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(Like so many pieces of laundry, morning thoughts aren’t usually organized.)

JUNE 16 – 24, 2019

Living with Parkinson’s

Phyllis and Sam Turner ©2019

APDA: American Parkinson Disease Association
BBC: Bisbee Breakfast Club
CH: Cynthia Holmes, Ph.D. Neurology
CPAP: Continuous Positive Airway Pressure mask (for Sleep Apnea).
DBS: Deep Brain Stimulation (much improved since Michael J. Fox!)
HEH: Happily Ever After!
HS: Harvey Stanbrough Pro-writer and mentor(
IBS: Irritable Bowel Syndrome (often associated with PD)
MJFF: Michael J. Fox Foundation
PSG: Parkinson’s Support Group(s)
PD: Parkinson’s Disease
PMD: PARKINSON & Movement Disorder Alliance
PJ: Phyllis – my wife: SWOMBO (She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed) A contributor and #1 editor.
PT: Personal trainer Tresha,  including daily in-home exercise assignments for PD
TC: Tai Chi Chuan for balance and body health once a week
TCF: The Compassionate Friends (For parents who have experienced the death of a child or sibling.)
WIP: Work in Progress (32º North)  I write every chance I get.  Writing is my vacation!
YISKA: Navajo for Darkness has passed.  (also the name of Sara’s Navajo Sheepdog who barks in Navajo!)


Betsy G.: Happy Anniversary to you and Phyllis.

Thanks, Betsy. It’s been a while since we’ve had lunch together.  Let’s meet soon.

Lucy J: The best of these were your wedding pictures! 😊

Thanks, Lucy.  I had to go to our album to find the pictures.

Ian: Thanks much.  Happy Father’s Day.

And to you, my good friend with seven children and so many descendants that you have lost count!

Nancy M.: Love your style, & am so grateful to have known you both.  I leave for my daughter’s in Omaha early Aug permanently. ‘Tho a surprise to me to be so sudden, ‘twas the best time for them. I have only been able to glance at your books from St. Francis & they go back this Sunday.  All the best.

Our prayers for a successful change for you, Nancy.  Blessings.

Helena B.: Thanks for the pictures, Sam.

Our pleasure.

Father’s Day at Joe and Jessa’s home in Corona De Tucson.  Bekah helps her father with the Bar-B-Que.

06.17.19: I only had one doctor appointment today. A check on my recent radiation.  All is good.  PJ and I fixed chicken breast, squash and baby potatoes for lunch with enough left over for dinner.

1800: League Archery for Sam.  Last Friday, I scored 139/300.  Today, I managed 141/300.

06.18.19: I’ve been walking many mornings with Al and Dexter Dog. Gotta’ get my morning Sun somehow.  I also put another coat of oil on Brett Bench. This morning, we take the Buick in for window motor replacement. We have a PD meeting this afternoon.

MORE LETTERS: Sam, a really GREAT MM this time. I enjoyed the story of your wedding, the Brett Bench, and the note from Sheila. I’ve also known her for a number of years. 


* * *

I only write when I’m inspired, so I see to it that I’m inspired every morning at 3 a.m. — my author website — my instructive Daily Journal

 Yes.  We both go back a long way, don’t we?  Thanks for the comments.  You noticed I mentioned failing toward success? That’s happening in Archery.

Roberta S.

Just loved the description of your wedding on the rim of the Grand Canyon— a special place for a special couple.

Belated,  by a few hours, Happy Fathers Day!

Thanks, Roberta. The pictures help us remember, also.

Leonard H.

Belated best wishes on your wedding anniversary.

Thanks, Len.

 Ana F. Happy Anniversary ❣️️!!! 62! Wow!And Happy Father’s Day !! Love that bench

Thanks, Ana

 Barbara P.

It’s 0335, and I’m sitting here enjoying the sights and sounds of your Grand Union. I can hear the crunch of ancient shells along with the rustle of THE DRESS {and you} SAYING in 62 years wewilllookbacktorememberevery birdsong and pony clop.Thirty arrows at 350 have pierced the hearts of us all. Such an honor to enjoy with joy, once again, your watercolor words. My picture of a Grand Union on South rim is going over the fireplace in my imagination. Love Barbara

See what you do to me!

Oh, Barbara! You write like you paint.  Do you still paint? With watercolor, it is easy to slop the words together. (With Dragon, if I forget to say the comma or period and things just run onandonandon.  It gives the mind something to work on.) PJ and I say Thank You.

06.19.19: 0400: Yesterday, Jazmine, at Body Central, asked me: “What is your secret?” {For lasting sixty-two years.} I flippantly answered, “A divorce would be too expensive.” I thought about that answer, later.  There is nothing frivolous about a lasting marriage.  What really happened was this:

Because of the Navy placing me on the East Coast and Phyllis teaching on the West Coast, commuting was out of the question. So we ran up a GIANT, HUGE phone bill (at 0500 Eastern time). This was before Face Time and Skype or email. 1957, you understand.  We were together a total of seven weeks out of that first year of marriage. Three weeks were spent in an apartment in Charleston, South Carolina, where I was TAD working on a destroyer (The USS ANTHONY, DD 515) that was being recommissioned and given to Germany. PJ had three weeks off from teaching in Hawthorne, California, and kept a scrapbook of our activities over Christmas.

