Visiting the ocean

No trip to see my parents would be complete without a visit to the ocean as well. As you can imagine, living as far inland as we do, seeing the ocean is a novelty.

So on Sunday afternoon, I went for a drive. The day was sunny and bright, but as I approached the coast, the marine layer (the almost-perpetual layer of coastal fog) became visible on the horizon.

This area is heavily agricultural. I passed fields of broccoli...

...peas...

...and strawberries, among much else.

Approaching the coast, the road was hewn through sandstone (or what I presume was sandstone).

In some areas, the road cuts were deeply channeled, looking like miniature badlands.

But some coastal flowers were blooming...

First glimpse of the ocean.

Naturally, there were lots of ice plants...

...and a few yellow sand verbena.

I climbed down the access path to the beach and strolled along the shoreline.

This part of the coast has relatively few shells, but it seemed every rock was collectible. I have to remember I'm flying home, not driving, so I can't pack five pounds of rocks in my suitcase.

This rock looked like a mini Oreo cookie. Okay, I should probably have pocketed this one (but, regrettably, didn't).

I found a piece of sea glass in a pale, sea-foam green. This one I did keep.

Sand crab carcasses were everywhere.

I found a sand dollar in almost perfect condition.

Later, I found a purple sand dollar, which probably means it had more recently died.

Close-ups of the papillate spines on the ventral and dorsal surfaces.

Color difference between a newly dead sand dollar and an older one.

Fragment of a crab shell, no idea what kind.

Barnacle attached to a sand dollar.

Snowy plovers were everywhere. Portions of this beach are often cordoned off to protect their nesting grounds.

I think this is a western sandpiper (correct me if I'm wrong).

The long-billed curlews were especially fascinating to watch.

Found a sand crab!

You can see it at the bird's feet.

Yum.

The higher portions of the beach were strewn with the fragile paper-thin carcasses of velella (also called "By-the-Wind Sailors"). I didn't see any fresh ones, so I'm guessing they tend to wash ashore later in the summer.

Walking back to the beach-access path, I saw dozens of sand pipers clustered together in an area of only a few square yards. Must have been an exceptionally rich haul of goodies below the sand.

And that was my visit to the ocean.

Mentally redesigning a backyard

My parents have a modest suburban home. They've lived here for almost 20 years and very much like both their home and the town in which they live. Their backyard is unusually spacious (according to Google Earth, about 60 x 60 feet).

While here visiting, Dad asked me to do some weeding in some three-tiered garden beds in the side yard. I like weeding (yeah, I know I'm weird), so I didn't mind at all.

I used a flat-head screwdriver as  a weeding stick, though the soil is so soft I mostly didn't need it.

While I weeded, I looked over my parents' large yard and mentally redesigned it to become an urban homestead.

Consider these ideas. The gardening shed you see against the back wall could become a chicken coop, with about one-quarter of the yard fenced for that purposes.

The rest of the yard could become raised beds. I estimate at least 25 three-by-eight-foot beds (probably more) could fit back here, including three-foot spaces between beds for wheelbarrow access. This many raised beds in the backyard would still allow space for the patio and maybe even a drum composter.

That doesn't include the side yard, which could also be reconfigured with different grow beds. (I know from experience the three-tiered configuration of these existing beds makes for difficult access for the upper tier.)

The climate of this particular town would allow almost year-round growing conditions. Put everything on a drip system, and water usage during drier months would be modest. You could harvest an enormous amount of food from a backyard garden this large.

If Don and I lived here, I could see us doing this. However we don't, and my parents aren't in a position to care for an extensive garden and chickens, so the backyard is what it is.

But it makes for nice daydreaming while pulling weeds.

Dinner and a show

So yesterday evening, when Dad and I were in the nursing home feeding my mother dinner, another elderly lady sat at the same table opposite us. She was tiny and perky and sparkled with intelligence. And my goodness, she loved to chatter. (I don't know her name, but for purposes of this blog post, I'll call her Jane.)

The CNA (certified nursing assistant) who was sitting with Jane was trying to encourage her to eat her dinner, but Jane would have none of it. She kept telling the CNA to turn around and look in the courtyard outside the dining room windows, because the universe would tell the CNA the best way the rainbow unicorns could adjust her elbows, or something similarly nonsensical. The CNA – who was the soul of patience – kept trying to get Jane to eat her meal, but Jane kept demanding answers from the CNA about why she wasn't letting the magical marbles fix the overhead lights. And I mean she was demanding answers.

And so, I'm sorry to say, Dad and I start to giggle. We were trying not to be too obvious about it, but as Jane's observations got more and more creative, we started laughing harder and harder.

And then – really, it could hardly get any better – Jane burst out singing with a unique rendition of "Onward Christian Soldiers," belting out the tune with lyrics touching on sidewalk bricks and telephones. To be honest, she had a very decent singing voice (certainly better than mine).

Well, Dad and I lost it. Just lost it. We were laughing so hard, I kept having to wipe the tears from my eyes with a bandana.

And then, those rainbow unicorns really DID adjust some elbows, so to speak. My mom started laughing too. And I mean full-out laughing. She was giving great big belly laughs, just like she used to. She wasn't laughing at Jane; she was laughing with Dad and me. It was a magical sound.

When Jane finished singing, the entire dining room burst into applause which, to be honest, I don't think Jane really connected to her singing. She just kept demanding to know why the CNA was allowing those purple salamanders to lodge in her hair.

"Dinner and a show," I remarked to the CNA, wiping my eyes.

Dad and I finished feeding Mom her dinner, then took her down the hall to the "activities room" until she got sleepy enough to put to bed.

