Last Musical Moments with Mom

Last night, Billy C and were jamming on our ukes with our friend Victor K on guitar. This was a different kind of jam for us as Victor is a talented musician. I'm not saying that we don't know other talented people, but when you say "take it, Victor," he takes it. In fact, when Billy C or I asked one another to take it, Victor usually took it. The only thing we took was credit.

We finished our set with "So Lonesome I Could Cry," with Billy C singing melody and me singing harmony. It evolved into a meditation of sorts with Vic taking solo duties as we strummed along.

At the end, we began talking about music and its spiritual essence--not the exact words Victor used, but close enough. The main point was that words couldn't really express what he felt. He told us how there was nothing like playing with friends just for the sake of playing.

It made me think of Mom's last couple of years. Do did some research on Alzheimer's and learned that musical memory is something that stays with us even as our other memories leave. Mom didn't have Alzheimer's. She had Parkinson's. But the same truth still holds--at least in her case.

I stayed with her one night at one of the facilities where she had lived. She had had a very bad day and the woman who ran this home didn't know what to do with her. So I stayed the night.

I didn't sleep much because about every half-hour or so, Mom would try to get out of her bed. At the time, she couldn't walk much and getting out of bed would have been disastrous for her. So I'd go over and take her hand and say "Mom, you don't have to get up yet." She'd say "Can I sleep for just one more hour?" I'd say "yes" and then stroke her hair as she lay back down. Eventually, she'd drift back off.

At around 3 AM, while still sleeping, she started singing. Now Mom had studied opera and had been an excellent singer in her day. She sang an aria and, considering she was lying on the bed, she sang in perfect pitch and kept perfect time, her foot tapping out the rhythm as it stuck out from under her blanket.

And she sang the whole thing. At full volume. Sublime.

A year or so later, as her disease progressed, we moved Mom into a rehab center for evaluation. Most of this time, she ate and drank very little and slept a lot. Sometimes, when awake, she would hallucinate. We would be sitting and talking (she, her bed), when she would suddenly get this look of horror on her face. She say "Don't let me go!" and I would hold her hand more tightly while the episode passed. I realized, finally, that she thought that she was walking with me and was losing her balance--that she was falling. So, when it happened again, I'd say, "It's alright, Mom. I've got you," and she'd calm down.

One day, I brought my uke by for a visit and found her asleep. I sat there for awhile, strumming a random chord progression. Lo and behold, Mom started singing with me--again, on pitch, even though my fingers traveled carelessly from chord to chord. No words, just notes. But I felt like we were talking, so I played until she came awoke and talked with me a little bit.

Soon Mom moved to hospice. We kept reminding ourselves that sometimes people go into hospice and they're still around for years.

Once in hospice, she began the three-month decline until her death. In the beginning, she'd drift in and out of consciousness. She'd be out most of the day because, at night, she would go into sundowning mode, staying too antsy to sleep. She said very little during most of my visits.

One time, again armed with my uke, I brought a fake-it book and played some songs for her, many of them hymns. I came across one I didn't know. It had a Latin title. I asked her if she knew it. She then awoke to lecture to me about an aria with a similar sounding title and then sang it to me--again in fill voice, in perfect pitch.

And then fell silent.

That was the last time she sang for me.

Now, I'm thinking of how Billy C and I used to play with our Tinker Toys, Lincoln Logs, and Erector Sets, sometimes building hybrid constructions using all three, while Mom had Madame Butterfly playing on the stereo as she did her housework. We didn't think much of it because we figured that's just what everyone's mother did.

Thanks for the music, Mom. I can hear you still.

I Lose Things Sometimes

I just got a new flashdrive to back up my other spare flashdrive, which had nothing on it. I did this because I lost my old flashdrive I don't know where.

I think I lost it last Thursday, or whenever it started to drizzle. I remember going into Target on Day Street. I put my cell phone in my front pants pocket and remember the sensation of feeling two flashdrives rolling around amongst the pocket cargo. While in target, I called Mama C to she what supplies she needed.

