't drink any champagne or beer, I don't give a .... uh.. I don't care what you do. Why do you want to celebrate anyway?

Me: Why not? Any excuse to celebrate is good.... but I know what you mean. Why even acknowledge the anniversary of being diagnosed with a progressive illness? It's a good question. I try to celebrate every day, in some way, since my diagnosis. There's a lot to celebrate, when I really think about it.

Mo: Like what? Your amazing superpower abilities like being faster than a speeding tortoise? Your ability to scorch your husband with a single hot flash?

Me: Yup. And that's not all! I can do Mountain pose, Tree pose, and Warrior 2. I can do the grapevine, fl-lap step, Cha-cha, and dance to the Pink Panther song. My posture is better than it was before I was diagnosed. I feel better than before I was diagnosed. I'm not really celebrating a diagnosis of an illness, I'm celebrating the anniversary of when I decided to live well. Heck, I can even bend down and touch my toes now.

Mo smiled. She did a little twirl on the top of the table and started humming the Pink Panther song. I couldn't help it. I joined in. Soon we were doing the grapevine across the living room.

Me: You're not bad! Maybe you can come to dance class with me one day?

Mo: I'll think about it. What about your celebration?

Me: What's your advice?

Mo: Don't forget to invite me!

Note from Terri.... Mo is determined to continue her advice column. If you have any questions, please write to her c/oterri@studiofoxhoven.com. She promises to reply.