But we agreed we're going to try and sit at Jane's table whenever we can. She's a gem.

The power of language

My dad and I go to the rehab center twice a day to feed my mother lunch and dinner. We're becoming more familiar with both the staff and the patients, and they're all a wonderful bunch of people.

Today the speech therapist stopped by to tell us what kinds of exercises she's doing with my mother. In a way, Mom is having to learn to speak again. When she does talk, her speech is slow and mumbled. The speech therapist is teaching her how to say certain important phrases: "I'm hungry." "I'm tired." "I need to use the bathroom." Etc.

So today, as I fed my mother some puréed food, Mom turned her head, looked directly at Dad, and said indistinctly, "I love you."

You can imagine my father's reaction. The power of language.

Large families

I thought I'd share a small incident I noticed in the Salt Lake City airport last Thursday as I sat in a coffee shop, waiting for my connecting flight and working on some writing.

The stretch of airport where I sat had one of those moving sidewalks to assist passengers in traversing the long distance. A family came by, with young children who were taking great delight in the moving sidewalk. Three kids were giggling and exclaiming over this exotic form of transportation.

And then I saw four kids. And then five. And then six, as Dad helped along a toddler barely walking. And then seven. And then I saw the mother, pushing a tiny baby in a stroller.

My goodness, eight children, all seemingly under the age of ten. But more than that, eight happy children. Eight well-behaved children. Eight children who were shepherded and corralled by parents through a large airport with nary a tear, tantrum, or even a stern word. The parents were even smiling and not looking stressed.

Some people, it seems, “do” large families very well. This appeared to be one of them. It was just a small, brief incident, but it left me smiling.

Update on my parents

Thank you, my dear readers, for all your kind prayers concerning the situation with my parents. I apologize for the silence of the last few days. Here's an update.

I'm here in Southern California with my dad (who will be 90 in July). My mother (who is 93) is currently in a nearby rehabilitation center after being hospitalized a couple weeks ago. She had a severe stroke a couple years ago which took out her dominant (right) side, but despite that she wasn't doing too badly. My father was still able to care for her at home with the help of mobility aids, a wonderful in-home care assistant who came in twice a week to bathe her, etc.

Since I only see my parents about once a year, it was clear to me that my mom was gradually declining, but my father (perhaps stubbornly) was seeing incremental steps and still insisted he could keep her at home and care for her himself.

Last October, God knows how, both my parents got COVID. Dad recuperated at home, but Mom was hospitalized. Both recovered, but we think it was this bout of COVID that precipitated an extremely rapid decline in my mother's health.

My three brothers, one of whom lives an hour away and the other two of whom live in the Bay Area, have been wonderful over the past couple of months, tag-teaming to stay with my parents and assist with my mother's care. Then my dad took a fall (tripped in the middle of the night on the way to the bathroom) and received some muscle damage in his arm as well as other bumps and bruises, and it became crystal-clear that my mother could no longer be cared for at home, no matter how much my dad wanted it.

Mom was transferred to a rehab facility which is, thankfully, only a couple of miles away from my parents' house. She is unable to speak coherently, unable to walk, sit up without assistance, etc. Her decline (both mental and physical) is so abrupt that everyone is baffled. Possibly it's due to rapid-onset Alzheimer's resulting from COVID; we don't know.

While originally I thought I would be here to assist with my mother's physical care, the urgency of that reason disappeared when she was transferred to the rehab facility. My job then became convincing my dad that Mom cannot come home, for her own safety.

My dad is a former engineer; he's a logical thinker; but this was his blind spot. My parents have been married 66 years, and he couldn't accept that she had to stay under expert care. My brothers were gently trying to convince him, but he wouldn't agree.

The trouble is, Mom is not responding to any of the therapies offered in the rehab center (speech/physical/occupational), and the staff is recommending she be transferred to the other side of the building, to the long-term care facility. Dad didn't want this; he wanted her home.

Then, on my second evening here, we went to see my mom and feed her dinner (Dad is there twice a day, feeding her both lunch and dinner), and she was so out of it that it became clear even to my dad that she couldn't come home. He had a rough night and a rough follow-up morning as he came to grips with this reality. It was for this reason, if no other, that I'm glad to be here to support him.

Part of the urgency to have my dad accept this is because as long as my mom is a patient at the rehab facility, then she has a smooth and automatic transfer to the long-term care facility. But if she's removed from the rehab center (to come home), then she loses that status and will be placed on a waiting list. And ... she can't wait. For her physical safety, she needs skilled care.

Anyway, that's the status at the moment. Dad and I go to the rehab center twice a day to feed her. I do most of the feeding; as I told Dad, "You'll have a longer chance to feed her. I won't" (since my visit here is fairly short).

My youngest brother, who has been incredible, warned me well about my mother's decline, so her condition wasn't a shock. It's just sad to see her regressing almost to an infantile state. But my dad hasn't wavered in his care for her, even though she's no longer at home. That, dear readers, is marriage.

I don't know how much longer I'll be here, but I'm guessing another 10 days or so. Dad and I have a meeting with my mother's caseworker this week to discuss the financial aspects (all the medi-whatevers: MediCal, MediCaid, MediCare, etc.). They'll transfer my mother to the long-term care side of the facility in the next couple of days.

Then, to make things worse, today we had to get a form notarized. My dad's sister (my aunt) isn't expected to live long. She never married or had children, so my dad is her closest living relative. He had to sign a consent form (and get it notarized) to have her buried in the family plot near my grandparents and great-grandparents. So yeah, it's been a tough month for my dad.

I deeply appreciate everyone's thoughts and prayers.