Much later, I was getting my car keys and felt only one flashdrive in said pocket. But it felt like the one I now think I lost. The one I didn't feel is the one with all of the slide shows from the past five years of teaching.

Much, much later, while in a different pair of pants, I found the flashdrive I thought I had lost in a pair of pants I was preparing for the laundry. Somewhere along the line, I could not find the flashdrive I thought I had, which is now the flashdrive I think I may have lost.

The flashdrive I now think I lost has pretty much all of my school-related stuff, pictures, writings, etc. on it. I have most of this stuff--almost all of it scattered amongst my computer at school and my laptop at home--but the missing flashdrive has a couple of things that I have recently updated but not saved to the either computer, like my RCC syllabus.

If my past experience is any indication, I will probably find it in some pocket or shoe or something a month from now.

In the meantime, I did go back to Target to see if they had it in their lost and found. I discovered that the Target lost and found is at the photo developing counter. The girl working their looked through about eleven different drawers, several of cabinets, and even a couple of pencil holders.

I don't think she'll find it even if it's there.

So now I have two flashdrives with everything from my laptop on them. I got a little flashdrive holder to put on my keychain. It can hold both my flashdrives and, since it's attached to my keychain, they will be harder to lose.

Electronic Elephant Trunk

I went in for a follow-up on my sleep study. You may recall that the therapist gave me a gizmo that I had to strap around myself. I then had to sleep on my back while numerous electrodes monitored my sleep patterns. Eve though I took a sleeping pill, I only slept for about 1 1/2 hours, woke up, and spent the rest of the night on my back trying to get back to sleep--getting up once to rage against the porcelain.

So, this time a therapist gave me breathing gizmo used for people afflicted with sleep apnea--which I believe is one of the reasons I have a hard time feeling rested when I get up. She starts talking about the results of my test and I interrupt her to interject that, while they wanted about 5 hours worth of sleep data, I may have only given them 1 1/2 hours. She replied, "So you cat-napped the rest of the night." I said "No, I stayed awake the rest of the 5 hours and then took the gizmo off. She sad, "Yes, catnapped." I said "No, catnapped."

I decided that, since I did think that I had sleep apnea, arguing was pointless. I would just bring it up when I talked to my doctor next time.

The purpose of giving me the new gizmo was to determine the specific gizmi that I might have to attach to my personal gizmo when I get it: like a humidifier attachment and who knows what else.

The gizmo was much smaller than I expected--about the size of a small CD player. It had a tube attached to a face mask that attached to a hole through which air pumped in to my nasal area. It would keep my nasal area full of air so my breathing tube wouldn't be closed off. She said I could return it Sunday, so I figured I had it for three nights.

Night 1 I could breath alright, but the noise kept me awake So detached myself from the gizmo.

Night 2 I took a pill and, although my nose was a little stuffed, I slept for a little while. When I awoke, my nose was more stuffed , so I detached from the gizmo again.

Tonight, I will take a sleeping pill my allergy pill, and snort some nasal spray and see how that works.

A Sound of Thunder

I did something in class yesterday that I have never done in 26 years of teaching.

I farted in class.

It was during 4th period and the room was dead quiet--the students working more quietly than any classroom full of teenagers had ever worked. I was at front and center, my back turned to the class as I checked my wall calendar. If there had been a spotlight on me it couldn't have been more obvious who did it.

I could feel it looming inside of me and thought I had it under control, but somehow relaxed and it happened.

It wasn't very long or loud--more like the sound of a bubble bursting. But I know that at least a couple of girls in the front row heard it. When I turned around, trying not to look like I had just farted, they were both hiding their faces behind their books, trying to suppress their laughter.

Every move I made must have looked like I was trying to appear to have not farted. I tried not to look at the two girls for fear my eyes would betray me. I then looked at the girls for fear of not looking at them would make it look like I had done what I had done. I walked around the room, acting nonchalantly, but the cloud of guilt followed me.

