Magical Kingdom for Pilgrims

I haven't written as its too cumbersome to do on a little Iphone, but I felt so moved by the last three days, it had to happen, no matter how difficult.  I've not been walking much first because of my tendonitis, then yesterday because of my knee. I walked 30 kms two days in a row first from Burgos to Hontanas, then Hontanas to Boadilla and both days I ended up in magical auberges. Then the day before yesterday I did a very slow 20 kms that took me about 8 hours because of pain and I stopped in Villacalzar de Sigur. I met two wonderful boys, Chris and Andrew from the UK and South Africa respectively. We immediately talked as if we had known each other for decades. We laid in the grass and exchanged adventures and then I walked to the church and had dinner at a bar right next door. When I returned from a terrible dinner and after making my decision to stop walking and instead take a train to Santiago and welcome pilgrims, Chris and Andrew caught me before I went to the bedroom and asked if I wanted some pancakes. Pancakes, I guess in South Africa are actually stuffed crepes and they had found some Nutella type filling and made these marvelous pancakes, then some hot chocolate and just a ton of good conversation and laughs. I should be able to upload pics of them growing old together in rocking chairs, but if not, imagine two adorable 20 something boys rocking in chairs in front of a fireplace, it was fantastic.
Anyway, the next day I walked to Carrion de Los Condes with every intention of carrying onto Leon on bus and contemplating my next move when a friend I last saw in Santo Domingo de la Calzada called my name. She was taking a bus to the next stage and I decided to do the same except one town before. We chatted for a long while and talked about all sorts of camino things and had churros and chocolate and tea. One of the raddest thing on this camino is that you can eat all you want, because you're likely to burn it all off on your 13 to 18 mile walk. So we rode the bus and I got off before her, said my goodbyes, wished pilgrims a 'buen camino' and went to the halfway point. I totally forgot to get a stamp there, but I have a picture of a sign so that's good enough.
As I passed the town, I decided I didn't want to stay there and began to walk. About 2 kms jn my leg gave out and I was in total agony. There happened to be a town and a new  hostal and something kept naggjng me to walk in. I walked into the place and this sweet German lady said all single beds were booked and I couldn't see myself spending 45 euros for a double. She told me about the auburge owned by an Italian and this place callled 'peaceable kingdom'. I walked a bit down the road and fohnd the sign and rang the bell. An English man about 60 was feeding two young guys lunch and invited me in. He said yes, told me to drop my stuff and brought me a full plate of food. We ate and talked and drank wine and basked in the sunshine. It was incredible to say the least. 

After lunch I took a bath, a nap and when I woke I asked the host if he knew anything about the homes in the hills. 'Bodegas! We have one as well, maybe we can go have a glass of wine later'. One of the young guys from lunch left and the other stayed and we walked to the bodega. Turns out they made an amazing restaurant deep in the cave of the hill and when I walked in there were two English pilgrims I had met on my second day. They invited us for drinks, the host showed us his bodega, and once again I was exactly where I needed to be. We returned to the restaurant for the dinner and order a spread of amazing seafood and wine. After about 3 hours of this really indulgent experience, we went home and I slept all the way to 9:30! The latest since the camino started. 

The strangest part of all this is that I'm allergic to cats and my host has 2 and 5 dogs and I had a few sniffles yesterday, but slept well and woke up with no problem. Then about an hour ago I started sneezing and eyes started itching and I knew it was time to go. So I'm off, not walking, but hitching a ride to the next town to rest my leg for a few days. It's just like life, it gives you these little subtle signs of what your next step should be and you decide if you want to listen. 

