Jeff Belden

[originally posted February 3 2012, 7:19 PM]

I was riding with my father yesterday along a winding blacktop road with no shoulders. We came across the spot where my son ran his car off the road and had to be extracted with the tow truck a few years ago. It reminded me of the time that I ignored the idiot lights on the dashboard of my parents' station wagon and burned up the engine. I reminded my dad of that story without identifying the culprit. My dad now has dementia, so he didn't really remember the story so well, let alone the identity of the perpetrator. 

[originally posted November 7 2011, 6:33 PM]

My father went AWOL this week for the second time in his life, that I know of. The first time was when he was in the Army after World War II in postwar Japan. He snuck out the window in the barracks to say one last goodbye to his Japanese girlfriend.

This time he was just enjoying the nice weather, went outside into the nursing home courtyard, and then wandered through the unlocked fence gate. He says he spotted some broken glass in the roadway and was just going to pick it up to save someone from getting a flat tire.

The staff promptly spotted him where he shouldn't be, and now he is staying in a more secure area, and subject to excessive supervision, as he sees it. 

My wife and I picked him up and took him out to lunch at the local Taco Bell. We needed to wash up in the restroom, so dad went into the men's room while I waited outside. I thought I'd let my father wait outside the men's room while I washed up. My wife thought I was being imprudent, and a 3rd AWOL would be likely.

So she encouraged me to just use the ladies room and she would guard both doors. When I came out, of course there was a woman standing there waiting to use the ladies room. I told her that I could explain everything. She said "I hope you didn't pee on the seat".

Boys will be boys.

[originally posted September 2 2011, 6:43 AM]

Two things on my mind today. OK. Two hundred things. I'll just focus on the two main themes.

Dad needs a haircut. Just a trim. His hair is actually longer than mine.  St Elmo, like a growing number of American small towns don't have barbershops anymore. Or blacksmith shops. But this isn't really a social commentary. 

Looking at my dad, it's not just the hair that strikes me as shaggy. He's 84, more stooped than I remember, and more unfocused and scattered than ever. He manages to get his breakfast, but he looks like someone who has a dozen other things on his mind. Dad has Alzheimer's Disease, and today is a very big day. His children are aware, but he won't be until a little later in the day.

Today, we plan to move dad to his new home in Columbia MO, called The Bluffs. He won't be thrilled to hear this news. He's likely to be concerned that we are going to get rid of his car, or throw away more of his accumulated treasure. We kids have examined the treasure, and it's mostly saved plastic detergent bottles, Little Debbie boxes, empty Kleenex boxes, all stuffed with McDonald's receipts, napkins, straws, plastic grocery bags, etc. Part of the treasure is his kingdom of electrical Rube Goldberg devices.

That stuff needs a trim. 

There is a network of dangerous electical cobwebs (take the video tour) that have accumulated in the upstairs and the garage, the sacred domains of my father. After Dad hops in the car to go to my sister Lori's house, my brother Brad and I plan to remove miles of old extension cords, adapters, splices, half-broken lamps, and other odd parts to reduce the fire risk, and to set our minds at ease. We could never have done this with Dad in the house. 

The hoarding has resulted in the accumulation of so much broken stuff that it will take a few dump trucks to do the job. Today is a more focused effort. Only the wires.

Just a trim.

[originally posted April 1 2012, 10:51 AM]

My father returned from military duty in post-war Japan and moved to St. Elmo to join his older brothers in the working world. There he met a lovely young woman named Iris who was working behind the soda fountain in the local drugstore. The first time they met, he asked her to make a peanut butter milkshake. It was the best milkshake ever. 

Because he has dementia, I hear some of these stories quite often and they have taken on iconic meaning. Every time he points to the high school graduation photo of my mother on his dresser, he reminds me of the peanut butter milkshake. 

So when we decided to visit his home in St. Elmo this weekend for what may be one of the last times in my father's life, we decided to keep it simple. We would visit his house, go to the cemetery to see my mother's grave, and invite his sister Alyce to come and meet with us there. That would be enough. 

My brother and sister and I had worried that taking dad from the nursing home back to visit his house would stir up his old desire to just move back Home Alone. We figured we would have to listen to pleadings that he knew how to drive, had dozens of neighbors who could help out, and just needed to get back home to Take Care of Things. 

It turns out our fears were unjustified. The weather was beautiful, we were all in a great mood, we ran into other family and friends, and enjoyed a delightful walk among the wildflowers at nearby Ballard Nature Center. He did not beg to stay home. 

Mid-afternoon, I had an idea. We stopped at the Altamont Dairy Bar for a commemorative peanut butter shake. Not wanting to spoil our supper (planned for the delightful Firefly Grill in Effingham), we asked for 6 straws and one shake. It was delicious. We hadn't really planned on the peanut butter shake. Not everyone wanted a sip. There was plenty to go around. It was even better for being shared. 

The day was a success in every way. And it was the second best milkshake ever.