Since no one else laughed or looked up, I'm pretty sure that only those two girls heard it. I'm sure that someone will write about this incident in their yearbook.

Another career milestone.

Make A Horrible Noise

So at this past Sunday's uke circle, somebody whipped out "Stand by Me." This is another one of those early tunes that I think is pure poetry when done right. This older lady in the group took the vocal. She had this deep throaty voice--practically a tenor. When she finished, we just kept playing and Uke Forever did this sweet little solo and it was very quiet and meditative. I think we could have played that song for the whole two hours.

So I decided that I needed to learn the song in a key that fit my range.

So I get a version off chordie and take it to school so I can practice between classes like I always do. I'm having a little trouble with it because I'm working with tabs and I only sort of know how the song goes.

So, as I'm struggling and concentrating on the tabs and words in front of me, this loud, mooing kind of sound starts beside me and kind of startles me. I stop and turn to my right and one of my colleagues is standing there. She says, "I love this song," and continues this cow sound that sounds almost like singing only different. I tell her that I'm having trouble with it and let her sing while I play--thinking that maybe I'm o far off-key that I am causing her to sound bad but, no, she really does sing like a cow and is tone deaf to boot but apparently that doesn't bother her and she keeps singing while students who often stand around with me playing rhythm instruments kind of stop as if they have just witnessed some horrible accident and can't look away.

But I keep playing because I think maybe on some level that it is a noble effort and that, if not beautiful, it is at least sublime.

Swollen Pearl

Why oh why do dogs get themselves in so much trouble?

I suspect that Pearl was chewing on some plant she shouldn't have or trying to catch some critter she shouldn't have--but I'll never know for sure.

Last night, at around 9, when I called the dogs in, Ruby came bounding in like she has been since I declared her Beta Dog (I'm the Alpha Dog, Pearl is the Gamma Dog). Pearl did not bound in behind her.

I clapped my hands--my signal to tell them it's time to come in. Nothing.

I could see a whitish lump in the distance--not moving. I turned on the outdoor light, and the lump looked more like a dog. But the dog, or lump, made no sound.

Oh God, I thought, something bad must have happened.

I walked out to the lump and, yes, it was Pearl, wagging her tail, but clearly not wanting to move. I pet he, but she did not respond with the usual licking. I felt her nose: still cold. I felt around for injuries but could find none.

So I picked her up (which is no longer easy) and took her inside, putting her in the sleeping area she shares with Ruby. She easily walked over to her spot and plopped onto the floor. Nothing wrong with her walking abilities--no limp or anything. She looked at me with that sorrowful look dogs get when they know they have done something stupid but are too stupid to figure out what it was.

When she turned to face me, I noticed that she seemed swollen around the muzzle and eyes. I felt around her mouth, inside and out. I checked her teeth and gums. Everything seemed pink and healthy--except that she wouldn't open her mouth. I tried gently prying her jaws open and got them open a little bit. but could feel that she either didn't want them open or could not open them herself. I could see her tongue clamped between her jaws--it was also pink and healthy looking.

So I called Billy C and asked if anything like this had ever happened to one of his dogs. He said Dil had had something like this once and was over it the next day. Vivage thought that it might be a spider bite, bee sting, or even rattlesnake bite. She wanted me to take Pearl to the emergency vet.

I know enough about all of the above to know that if it were serious venom running through her veins, Pearl would be showing other signs of illness rather quickly. But I called the vet, just in case.

The nice vet lady who answered told me to just watch her and see whether things got better or worse and, if they got worse, to bring her in.

So I decided to give it an hour.

About 45 minutes later, Pearl, had regained use of her jaws and was almost her old licking and slobbering self.

This morning, she bounded out of the house with Ruby and seemed pretty much back to her old self.

