“LOST MUSKET DIARY” Wednesday July 9, 2014

Sunny, Slight Haze 78F/ 26C in Rancho Lost Musket

Reveille Check List:

·         Open eyes, check vital signs-pulse, breathing, etc. Turn head, flex toes. Turn head and see where Lola is, glance at clock. Check window for sunlight.  All systems GO. CHECK!

·         Head for bathroom. Don’t forget to brush your teeth. Ten-4! CHECK!

·         Open bedroom window and patio door. Turn on ceiling fan. Start coffee. Start thinking about grocery list. CHECK!

·         Pour apple juice. Wash down AM prescription dose. Take Naproxen for all day Arthritis pain and stiffness. Evaluate physical abilities. Can you walk OK today. Begin shoulder therapy exercises. Start mental inventory. CHECK!

·         Pour coffee. On way to patio check bedroom to see if Lola’s eyes are open. If closed, proceed to patio and assume seat to enjoy coffee and admire the view of “Old Saddleback.” CHECK.

And that, my friends, is a typical beginning to my typical day in the “Golden State,” as I turn yet another page in the chronicle of my “Golden Years.” I find that I’m doing a lot of thinking and reflecting these days. Lots of remembering, and that’s a good thing, because it indicates to me that I don’t have Alzheimer’s yet. Or, at least I don’t think so.

Everyone over the age of 50, especially those of us who live alone live with the abject fear of “senior dementia.” This is driven home if you live in a community with a lot of “elderly people.” My contemporaries struggle every day to maintain their independence. That’s why “55-plus” senior living communities are so popular. I am constantly threading my way through swarms of slowly moving people, many pushing walkers, or darting about in scooter chairs with determined looks on their faces eager to demonstrate that they can still get around. Our friends the paramedics from Station 45 drop by several times a week. I can sit on my patio and watch. I’ve got the ritual down pat. Usually, the fire engine arrives first. Sometimes the paramedic truck beats it. A few seconds later, a Doctor’s ambulance pulls in. Uniforms pile off all three vehicles and about six people in uniforms carrying medical bags and pushing a gurney head quickly into the building. They’ll come out a few minutes later pushing the gurney back out to the ambulance. If this is a good call, the gurney will be empty. If the medical team is animated and chatting and smiling, that’ll mean the person who the 911 call was about wasn’t sick enough to have to go to the emergency room. But, if they appear downcast and their heads are down with no smiles, that’s not good. Because if the ambulance leaves along with one of the fire trucks leaving just one of them behind, that means they’ve left one of the firefighters to wait for the Sheriff to arrive. Now, it gets very quiet. I know the ritual. I used to be in the ambulance myself years ago and I watched the same ritual from my front window in Stockton, when my next door neighbor died. The Sheriff will arrive to conduct a death investigation, and then a bit later, either the coroner will arrive, or the “first call car” from the funeral home will show up and the end of life ritual will move on to another place. Growing old is not for sissies, the old joke goes. It’s true. But, there’s no choice in the matter.

Ciao! Mike Botula