Spring has sprung!

I was going to title this entry, "The Seasons and All Their Changes are in Me—Henry David Thoreau" but then realized I'd named another entry the same thing, about a year ago, last March, when Bob was in the throes of chemo. Seems like a lifetime ago, different place, different perspective, everything was so different then . . .

The fortress of snow around the house is shrinking, melting, shriveling, a little more each day, evident by the before/after pics, taken just a little more than a month apart . . every day, more and more drab, sloppy, sandy, muddy ground is revealed to us. But, hey! At least it's ground! Now, I'll take sloppy mud over pristine white any day—even told Bob a few weeks ago that I will not complain about the dog prints, the sand tracked in by paws and shoes, the never-ending sweeping and vacuuming, because we've waited far too long for this winter to end.

Last Sunday, I couldn't take it any longer, and finally dragged the patio table and chairs out onto the deck and wiped 'em all down, in preparation for the longer, warmer days that will descend upon us, soon. Penny and Jim questioned the move, wondering if I might be a tad premature in my actions—they're lucky I didn't go out and buy a few hanging baskets, to boot . . . I'm sick of being at the mercy of winter and decided to turn the tables, literally and figuratively . . . Any snow we get at this point will melt quickly, and just seeing the furniture on the deck makes me happy. Soon, my outdoor office will be open for business again . . .

Bob's condition has stabilized somewhat and we've settled into a new pattern of "being." The confusion and other alarming events that were apparent a few weeks ago seem to have dissipated to a degree (still there, but not nearly as pronounced), but as I said in a recent post, he isn't back to where he was when he first entered hospice. Now his good days and bad days are looking more and more alike. . . kind of feels like we dropped down a few rungs on the hospice ladder . . .

The lack of energy (and I use that term loosely, energy . . .) and increased sleeping are the new norm of the past few weeks, as is the lack of appetite. Bob still manages to get at least one good meal a day, usually dinner, but even then, it's not a big meal. He has been sleeping pretty much through the night, with the help of Haldol. A little internet search on Haldol will reveal it's an antipsychotic drug, but used in small doses, it helps with anxiety and restlessness, as well as to smooth the jagged episodes of confusion and hallucinations. It's one of the medications included in the Bag o' Tricks given to us when Bob first entered hospice. He didn't need it for the first few months, but when things got kind of dicey a few weeks back, his nurse strongly recommended we give it a try. We've experimented a few times—with and without it—and found he's extremely restless and agitated at night if he doesn't take it, so reluctantly, one more pill has been added to the nightly pile . . .

Bob's sleepiness extends well into the morning hours, and it takes a lot to coax him awake, head to the bathroom and get ready for the day. His daily shower is something he still wants, and though it takes a bigger effort on both our parts nowdays, it makes him feel better and helps to inject a little extra energy in his veins. Rocco looooves shower time, too! He bursts into the bathroom—he knows the cues of showertime, I kid you not—as Bob shuffles to the shower and I gather towels and change of clothes, Rocco tries to elbow me out of the way, to be first in line to get hosed by Bob with the handheld nozzel. He LOVES it! Literally eats it up—and I'm not just saying that figuratively—he chomps at the water, as though chowin' it down, gets drenched head to tail and keeps coming back for more. If I don't intervene, the bathroom would be one big ol' water park, thanks to those two. . .

Once showered, dressed and back out in his recliner, Bob's a little more alert, responsive, lucid. He really hasn't felt the need to tap the oxygen keg sent over from hospice yet, but does use the nebulizer maybe once or twice a day. It helps to clear some congestion in his chest, helps open his airway and makes breathing easier, when he's feeling winded and short of breath. We have lots

of jokes about the nebulizer—his crack pipe, smokin' a bowl, tokin' up—the other day, I called him Marion Barry . . . sick and wrong, I know, but I'm telling you, if you can't laugh, you won't last on this big krazy karnival ride called life . . . though even laughter is no guarantee of lasting . . . along this journey, tears have far outweighed laughter, so I'll take it (humor, even sick humor) when it strikes. . .

Yesterday (Tuesday) was a gorgeous day and I had a few errands to run. Both Penny and Jim were taking afternoon naps so I asked Bob if he wanted to join me. At first, he declined, then a few minutes later said, "Okay, I'll go. Goin' stir-crazy in here. . ." Taking care to not wake the 'rents from their much-needed rest, we snuck out and headed to the bank and to Target. First time Bob's been out of the house in over three weeks. He decided he didn't want to go into Target with me (smart move); instead, stayed out in the Jeep with the windows open and the radio on.

When I returned, he said it felt so good, just sitting in the sunshine, feeling the breeze on his face. "I really want to try to get out more," he told me. We can, I said, whenever you want. Even if you think you don't want to, maybe by making yourself go through the motions, you'll be glad you did it—kind of like how exercise is for me . . . it then occured to me that unless someone is in Bob's place, one can never truly know how good that sunshine and breeze felt . . .