Another Little Visitor

This time, I fund a rabbit loitering in my wee... er, lawn. He/she was clearly a per rabbit as he/she was too handsome/beautiful to be wild. The rabbits I've seen around here are all grey and brown with white fluffy tails and are usually smaller and leaner. This rabbit was big, plump and had a chestnut brown color. Also, although it hopped away from me, scurrying under my fence into my backyard, it let me get closer than local wild rabbits do. At one pint, I got up very close--about two feet from it.

I set some dog food and water, along with some carrot sticks and left it to hang out in my yard. If it's there tomorrow, I'll decide what to do with it. It has to be a pet, but neither of my next door neighbors has any rabbits. Maybe the neighbors behind me.

Seems like all our pets are getting sick and that all of us then get visitations from other animals.

Stephanie, Stephanie, and Stephanie

I drove to Borders this evening to look for a book, The Brothers K, by David James Duncan, author of The River Why. After I found it, I browsed a for awhile. I rounded the corner to check out the Afro-American studies when, who should I run into but two former students from about 5 years ago, both named Stephanie. I hadn't seen Stephanie since she had graduated, although Stephanie had stopped by school a couple of times to visit.

On her last visit, Stephanie and I talked about our common interest in music. We discovered that we both were fans of the Ditty Bops. She always had an indie streak in her. She liked the Donnas and had her own band modeled after them. I'm not sure how successful the band was--or that it even actually performed anywhere. She told me that she is majoring in Journalism.

Stephanie, on the other hand, is majoring in History. I noticed that she now wore braces and had darker hair than I remembered. I recall that she read an essay to the class about the importance of reading in her life.

As we chatted there in Borders, Stephanie's cell phone rang. She smiled and said, "Hey, it's Stephanie--Mr. Babor, she's here with us!"

A third Stephanie walked out of the Sci-Fi section. She always had this intense way of speaking so fast that I got dizzy sometimes listening to her. She liked Kerouac. Her major was International Politics. She was with a friend who had an Arabic name and complained about how boring it was to read Camus in French.

I agreed.

What a great way to end a day. I'm just sorry their friend Gladys wasn't with them.

Running with Scissors at an Institution of Slightly Higher Learning: a Trilogy

Once, while still attending Grad School, I sat at my usual table on the patio at Starbucks, reading Death in the Afternoon. This group of Bible Study kids shows up. There were about four or five of them, one of them being an odd young man who felt that his duty was to be extra loud so that everyone could appreciate how much fun he was. A thin young man with long unkempt auburn hair, he would shout out the most idiotic comments while the others tried to discuss the Bible. They weren't biblical comments, they just were stupid and loud and meant to be funny.

On this particular day, the kids had brought artsy-craftsy stuff and had planned to create something. At one point, the loud kid, holding a pair of scissors in his hands, shouts "I'll go get it!" and runs down the sidewalk to "get it" with the scissors still in his hand.

Another time, after school, I stood in my classroom looking out the window. I saw the usual group of students sitting at their usual lunch bench, playing their usual role-playing card game. Two girls stood over them and one seemed to be nagging one of the boys as he played the game.

Suddenly, this boy, who was about 6'6" leapt to his feet and chased the two girls, grabbing the nagger in a choke-like hold, held her for a moment, and then gave her neck a jerk. She fell like a ragdoll as he marched triumphantly back to his game.

I hurried out to where nagging girl lay, her friend hunched over her. Nagging girl was sobbing in a heap. I asked her of she was okay. She said "Yes," through her tears.

As I walked over to the gamers, I asked another teacher to call security. I stopped behind the tall kid, who had now continued his game as if nothing had happened, and asked him "What did you just do?"

He looked at his cards and not me and said "She pissed me off."

I said, "That's not what I asked you."

"It's cool," he said, "She's my sister."

