Adventure 463: The Story of George, Scooteney in the Evening, 39

March 31, 2018

Real time found George in a state of confused revelry, much like a jilted teen boy, except that he's a demented eighty-seven year old. No matter, the trials of unrequited love know no limit. He'd had a falling out with his sweetie, Vina. It turns out he dressed for church today, though it was Saturday. Vina made a comment about his dress, which first embarrassed him, then angered him. He retorted with a sharp reply. She left, offended. He wandered back to his room, and was pouting when I found him there. We'd enjoyed a nice two night visit to see the Sand Cranes with our friends, hoping that George could manage (Denial is such a willing companion). He really can't. He had a fifty percent record on pills this week, which is partly caused by his denial that he needs to take them. But he was quite chatty in his misery. He shared his feeling that he thinks he feels more strongly for Vina that she does for him. He mumbled something about being dissatisfied with Harvard Park. He asked yet again why he had to carry  around his permanent catheter. In short, he was a mess. He also shared that while he was grateful that Judy and I were doing "everything" for him, he didn't want to be a burden on anyone. I listened, re-explained his catheter situation, and even broached the subject that he may need more care than Judy and I can provide. I'm sure he didn't comprehend the conversation, but finally I suggested that he go up to Vina's room to talk with her since there was no solution to be found sulking in his own sorrow. He agreed, and when I left he was on his way. That left Judy and me to face our old friend, denial. We spent the afternoon looking at care units that offer the level of care George will need both in the immediate future and for the unforeseen days to come. The flat fact is that if we want any type of autonomy in the near term, George will have to be in a facility that offers at the very least assisted care and very likely some type of memory care and beyond.

Meanwhile, we spent time with our good buddies, the Ulmen's at Scooteney Reservoir watching the Sand Cranes. We shared the chill of dawn, the whisper of sunset, the honking of the birds, a few laughs, some good food, and genuine fondness. We're thankful for every minute. Our conclusion is  that George is certainly not the burden he worries about, and nothing beats sharing life with good friends. 

 After a day of feeding far and wide the cranes come swooping back to gather in the shallows.

 The birds, which live as long as twenty-two years, travel often in family groups.

 The group sizes vary, usually from two to several hundred. 

 They circle the shallows, ostensibly looking for a landing space, and land like big jets at a busy airport.

 By the time the sun sets fully, the birds are tucked in for the night.

 And while we may not be able to see them clearly, their honking joins to together in a loud chorus.