When I transferred to my duty station with the ACB-2 in Norfolk, Virginia, I was given a 14-day leave. I took a military hop and flew to California to surprise my wife.It was in her apartment that I decided to fix breakfast while she slept. I had never cooked before, and I decided after reading a recipe in Playboy Magazine, I would bake a rum omelet. You understand: neither of us drank alcohol. (Later in our lives, we liked grasshoppers. For five years, I drank scotch.)  But in those first years, we had no rum or anything  alcoholic in the cupboard. I did find a bottle of rum extract. So while she was sleeping, I fixed the omelet, but it said something about pouring the RUM over the omelet and lighting it. I must’ve read the recipe wrong – I just now googled it – and I know what I left out: At the dining-room door, set a light to a big spoonful of rum and pour it over the omelette just as you go in. It is almost impossible to light a glass of rum in a hurry for your omelet, so use a kitchen spoon.”

I just poured the extract over the eggs, stood back and held a match to the rum-covered eggs.  Nothing happened.  I poured the rest of the extract on the eggs and tried lighting it again, standing back as far as I could, expecting a giant WHOOOSH of fire. Nothing happened. I didn’t want to waste the eggs, so I decided to serve it anyway. You know the results: it tasted TERRIBLE!

My surprise was truly a surprise. We ended up having toast and coffee.

But, I digress.

If you count the three weeks of honeymoon time plus Christmas in Charleston plus my California trip, it comes to around six weeks together the whole year. We hardly knew each other.

In June 1958, Phyllis moved to Norfolk. We were in Navy housing in Little Creek, Virginia, where she had taken a teaching job for $1000 cut in pay compared to Hawthorne, California. I took her to Virginia Beach. Essentially, we were strangers. With a stroke of brilliance on my part as she was sitting on the beach wiggling her toes in the sand, I got on my knees next to her and said:

“PJ, you might be wondering what’s happening to your life. If we were going steady, you might want to give the ring back and say let’s just be friends for a while.  Well,” I continued,“I don’t want the ring back. Instead, I want to date you.  I want us to get re-acquainted. Each weekend that I’m off duty, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. The difference is I won’t have to worry about getting you into a dorm by eleven. How would you like that?”

“I’d like that.”

With that agreement, we traveled to Nags Head, North Carolina and stood on the dune where the Wright Brothers flew the first plane.  Or we would be in colonial Williamsburg studying the history of our country.  Or we would be out  with our Navy friend, Jim Tarantino, misplaced from Napa Valley, California, learning about California wines and how to enjoy wine at dinner for our very first time. Another time, we climbed the stairs of the Washington Monument. (We were much younger, then.) We dated that year.  We’ve been dating all of our lives.

Last night we had a “concert date” watching Barbara Streisand presenting her “final” concert in Miami on Netflix.  What a show! What a date! Because it was on Netflix, I didn’t have to pay $1,500 (plus a service fee of $75) for a single ticket to see her perform live. We went to bed by ten o’clock and didn’t worry about a dorm light flashing that the doors would be locked in five minutes. I wonder if the U. of A. still has those rules?

1130: I’m off to Dr. Bessette’s for a check-up. The IBS  problem was the coconut milk on my daily cereal. (We were correct, Tresha.) I’ll stay with Almond milk.

Reviewing the PD support group meeting yesterday. Marissa (?) was the facilitator. PJ counted twenty-three in the circle. Someone (a non-PD person) asked me what the support group was like. If you aren’t used to seeing tremors, it may be shocking.  The circle had several bouncing knees, shaking arms and hands, and twisting of bodies. (Think Michael J. Fox.)

Not all Parkinson people have tremors. Someone mentioned that, on a list of fifteen symptoms, he had fourteen of them, but no tremor. One person said he was dealing with bouts of anger; another couldn’t sleep more than two hours at a time; another was having too many side effects from her medications. Two wanted a quicker line of communication with their doctor. I’d like that, also.  I’m going to see if the Patient Portal will be a possible alternative to actually going in to see the doctor.

1300:  I’ll check my email until PJ comes home from her Red Hat luncheon. Then, I’ll practice shooting at the Club for an hour.  1630: Shot 30 arrows for practice.  I may shoot again after Tai Chi tomorrow.  I baked tilapia this evening. PJ fixed the sweet peppers and the baby potatoes. Watched River of Life on PBS about the Nile.  Excellent.

06.20.19: 0400: I was planning to go to Tai Chi this morning, but lack of sleep, last night causes me to skip the meeting.  I don’t feel comfortable driving without a co-pilot to watch traffic for me. PJ can’t attend since she has to be here for the cleaning crew. Both of us are worn out, and it isn’t even noon, yet.

1000: PJ is resting. So am I as I sit at the keyboard. I’ll take her out to lunch about 1130.  Then, I’ll probably be ready to konk.

The Brett Bench with five coats of Teak Oil

1300 – 1400: I shot 12 ends (36) arrows in practice this afternoon.  My grouping is better. Shooting in the red and blue with an occasional yellow. Follow through helps. Still tired. We have leftovers from this noon. 1900: We watched the news (previously recorded) as we ate a small piece of peach crumb pie.  Then, a couple of child prodigy’s playing amazing compositions on piano and violin. Went to bed by 2000.

06.21.19: Up by 0530: (surprise. I slept past my usual 0430.) Put the final coat of oil on the Brett Bench. Set up a solar fountain where it will get direct sunlight in the morning hours.

1730:  Wish me luck.  I’m off to the archery league. Shot 30 arrows in one hour.  Scored 149/300. Like Harvey says: “I’m failing my way to success.”

We can use the two Corinna pillows on the Brett Bench, now.

Blessings to all.

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