A couple of weeks ago, on my way to teach my night class at Rio de Nada Community College, I stopped by the cafeteria to get a bottle of water and a snack. Inside, in a booth, another group of gamers sat playing their game. Shouting ensued. One guy yelled something about wizards or trolls or death cards or something and started running out the automatic doors. Another guy jumped up an chased the first guy, grabbing a pile of campus papers on his way out the doors. They ran across the campus and the second guy threw the papers at the first guy and, of course, the papers flew everywhere. Second guy then stopped running, turned around, and headed back to the cafeteria, leaving the papers scattered on the ground.

As I walked to my class, I watched him to see if he truly was going to leave all of those papers scattered across campus. For a moment our eyes locked and I wondered if I really was going to have to tell this guy--a student at a college for God's sake--that he needed to go pick up after himself. He flinched at my look, turned around again, and picked them up.

There is no moral to this. I just wanted to let you know that we may be outnumbered

A Minor Correction

Ok. Sagittarius does NOT have a fish tail. I'm getting my mythological figures confused. Sagittarius is a centaur. He is the archer. My bad.

CAPRICORN is the other one with the fish tail. It's a goat/Sea serpent kind of thing.

Another Reason to Ignore Astrology

I actually did some research for this entry. I was looking through the list of ukulele players and noticing how many were Pisces, like me. Then began to notice how many were water signs. I was impressed, at first, with our numbers and thought that I would reflect on this and solicit comments from my six devoted readers. I had this grand thesis about Portugal, the first ukulele-ish instruments traveling across the ocean, Hawaii being an island, that Iz CD cover where he's floating blissfully in a swimming pool, etc.

But, to make sure that I had my facts right, I did a Google search on water signs and found out that I was wrong.

I thought that Pisces, Cancer, Sagittarius, Aquarius, and Scorpio were all water signs. Since there are only twelve signs, I guess I should have figured.

But imagine my shock that Sagittarius and Aquarius were not water signs. I mean, they both have fish tails, for God's sake. And the Aquarius guy is even depicted as pouring water out of a jug. And he's called the Water Bearer. And his name begins with AQUA.

So, it's just Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces. Water signs do not hold a majority in the ukulele world, as far as I can tell.

A website I went to in my research mentioned that Cancer was liquid, Scorpio was solid (presumably ice), and Pisces was gas.

Which would explain some digestive problems I've been having of late.

One thing I learned is that my two fishes swim in different directions simultaneously: towards enlightenment and towards carnality, or the sacred and the profane, depending on which reading you look at.

Many friends who know about this stuff tell me that I am a true Pisces. I don't know. I admit I tend to swell with pride about the things that I like about Pisces-that I think fit. But, ironically, my interest in Astrology is pretty shallow.

Now, in China, I'd be a Horse. Which explains why I Tivo'ed all of those Mr. Ed re-runs on Nick at Nite.

Tommy Chong, Chief Justice John Ashcroft

Yesterday's Los Angeles Times ran an article about the newly-released-from-prison Tommy Chong. As you probably know, this half of the duo Cheech and Chong was arrested and prosecuted for selling bongs on the internet and sentenced to 9 months in prison.

An interesting article. It talks about his participation in the MARIJUANOLOGS, an off-broadway play about...do I need to explain this?

So, Tommy works at World Gym as a trainer now. I guess he is a pretty serious weight-lifter. Couldn't lift weights in the pen.

As a part of his parole, he can't be anywhere near pot. He has to be so cautious as not to sign autographs, even after performances of the MARIJUANOLOGS, for fear that the signee might have some pot on his person. I guess, too, there is always the possibility of a "plant" "holding" some "stash" in order to get at Tommy and send him back to prison.

Chong plead guilty to the charges so as not to implicate his wife and daughter. He was shocked when he found he'd have to do hard time. John Ashcroft apparently wanted to make an example of him.

Speaking of whom, according to that new book culled from from secret tapes made during the first W campaign, W thought that John Ashcroft would make an excellent Attorney General or SUPREME COURT JUSTICE.

Freedom is just another word for nothin' else to lose