On our way home, we swung through Lake Elmo and stopped by a new wine and beer store we'd recently heard about—the Lake Elmo Wine Company. Bob's been searching (or, rather, having me search, whenever I'm out near a liquor store, which believe it or not, isn't that frequent. Liquor stores scare me. In 18 years, I've rarely had to set foot on one, always left it up to Bob to keep me well-stocked. . .), in vain, for Sierra Nevada's Bigfoot Ale, so far, to no avail. Again, Bob stayed in the car while I ran into the store, which is adorable, btw, and from my cursory glances around the joint, looks like it has a very respectable representation of wine and craft beers (in other words, pretty sure you won't find Bud Select 55). I saw a room just in front of me, with a sign, "Beer Cave" above the entrance. Just the room I was looking for. The lovely woman who helped me (whom I later learned was the owner) said Bigfoot, a seasonal beer, should be coming any day now, but they don't have it yet. I asked if they carried Bell's Two Hearted Ale; they did, but were currently out. 0 for 2 so far. . .

As a consolation prize, I picked up a 6 pack of Sierra Nevada pale ale and was just about to head out when she asked if I had tried Stone Brewery's Pale Ale. "Stone's just entered the MN market and might be a fun one to try if you like pale ales. They also have an IPA." I opted for the IPA because in my book, the hoppier the beer, the happier the beer (or maybe the hoppier, the happier the beer drinker). . . I looked at the label. The white outline of the gargoyle-devil character on the dark bottle looked very familiar. "Hey—is this the same company that makes Arrogant Bastard Ale?!" (and you seriously have to check out the link for it, if you're not already familiar with the beer. Liquid awesome, 'sall I can say) I asked, excitedly. Arrogant Bastard is another all-time fav of Bob's. "It is, and we actually have that in stock, too!" she said, pointing to the row of 22 oz. bottles lining one section of the Beer Cave. Bob is going to be so proud of me--picking this out all by myself (well, with a little help from my new friend)! At the very same time, my purse started vibrating. I took out my phone and saw a text from Bob. "Stone Brewery, IPA or Arrogant Bastard if no Bigfoot!" {{{insert Twilight Zone music here . . .}}} Holy shit, Batman . . .

After that freaky coinky-dink, I had to share a story of Arrogant Bastard with the owner, and I'll share it wit you all, dear readers: a few years ago, Bob and I took a trip to Santa Fe, NM (along with my mom, as a thank-you to her for all the dog/house sitting she'd done for us over the years). One night, we went out for dinner to this fabulously funky little restaurant on the edge of town (so wish I could remember the name, but it's late and Bob's sleeping now, as my mom likely is . . .) They were featuring Arrogant Bastard that night, which got Bob all hot and bothered, so he giddily ordered one. The waitress told him,"Now, I'm just warnin' ya--just about everyone's who's orderd that beer ends up sending it back--they think the name is so cool, but then when they taste it, they about gag. . . " Bob said, "Well, of course, your average Miller Lite drinker'll do that. Trust me, I know what I'm getting myself into here--bring it on!" Funny memory from yet another lifetime, twice removed, ago. . .

What an awesome day, Tuesday was . . . the best day I've had, just Bob and me, in a very long time. . . Bob was awake, lucid, and we talked and joked the entire time. . . every now and then, for a nanosecond, it almost felt like our lives were back to normal again, almost like we were on one of a million road trips we've taken together. Almost. When we got home, Penny and Jim were both up, bustling about, getting dinner ready. As we ate, Penny mentioned that Bob's been awake since at least 10 a.m., since right before his hospice nurse came for her weekly visit. That's a record, given the past few weeks. The night, however, was nearly a complete turn-about. Maybe it was being awake and up and about much of the day—maybe Bob was paying for that, but when he was ready for bed, he was ready. Tired, agitated, pain was creeping in . . . in this whole year and a half that Bob has endured nearly endless agony, I've seen/heard him cry or complain very few times. Could count on one had . . . last night was one of them.

Today (Wednesday), has not been a great day. I mean, it was another beautiful spring day, but today, Bob slept for nearly most of it, and when he was awake, he was often groggy, confused . . . when I asked him if he wanted to get out and go somewhere again today, he flat out refused. Not much later, he asked when we were going for our drive, and asked me to get his shoes and coat.

The four of us climbed into Jim and Penny's van and headed out in search of ice cream on this beautiful sunny April day. The little ice cream shop in Afton was still closed for the season, as was Nelson's in Stillwater (home of the crazy softball-sized "child's portion" cones. . . ). We headed downtown Stillwater to Leo's Malt Shop, which I knew was open year-round. 4 malts later (and an order of fries for me, to dip into my malt. You all must go out and try this. Tomorrow. Trust me, you will thank me for leading you to this delicacy . . .), we were back on the road, taking the scenic route home. Except for staying awake long enough (barely) to eat his malt, Bob slept nearly the entire ride. Came home and climbed into bed and slept another 45 minutes. . .

I guess you could say today was "owly. . ." A pun with many layers. . . on my Target run yesterday, I couldn't help but take a quick spin through the clearance racks—found a couple of basic t-shirts for a couple bucks a piece. Wore the black one today on our ice-cream run, had it on nearly all day before I noticed the little design on the lower section of the shirt . . . Today in the mail, got a sweet card from a good friend with the cutest little magnet with the cutest li'l bff owls:

And that's how our days are these days, a little owly . . . kind of temperamental, unpredictable, keeps us on edge, can't really think or plan beyond the here and now. . . then again, owls are awesome . . .