My Journey to Camino De Compostela

Saying Goodbye When It's Already Been Said

When I was in PA school, my close friends thought I was crazy for saying that I wish my dad had cancer or ALS or a physical ailment that took his body, but sustained his mind. Instead he had Alzheimer's and continues to deteriorate at a progressive rate, forgetting who the cute girls down the road are (his granddaughters), who I am and sometimes who my momma is (most recently he's thought she was my aunt). As I've said before, this disease is a cruel one, one that robs everyone around you the joy of who you are and who they remember you to be until those who once called you dad, becomes 'a nice girl who takes me places'.
As a sophomore in college I befriended a kindred spirit. We both had fathers who we had lost to 'mental' diseases. Though we had our dads present in physical form, we lost them in mental form, but for different reasons. Her father had undergone heart surgery, had a stroke on the operating table, fell into a coma and then revived, but a different man, his sales and marketing mind was gone. I remember sitting at the computer at our underground housing and food department job expressing her deep sadness for her dad and wondering if he was going to make it through. This girl became my best friend and now even though we live 20 miles apart and only see each other three or four times a year, we are still tightly connected and I love her dearly through all of our trials and tribulations.
If you've followed me on this blog or in real life, you've heard me see that I wish my momma was free of the burden that my father represents. As an outsider with a disease to please, I'm constantly looking for ways to save her from him. Then I realize that it's her battle, I can't save anyone. He is alive and physically well to teach her a lesson despite his complete dependency on her very much like an infant on its mother. My best friend empathized with this all too well, knowing what it's like to have a father shell, but no father who her mom cared for and watched over constantly. Throughout the last decade I have also told people that I don't have a dad, which in some form is true. At this point in the disease my dad has almost completely forgotten who I am. He still calls me sweetheart when I call, but when I ask him what my name is he responds in his strong Brooklyn accent "Joanna Bopp-Pie-O" and we laugh, a strong belly laugh and then he asks what we're laughing about and who I am. It's our own very special father-daughter interaction.  In the past 10 years, I've latched onto great men- fathers of boyfriends, mentors, employers- and adopted them as father figures, asked them for advice, allowed them to take me on 'father daughter dates', let them love me like their daughters. One of them has played the role so authentically it brought me to tears when he called me claiming it had been too long since he's heard from me. My dad never once picked up the phone to call me at any point in his life, it was always my momma who called and then passed the phone to him. I'm really quite envious of friends who have that relationship, the ones whose fathers call them to discuss politics or religion or their mother's birthday plans. My best friend empathized with all this in that she felt the same way, luckily she had her brother who played the role more many times over the years and actually walked her down the aisle at her wedding last year.
So what happens when you've found solace in the fact that you no longer have a father, just a shell of a person who you call dad? When my father finally passes to the other side, how is that going to make me feel? I've said goodbye to the man who taught me to ride a bike and how to camp at Yogi Bear Jellystone parks. The man who built a loft bed for me and a condo for my crazy mice. The cool dude who taught me to love music and dance and the one who ruffled the feathers of the man I thought I was going to marry in my 20's. That man is no longer there and maybe it's because I'm older and the lessons that dads teach their daughters are different, but I'm missing the adult interactions as well. I don't get the dad who helps build my house, like my newest man had last year. Or the pops who builds the crib for my non-existent baby. And yes, I know lots of people grow up without dads, some without parents. I understand this is probably more becoming the norm now rather than the exception.. My nieces and nephew lost their dad last year and my newest girlfriends both lost their fathers at an early age, but I still crave that essential relationship, desperately at times.
Today my best friend gets to answer that question. Her dad passed at 12:04 this morning and though I haven't heard the details of their last moments, I hope that peace was said and that in his last words he left his children with something to remind them that he helped bring them into this world. That despite his unconventional role as a father and then as a man who lived in their house as a shell, he loved them deeply and was proud of each one of them. This is my hope for them. I hope he realized his part in the beautiful family that he built, the one that got tighter and stronger with each challenge life presented to them.  It's the same hope I have for my sister and I when my dad's time comes. Though good bye has already been said, I hope the few moments of final lucidity allow him to become dad, the way each of them had wanted him as dad, one last time.

Phase Downhill From Here

A few days ago my dad picked up the phone at my house in El Paso and asked what to do with it, I heard my mom telling him to say "Hi" in the background, he hung it up. Then I heard him asking how to get to my sister's house, which is two houses down from my parents and has been for 10 years. Last night, I asked to talk to my dad on the phone and he had absolutely no idea who I was, the heartbreak begins. I always thought once he forgot who I was, it was really over. When I was in high school, we went to visit his mother, my grandmother, who was in a nursing home, full-blown Alzheimer's, but still happy. We sat on the bed as my dad cried, big, huge tear droplets while lamenting the loss of his mother "I wish she knew who I was, I wish I could express my love and she would know it's from her son". I never thought I would be in his place, but here I am.

So I think it can't get any worse, I have felt fatherless for some years now. I've adopted older, influential men in my life as my new fathers, I have lots of them and I love them each in very unique ways. But this was different, the end was truly near. Then my niece sends me a text asking me if I heard what happened to my momma yesterday. I immediately call my mom to find out. Apparently at lunch time, my dad got up from the table and looked out the window and asked "Sabes donde esta Rosa?". My mom is named Rosa and she was sitting at the table right behind him. "She's probably out with friends" he answered himself. The craziness continues and I'm not there to see it or help. I picked the wrong year to go home. I should have moved back to El Paso this year, but I didn't and now I have to just wait from 600 miles away for the eminent downhill from here. 

Pipe Dreams

My pipe dreams upon moving back included giving my momma enough respite to live her life, take a shower, relax with a book, go to the desert on a long, peaceful walk all by her lonesome, even take a trip to visit her now only friend. My dreams were quickly crushed by that wretched disease that in my dad's case has allowed him only one touchstone, my mom. When I first moved back, I could get him to go with me to the store, to the park, to just about anywhere with only a little hesitation. Now, I literally have to beg him and he begs back, "please don't make me go, please don't make me leave" until I win with a guilt trip and he grudgingly gets up, prepares and walks out the door. If it's a walk we're going on, he walks 20 feet in front of me and doesn't talk until about ten minutes in when I try to engage him in his favorite topics: growing up in NY, Vietnam, Peace Corps, or Jimmy V.-his mafioso childhood friend. If we're in the car, he asks where momma is about twenty times until I get him into the same above topics and then he's ok.
These realizations have forced me to once again reconsider my decision to move home. I have to go back to living my life, so after only 6 months away, I have made the decision to move back to Austin. I'm not sure how long I'll be there or what I'm going to do, but I feel right in Austin in a way I haven't been able to fit in El Paso. I gave it a fair chance. So there I go, pipe dreams shot down and killed. Sorry mom, sorry Lilypons and Midge, I tried.

Clean and Dressed to Impress

Today I took my dad with me to take Ellie Belle to the vet. She has a nasty lick granuloma on her right paw and we've been treating it for about 2 months now. On the way there I got a nice whiff of my pops and he smelled a bit sour. I've gotten used to it in my time here and have accepted it as part of the progression of the disease.
Last week I went to visit my childhood friend who just had a new baby. Upon arrival I saw her aunt who I had known since I was 11 or 12. She gave me a big hug and I again got that nice whiff of stinky-ness. My friend could not understand why her aunt didn't shower for days in a row and why she didn't change her clothes. After only ten minutes of spending some time with her aunt I diagnosed her with dementia, likely Alzheimer's. "Really Erica? Is that what she has?". Yes, of course, how could you not know? She's been like this for years and no one has diagnosed her. Has she gone to the doctor? Have you taken her? No and no. This is a sad reality of many people with Alzheimer's. Family members simply chalk it up to laziness, depression or just them being a 'crazy, old...' (insert family member here). That's for another blog though.
There are a couple a hygiene/clothing issues that you have to look forward to when you care for someone with Alzheimer's. One is the lack of showering and the other is inappropriate dress. The aversion to showering can have multiple etiologies. Some people think that deep water may be frightening or shower heads are too enveloping. For my daddy-o I think it stems from being by himself and fear of my mother leaving while he's in the shower. When we finally get him to take a shower, we've never seen a quicker bath. In and out within minutes and complete with mediocre cleanliness. Hence the sour smell every once in a while.
The other concern is the how they dress for the outside world. My crazy dad has always had impeccable style and continues to dress quite snazzily. Unfortunately, he does dress in t-shirts when it's 30 degrees outside and in sweats when it's a 100. With Alzheimer's we have a constant cognitive battle going on. When they wake up and get ready to dress, it's a huge venture. Often times they get confused with the options and locations of underwear, socks, shoes, shirts, etc. My dad opens and closes the dresser about 30 times before he's done getting completely dressed.
Make it easy for them. Encourage them to shower with love and accompany them into the bathroom if it makes it easier. Keep it simple. That's the motto with these folks.
Here are some links from the Alzheimer's Society to help you with your future washing and dressing endeavors.

http://alzheimers.org.uk/site/scripts/documents_info.php?documentID=155

http://alzheimers.org.uk/site/scripts/documents_info.php?documentID=142

Lily Poppins

A couple months ago my best friend from childhood had a second precious baby. Her baby's daddy sucks, so she went from single mom of one, to single mom of two. She has the housing and support of her momma, but grandparents raising grandkids is hard on everyone, so I tried to set up a situation. My niece Lilypons is quite the nurturing type. She loves babies, is really good with kids, and was in dire need of extracurricular activities. I volunteered her to my friend and her mom to help with all the chaos that happens on a daily basis. In addition to taking care of her newest two grandchildren, my friends mom also helps care for her older two granddaughters whose parents live in Juarez. Her day usually goes like this: wake up the girls, make them breakfast, get them ready, pack them up, take them to school, return home to take care of 3 year old and newborn until afternoon, pick up girls, make them dinner, help with homework, bathtime (hopefully mommy is home by this time), bedtime, sleep, wake up and do it all over again. So I volunteered my niece, who got my old car in January, to help them out. She works an average of 40 hours a month and has reportedly been quite the help.
I grew up in their household and it's such a warm environment. My friends mom takes in everybody, feeds them, talks to them, she's the neighborhood go-to woman and she always has been. I hope that Lily picks up some of the good family energy and grows to appreciate the truly important things in life: family, kindness, and love.
The girls naturally love her and the baby is quite calm in her arms. Lily enjoys the company of the children and the adults and I think she's found a good niche. A few Tuesdays ago, the day we usually have our fun auntie niece time, I decided we would make bracelets.

At first it was a fail, but then the girls got into it and we ended having a good time. I'm slowly segueing into my next profession, crafts and vintage and all things creative.

I have El Paso to thank for this journey and all the confidence it has granted me, but most of all for the time it has allowed me with my family and connections from those of my past. Thanks El Paso.
Lily decided to make some bracelets in dedication of her newly adopted children: