Small Steps

If you go out in the snow, take small steps. Stand upright, knees slightly bent.

If you use a cane, prod ahead slightly, plant it firmly when you find a solid place to anchor it, then take one small step.

And remember to keep taking small steps when you go indoors, especially if you have a wood or linoleum floor, because if you have no place to de-boot, your boots will be slippery.

You don’t want to be like my wife, who took the small steps through the snow, then strode out when she entered the kitchen. Her booted foot shot out from under her, her body took on a horizontal posture mid-air, and gravity did the rest.

She crashed down, her ribs taking her full weight against a metal waste bucket on the way to the floor.

Fortunately, no bones were broken, but her pace was--for weeks.

--H. W. Bryce

The Onlies

Or: On Living on a Pension

This is new to some of us.

So a reminder: Beware: It’s the Onlies that’ll bust ya!

You get paid once a month when you live on a fixed income. You budget. After all, you remember Welfare Wednesdays, when you saw welfare recipients blow ninety per cent of their meager income on groceries, booze and I-just-gotta-have-it items.

So you pay your bills first. Always pay the bills first. That’s Rule No. One.
Then you do your monthly grocery shopping. You’ve been in the store for an hour and a half picking and choosing the best deals with the most food that will stretch the farthest for the least price. Brand names are out. But now you’re tired and starving and starting to look at things that will break the budget.

You make your way past the in-store cafeteria.

“Let’s have a cup of coffee,” you suggest.

Your partner agrees. She adds, “Your blood sugar is low, you’d better have one of your ‘pick-me-ups.’ ”

You look at her. “It’s only a dollar ninety-five,” she says. You have a coffee and a pick-me-up each.

Later in the week, you’re on a walk-about. You find a deal in the used book store, three books for a dollar. Well, it’s only a dollar, and you go for it. You search on but you can’t persuade yourself you need to spend $24.95 on a new shirt. You resolve to check the thrift shops. Its mid-afternoon and you had only a light lunch at home. But you’re feeling nibbly. You eye the chocolate bars. “Oh,” you say, “they’re only $1.25 each.” You each have one. Now you have the energy to go home and cook supper.

Back home you discover you’ve run out of paper and you need to print out several important letters, like the pleading one to the tax department. You can get a package of 500 sheets for $7.95. “Well, it’s only two days since pay day,” you tell your partner. “We’re flush.” So it’s down to the store you go. While you’re there, you spot a CD-marking pen. You’ve been looking for one of those since your old one dried up. And it’s only $2.37.

Life goes on and you run out of milk. You’re also short on bread. It’s astonishing how quickly you got through those supplies. “Well,” she says, “milk is only a few dollars. Surely we can stretch that far for essentials.”

The sights and smells at the mall prompt you to look at your watch. It’s mid-afternoon, tea time. On the way to the food counters, your wife spots a special. “Oh look!” she says, tugging your sleeve, “just what Judy needs. And we really need to get started on our Christmas shopping. We don’t want to have to ‘break the budget’ in December.” How well she knows you. “Fine,” you say, feeling drained of all energy for lack of food.

You get to the food counter. You eye the doughnuts. “Quick energy fix,” you sigh. But you decide to be practical and have lunch. After all, it will save on supper, and you can both eat for only ten bucks.

You get home and your son shows up. “Can you lend me ten bucks? I need it for my gym membership.” You say, “I don’t know, the budget is pretty tight.” “Oh come on Dad,” he says, “it’s only ten bucks.” And you have a twinge of conscience. “Come on then,” you say, and you all pile in the car and head for the ATM because you practically never have cash in your pocket. “I’ll only take out $20,” you tell yourself.

The ATM is beside the grocery super store and your partner browses while you extract some actual cash. “Oh, look!” she enthuses, “sweet peas.” Well, you know sweet peas are one of her favourite flowers, and you did buy paper, and that pen. “Oh, what the heck,” you say, “They’re only $2.98 each.” She gives you those moon eyes—by way of thanks?—so you say, “Oh, what the heck. You’d better have three, or four. After all, one hardly makes a show. Besides, I’ll need some coins for the parking meter later.”

“Hey Dad,” says your son, “I’m hungry.” So you buy him an energy bar. It only cost $2.79.

That evening it’s off to the hospital to visit your brother with the broken hip. You grumble about parking fees at the hospital. At emergency, even, for heaven’s sakes. The meter-machines ask for $1.50 per hour. You swear. “Oh come on,” your partner says, it’s only a dollar and a half.” You feed the greedy thing. But you overstay your visit and dash back down to feed the greedy meter again. Oh well, it’s only $1.50. It could be worse.

Next thing you know, you have a doctor’s appointment. He orders blood tests. You go to the clinic, no brekky. “We only need five vials this time,” the nurse with the needle says. You make a joke, “You vampires are going to drain me in the end.” And the nurse with the needle says, “In the end, someone will have to.” They serve no coffee and no cookies. So you make your way to the cafeteria. It’s only $1.50 per coffee and only $1.75 for a muffin. You each have one of each. “Good thing the kid didn’t have to give blood too,” you quip.

From there, you have to spend the day in Chilliwack, handing out leaflets for your cousin’s business. (Why did you volunteer? At least the wife enjoys such work.) You get an hour off for lunch. So it’s another meal out. “We’ll go to Zellers,” she says, knowing the strained look on my face isn’t from loss of blood. By the time you get home, nobody feels like cooking, so you (reluctantly) order in. “It’s only $15.95,” the delivery person tells you. “Oh, go on,” your wife says, “give him a tip.” “Sorry,” you shrug sheepishly, “I only have a toonie.” The delivery person takes it.

And so it goes.

Oops! You run out of pills. Back to the doc for a prescription renewal and off to the drug store. Have to wait. Browse the store. Come onto the computer area. “No,” she says. “Oh but,” you say, “The kid has been telling us he needs a CD case.” “Oh yes,” she says. “Well, we have been badgering him about cleaning up—” “Oh, go on then, if you think we can afford it.” “Well,” you say, “it’s only—” “Oh buy the darn thing,” she says. The total showing on the till is bigger than the price. “GST,” the clerk tells your incredulous face. “Well,” she stutters as your expression fails to change, “it’s only 7%.”

You hop in the car to go home, feeling strangely depressed. Something on the dashboard flashes. It’s the little gas pump. Darn! You are all but out of gas. Around the corner you go, to the real gas pump. Only twenty dollars later, you arrive home.

So a few days later, when you’re halfway rested, you decide to check your bank balance. You know you’ve been worried.

Suddenly you’re tired again. You are overdrawn, by $150. And that is at 17.9 per cent, per annum. And it’s only a week and a half into the month.

Signed,

Your Friendly Local Neighbourhood Cheapskate,

NOTE: Well, it’s the old “Watch the pennies and the dollars will take care of themselves”, motto. Well, yeah! They sure do. Bye-bye dollars. I watched them go. Perhaps this is “Penny wise, pound foolish”. Anyway, pass it along to the young in your life. If you count every penny, and keep track of it, you’re not being miserly; you’re being wiser-ly. You’ll know where the onlies have gone—and the dollars with them. After all, it’s the onlies that make up the dollars. And, as you see, they count up faster than a kid counting to 100 for hide and seek. And make sure the kids in your life know that pennies don’t come from heaven, nursery songs notwithstanding. They have to be earned. They count up. They are precious, and very beautiful. Besides, they’re patriotic. Look at those lovely maple leaves on the reverse. And our lovely queen on the obverse. So, make it your duty. Stand on guard for the Onlies!

--Bryce the Third.

Tired?

Are you dragging yourself around the house? Wanting to sleep mid-day, early evening?

Sometimes, maybe, you need something to eat. This often does it for me, especially when I’ve tried to cut down on consumption of food and/or having a snack for a meal.

(Of course, I have a mild case of hypoglycemia, so I should eat something every few hours. But still . . . anyway, in my case, I fade in the middle of the monthly grocery shopping trek and Mrs. Wife has to break off and feed me something so I can continue on shopping and make it to the check-out counter. Maybe you should be checked out by your doctor if you’re playing out quicker and more frequently than is normal for you. Make sure all the blood pipelines are clear and flowing freely.)

But then, it could be a simple matter of lack of sleep. In which case, you might delay the shopping trip—or do it and try the snack trick, try to do things physical until bed time, and get back on track for rest. Could be you had “One of those Nights.” See previous blog post. Naturally, if you are having frequent or continual sleep disruptions (other than outside noise problems), you might better consult your doctor. Be sure there is nothing physical. If its worry that keeps you awake, do what you can to deal with the problem.

The rest is on you. You could try research. I typed “seniors and sleep” into my internet search engine and got 6,290,000 sites to explore. Up top were:

www.mamashealth.com/senior/sensleep.asp

www.sleepfoundation.org/hottopic/index.php?secid=16&id=203

On the other hand, sometimes fatigue could be a symptom of boredom. That is, if you haven’t actually been doing hard physical Labour and tuckered yourself out. But then, isn’t it a bit late in life for that? Aren’t we past the heavy hefting by now?, except, of course, for you body builders and keep-fit “freaks” who regularly work out in the gym lifting dumb bells. It tuckers me out thinking about it.

Anyway, boredom is a well-known fatigue factor. I find that on days when I’m dragged away from my keyboard and times that fall between “doings”, my mind wants to shut down and I seek out a comfy chair, or go lie down on/or in the bed. For example, today I did both.

So my advice: Pay attention to the old brain. Don’t let it atrophy. Get it into gear. It might just jump start your energy centre too. It is worth a try. Setting and meeting a challenge is always satisfying. Gives you brain adrenaline.

It worked for me. Instead of going to bed early or snoozing in the comfy recliner, I did this. Now I feel fine.

___

Let us know if it works for you. Leave a comment. Click on “comments” below and fill in the blanks.

Thanks.

--Bryce The Third

Retirement Planning

Now that retirement’s near, can the need for help be far behind?

Some day, you or one of yours may well need to call upon a Caregiver for help staying independent in one’s own home. These things often come as a surprise. You owe it to your elders and to each other, and to your children, to think about that; to plan for it. Just in case.

I recall one particular fellow who didn’t.

It was when I was a reporter for the Worthing Gazette and Herald in England. We had a janitor, handyman, general factotum whom I knew as Mr. Black. One day the paper threw a farewell party for Mr. Black. He was facing mandatory retirement.

I asked him what he was going to do with his retirement. He said, “I’m going to enjoy not having to get up to go to work at five a.m.” Other than that, he seemed to plan only to enjoy himself and his new freedom. Actually I was so surprised that he started work so early that, being young, I pursued that angle more than I did his retirement plan.

It didn’t seem more than days later before I met Mr. Black again, at the newspaper office. He was back to work, part time. I asked him what the heck? He said, “I couldn’t sleep past four a.m. and I had nothing to do.”

He was ripe for deterioration.

I’ve met quite a few people like that over the years. No retirement plan. Oh, sure, they have better financial arrangements than I have, but I have more to do in my retirement years. I write, for one. That’s really a full time job. And it keeps me out from under my wife’s feet, a problem category a lot of retired men seem to fall under. Blessed are those who have mutual interests. Pity those with no plan, for they are likely to wither and need that Caregiver. The Caregiver won’t cheer; she’ll just give care.

And that’s the point here. What are ya going to do when YOU retire?

Lots of “Boomers” are faced with that question now. From what I hear, they have been so busy running the world that they forgot to have hobbies and outside interests, other than good ol’ Rock ’n Roll and its concomitant parts, Still! Or maybe you would like to take up skiing.

So here are a few thoughts.

1) If you are still married, or otherwise “coupled,” you might try what my brother and his wife did. Financials basically covered, they sat down and talked it over to find something they could do together with their newfound free time. They talked of pursuing a mutual interest. Both had lived full working lives and they thought a mutual hobby would make up for a lot of missed time during the working years and the running the kids to hockey and the volunteer coaching and the overtime and all that “living” stuff.

They settled on square dancing. It wasn’t long before they were good at. In fact, they enjoyed it so much they were soon considered “senior” members and became coaches for the newcomers. A bonus was that the square dance groups include people of all ages, not just retired folk. Also not just the pre-teens, who presumably, don’t have a choice about their attendance. I’ve seen many a teenager and young married couple at the jamborees. I must say, they are a happy lot having a ball. Why, they even have a Caregiver or two among them, just shaking off the cares of the world and staying fit for their clients.

If you’re at all musical, outgoing (or even shy as a person but comfortable playing a part), and have a good sense of timing, you might study the art of calling for the square dancing. Some callers sing-song the instructions, some sing them. They’re all loved.

Now my (older) brother and his wife are each other’s Caregiver. And they’re ready in case they ever need to call in professional help.

2) Try volunteering. Countless people find fulfillment in this role. My wife does. She’s a giver. I know it’s a hoary old piece of advice, but remember: the Olympics are on the horizon. You could get in on an exciting fortnight of thrilling events. Guaranteed your memories will live on. And, there are local events you can get involved in. Plus you will meet so many people that one of them may well end up being your Caregiver in your old age.

Maybe you could become a home-care Caregiver. Why not call Jane or Pam at Access Independence Care if you live in the Fraser Valley. They could train you up and guide you to your official certificate.)

Maybe you could become a volunteer Granddaddy or Grandmamma. They say grandkids keep you young. Also that “If I knew grandkids were so much fun I would have had them first.”

Or, if you don’t really like kids, or if you’ve had enough of your own, how about forming a group and visiting at hospitals? Check with the hospitals, of course, but we recently had to spend a day in the emergency waiting room. It was one heck of a busy day there, with both front entrance and back door practically blocked with people in ambulances waiting for the short-staffed, over-worked nurses and doctors to catch up to the tide.

We could have used a candy-striper or some kind of Good Samaritan after three or four hours. I finally found a vending machine and got some juice for my wife. But when I found another machine somewhere in the maze of hallways—I had to ask directions to get back to emergency—the machine ate my dollar fifty (left over, by great good fortune and forward planning— from that greedy parking machine in that super overloaded parking area: Imagine! Pay parking at hospital emergency! What Supercalifragilistic rip-off will they think of next I wonder?

Fortunately, we had the exquisite “Shawna” on duty that day, and she eventually came up with a sandwich and a small juice. That got my wife through. It got me through too, but only because my wife couldn’t stomach the second half of her sandwich.

Another possible place to volunteer is with the government’s Canadian Revenue Service Income Tax volunteer preparation program. It may not fill your entire year, but first, you will get basic training, and second, you will help a lot of fellow seniors and income-deprived people at a critical time of the year. The service is appreciated, believe me. Clinics run from February to April. You can call 1-800-959-8281. AND, you gain the knowledge which you can use on your own tax filing. Save you a lot of money! (For me, these people are Caregivers!)

3) Of course, reading is always a part-time option. This could be part of your hospital volunteer Care Giving: reading to the patients. In our case, we’ve been buying books all our lives. I used to collect them “for my retirement years,” partly because my work life was so busy I couldn’t possibly read them all at the time. Now when we move, unlike people who have furniture and some books, we have books and some furniture. Our moving truck was charged overweight fees. But, man, do we have some reading to do. But you don’t have to do that. There are some very good book shops in our town, new and used. And plenty of places to pass them on if you don’t want them to accumulate.

4) And, naturally, there is the job of keeping more or less fit. It’s our duty, really. And it is part time. Balance is the ticket, of course. Keep the blood flowing, keep the brain alive. Enjoy life more. There are gyms, and plenty of sports facilities. Match that with a smart diet and a keen conscience prodding you not to overload the hospital emergency wards and it will be many years before you need invalid help, if ever. (Sorry, caregivers. It had to be said.) But then, you need to stay healthy to take care or your, really elderly while the Caregiver gets a break. And if you are to be the Caregiver, good health is good policy.

5) Other thoughts include these, borrowed from others, some of whom I knew or met: Learn a language. You’ve always wanted to. Take a college or university course. Get or finish that degree you started or dreamed about. Take up a musical instrument. (This is my really big regret in life.) Join a sport. It doesn’t have to be a strenuous one. And all of these activities are social events as well. It’ll keep you plugged in and alive. And if and when there is a need for home care in your family, you have a whole network to tap into to learn, talk about and refine your Caregiver skills.

So, is there no plan? Take the above few thoughts as a launching pad. Don’t just believe that retirement will take care of itself. Try things. If at first you don’t succeed, try something else. And don’t put off trying a hobby till it’s too late and you’re retired and you face a blank wall with no writing on it.

The trick is to actually do it, now! Procrastination, you know, really isn’t a success tactic.

--Bryce the Third

Memories Make You

To Do List

1. What are you going to tell the kids?
It doesn’t matter much. What counts is the time together. Try reminiscing. Talk about their babyhood. Remember them as tots, teen-agers. It helps them to “identify”.
Ask your grandchild if he or she or they would like to hear about “my adventure,” the
one, say, of breaking ground and plowing fields by oxen in northern Saskatchewan, or of “The time I roped horses for the rodeo in Calgary,” or “The time I spilled the beans when we were making Boston Baked Beans for the party,” or . . . whatever. Spin them a tale (preferably true but dramatized) and they’ll love it. And you.
Maybe you can tell them, or show them with the aid of your photographs, how you did things in the old days. Maybe your photographs need sorting and filing. Scrapbook them together.
Do little boys still make model airplanes? Have one at your place to work on together.
Do little girls still knit or crochet? Maybe you could give yourselves a project, like knitting socks for the homeless, or dolls for child victims of fire, flood or other catastrophe.

_____

2. You ARE a Writer
They say we remember old times while we forget what we ate for breakfast. But don’t worry; it’s not likely Alzheimer’s.
If you’re anything like me, your mind keeps going back to your childhood, and the older I get the more it goes.
So, write it down. Whatever memory you have, commit it to paper. It is precious to you, so it will be precious to your children. And it’s probably a part of you that you haven’t revealed before.
Never mind that you aren’t a Margaret Atwood or a Pierre Berton. It’s part of you, and your children and grandchildren will enjoy the stories and appreciate them as part of their heritage. These are, after all, some of the things that made you you and, therefore, them them.
It will help them remember you as young and vital, important and alive. Your memory becomes their collective memory.
And besides, you can then remember them together, and it will give your children and grandchildren material for your memorial.
So get a journal, and plenty of pens. Another part of you is your handwriting.
Sooner or later, your children and grandchildren are going to wonder “where did I come from.” Your jottings will help them to find out.

_____

3. A Recipe to Connect
If you’re not up to surfing on the internet, you might want to get involved with computers. It’s a great connection with grandchildren, I find. You can easily become familiar with your word processing programme. Think of it as an electronic typewriter. And a friend.
Microsoft Word is the standard program today, and it’s easy to use. Simply accept the jargon and follow the built-in help. Your grandchild will bail you out if you go wrong.
What will you type into your word processor?
You can write letters. You can write your memoirs, snippet by snippet.You can also pass on your family recipes. Recipes are a universal favorite, forever fascinating, popular, and in demand. Compile them as you remember them. People will be glad to have them. And the family will cherish the family’s “secret” recipes, your specialties.You can also type in detailed instructions on how to freeze different foods, how to microwave them, how to process (can) different foods. Perhaps you hold the secret to cooking and baking at different altitudes. Great knowledge to have; it saves on disasters and waste. That makes it great stuff to pass on.
After all, you are a storehouse of knowledge.

_____

4. What Genealogy Doesn’t say
Tracking family history (genealogy) has become an all-time favourite pastime. Everybody wants to know who started their family tree and if there are any famous bandits or explorers, pirates or politicians in their blood.
Well, by and large, genealogy records usually show place and date of birth, father and mother, and if you’re lucky, the father’s occupation. That’s not much to go on.
So what can you do?
You can buy a journal, stock up on pens, and jot down such details of your family as you know them. Enter some details. If you’re computer literate, enter them in a folder labeled, say, “Family History”.
Tell “Grandpa John’s Story.” Say he was a lumberjack. Call him a pioneer. Relate how he chopped down trees, how he sawed lumber, tell what kind of tools and machines he used, and how he helped open up, say the northwest section of parcel X in northern whatever province.
If Uncle Jack built a log house, tell all about it. This is interesting to those of us who weren’t there.
These are the things that are being forgotten. Don’t let them be.
Your grandchildren will one day find this fascinating; and so will theirs.

-------

5. Good Medicine
Sooner or later, most of us wind up in our doctor’s office. And likely or not, there comes a time when Doc asks you those disturbing questions. One such question is, “Any cancer in your family?”
Not all of us have a grip on the family’s medical history. Who knows if Granddad on Mother’s side suffered cataracts? Do you know if Uncle Harold had an enlarged prostate?
Your doctor asks these questions for a reason.
So do a search. Ask your mother, your father—everybody—“what’s wrong with you?” Oh, you’ll be tactful, of course. Tell them your doctor asked you for a family medical history. Mine did. My brother’s did. It was my brother who dredged up the information in our family. Then we added information from our cousin’s family history, which added notable facts that even our mother hadn’t been aware of.
Doc will appreciate being better able to diagnose you.
Knowing your medical history is, after all, good medicine.

Who Cares?

Dear CareGiver:

Do you have family? Friends? Children/young people in your life? Do you have a life? Outside of your patients’ lives? What do you do? Do you have a hobby? Do you go to films? Attend the theatre?

Do you have a plan? What if you fall ill? Who will take care of you?

If you haven’t done so, you’d better take time out and start sowing the seed of YOUR future. Don’t be so busy taking care of others that you don’t take care of yourself.

I know, to you it isn’t really a job; it’s what you love to do—and thank God there are still people like you! So cultivate your personality. Let it be natural.

But take care. Many of us get so wrapped up in our work we forget to wrap ourselves in kindness.

Like, Keep Healthy. As in:

Take care of your feet. Especially if you’re Care Giving keeps you on your feet all day. Be sure you have the right shoes. And have a second pair. Change them often. The same shoes worn every day will wear you out.

Do watch what (and how, and when) you eat. You know the drill.

Do some exercises—preferably every day, preferably involving actions opposite to the ones you do every day on the job. See your doctor, physiotherapist, personal trainer, gym instructor . . . Don’t just dive into it and injure yourself. You’re needed.

Do take the time to treat yourself. Go to the spa; have a manicure, a pedicure. A Care Giving friend of mine recently did just that. She couldn’t stop smiling all week.

Do things outside of and in spite of work. Make/buy/give gifts. Take in a show.

When is the last time you sat down and wrote an actual letter? Have you touched base with your Mom/Dad/Aunt/Niece. . . ? Or your male relatives, friends, club members? By phone? By e-mail? How about in person?

Would it help to keep a journal? You know, a diary? Maybe you have the makings of a book here. Perhaps just reading back entries now and again will provide you with a timely reminder of something.

Be daring. Buy that new outfit.

Go ahead, factor in a break in your day. Make it a coffee break. Read a chapter of a novel while you dunk three or four cookies. Smell the roses. They’ll make your day sweet.

Call it Smile Time.

In fact, take a whole day off now and again. Go for a drive. If you don’t have a car, talk a friend or family member into taking you for a mystery tour. Just point the car and go. There are some great scenic routes to restore your acquaintance with nature.

Be like my wife and I. Explore that road that looked so inviting. We have some great memories from such journeys. We called it “Follow the radiator cap” in honour of the days when there were ornaments on the front of the car hood just above the radiator.

Remember what the researchers are telling us these days: Frequent breaks keep you healthier and more alert than do long stints. (You don’t want to fall asleep on your patient, do you? Or make a bad mistake on the job due to fatigue.)

Maybe once a week have a tea party. At home. With one or two outside-of-work-friends. And talk, talk, talk. But Absolutely No Business. Make one meeting a month an informal readers’ club. That way, you’ll have to take time to read, or you won’t be able to report and discuss. Remember, exchanging ideas and views on stuff un-work related is fun. You do remember fun, don’t you? Try a game of cribbage with a treasured friend. It’s a great game and you can chat away as you peg your way around the board. Or just be together, you and your Special Friend. Joke, laugh, try on clothes, trade clothes for that new look, wander the mall, treat yourself to ONE fattening treat, once in a while.

Do this. Even if you have to steal the time. Even if you have to pay somebody to relieve you. First comes health, then comes care.

Remember: In spending time with family, friends and relatives, they ARE taking care of you. In those moments. They take you out of yourself and feed good stuff back into you. Like love, encouragement, and respect.

Oh yes, likewise for spending time with fellow CareGivers. Spend a relaxing day at the beach, go bowling, just sit and gossip, whatever.

To exchange notes with other CareGivers, hold a business luncheon. Out. You can sit for two or three hours in a “private booth” atmosphere at your favourite restaurant while you “educate” each other. Some restaurants have small conference rooms. Maybe the library has one. Make it your Professional Day. Form a local CareGivers Club.

But be sure to separate pleasure from business. Your “out” time is for your health and wellbeing. How else can you keep up that smile for your “client friend”?

Another point: Do you have any specific plans for your own retirement? Do you contribute to a pension plan? More and more, word is that government pension plans are in trouble and that they are going to be phased out; and that people are being advised to invest in private plans. [So much for the Canada we grew up in, eh?]

On a personal note, I had a . . . no, I had pension plans; but then I drew them all back for an endless succession of emergencies. Bad plan! Now I have a meager amount to live on.

A thought: Set aside 10 per cent from every pay cheque for retirement. Ten per cent for savings. Now—Don’t Touch! Leave it to fulfill its purpose. You should consult an expert for financial advice, but this rule of thumb usually works. Many advise keeping 10 per cent for yourself first. Just for yourself.

You should also have a separate slush fund for those rainy days, emergencies, special purchases that could cripple your general revenue account. If you’re self-employed, have a tax fund. Don’t mess with Mr. Tax Man. I know. For the rest of the budget, cover the rent and the food, and “juggle the rest.” Some things can wait.

And the big thing: What will happen if you are struck down with an illness?

The flu, for a large example, ravages anyone and everyone indiscriminately, even CareGivers, and we have a vicious one (flu bug, that is) on the horizon right now. Don’t we always?

Do you have a support system? Do you need to nominate somebody? What if some bum in the parking lot backs into you and breaks your leg? *Do you have a backup CareGiver ready to step in?* Do you? That would be a good plan for your peace of mind and general wellbeing. Also for your patient’s. Introduce them. Be sure your substitute knows your patient’s needs. (I had a paper route and no backup driver. My car broke down. No end of grief.)

But whatever you do, don’t just take care of yourself. Lay concrete plans for your care, for later, for when you need a little tender loving care.

I know. You’re fine. So am I. But I’m getting those aches and pains, the cataracts, the forced visits to the hospital. Probably, so will you. Some CareGivers are actually hurt on the job. Like my step daughter. She had to leave the profession. And that was simply from turning a bed-ridden client over during a massage session. So beware, be careful, and be ahead of the game. Know, really know, how to do these things. (Sorry, I know you are professional.)

I didn’t plan to retire, but I was struck down with an illness, so here I am.

So, nominate someone. That is some ONE. Even if you have a family, and even if your family is like you—into Care Giving—you need one person to take charge, to schedule things, to be your surrogate. To be your financial, or even final, executor if it comes to that

Now . . . smile. You’re on your own TV. You wanna look good.

Oh! And if you are one of those few among us who already has all of this stuff in hand – Kudos! Now, take care. And help take care of a fellow CareGiver.

--Bryce the Third

EVER HAVE ONE OF THOSE NIGHTS?

Have you ever had one of those nights? You know the kind that never ends, when you keep waking up and you don’t know why? When you think you’ve heard a noise and then you wake up and you don’t know what it was. And then you can’t decide whether or not to get out of bed to investigate.

Have you had one of those nights when your body aches and the air is still-to-stultifying, so that your nose plugs up and you can’t breathe? So you roll over and the other nostril plugs up too, and you roll over and now both nostrils are plugged up and you throw yourself onto your back and gulp for air through your mouth. Now your throat gets dried out and you’ve twisted and turned so much that your sheet keeps flopping over your face like a kidnapper’s cape.

So you get up and pace till you can breathe again and though you don’t feel sleepy, you’re weary and you know you must get some rest, so you climb back into bed, stepping over the blanket you’d long since tossed to the floor.

Then you lay there, and you lay there, determined to relax, so determined that you’re actually tense. Finally, some time in the wee hours, sleep overcomes you, unbeknownst to you because you think you’re still awake but you’re really dreaming—and you wake up screaming at the man in the dream.

Or did you ever have one of those nights when your bed partner snores? (Aha! Got you there.) You push your partner to a side-sleeping position and the snoring stops, so you snuggle up, maybe spoon position, maybe leaning your back on your partner to prop yourself up. And as soon as you get comfortable, your partner shifts positions. So you wiggle and squirm and get settled again, arm wrestling the sheet off your face again. And your partner starts snoring again.

And all this in the same night! And yet there is more!

You start hearing voices—through the wall. Home from a night on the town, these voices are talking and laughing loudly, and you listen in but all you can hear is a disconnected word or two here and there with no context and no syntax. And you lay there wishing them all dead—the way your body feels.

So you bang on the wall and pummel your pillow and flop. Your bed partner grumbles and frumps. And now you’ve been laying so still on one side, your pillow plumped up so much that your spine resembles the bottom arc of a wagon wheel and your shoulder is aching and hot, but you persist in relaxing until your whole arm goes numb and you’re forced to shift positions, which wakens your bed partner and he or she rolls over—and promptly resumes the drum roll of snoring where he or she had left off last time you’d wakened him or her.

Life gets tedious, don’t it?

By now dawn is breaking and daylight filters through your now itching red eyelids, and just before the real sleepers’ alarms start jangling, you swear the stars that twinkle are crackling and hissing like the Northern-lights. Or is that your ears ringing?

So you lay there, panting with exhaustion, craving sleep, real sleep. You’re so tired you actually doze off. You did, didn’t you? How can you be sure? You struggle up on your elbow, your neck aching, to see the clock. It’s four a.m. and you can’t get back to sleep, but you’re determined to do just that. You lie still. You wonder if you should get up anyway.

And while you lay there thinking about it, you can feel old age settling in.

Next thing you know you’re wakened by the snort of your own snoring. You roll over, feeling dead to the world. But the world is out there. And it’s not satisfied with that. It just comes on in. It comes as the sound of doors slamming, car doors slamming, car engines starting up, car engines revving, cars driving off—in annoying succession, waking you each time.

Finally, sleep.

But the young punk next door pounds out, slams his car door, powers up his souped-up charger, revs it like a diesel truck labouring up a steep hill with an overload, slams it into gear, and screeches along the driveway to the pavement, up the street, around the corner and what should have sounded like into the distance.

You’re ready to sanctify killing.

You go through the tortuous business of twisting around to see the clock. Six-thirty and no bed partner, who long since had given up and retired to the couch.

You go back to relaxing, from the toes to the heels, up the calves . . . there’s still time to get that quarter-hour of restful REM sleep.

After about five minutes you give in to temptation and you sneak a look at the clock again. That can’t be right. You squint. You blink. You try to get some tears washing over your dried-out eyeballs. Yep. It’s seven-thirty. Now how did that happen?

You hope that this is not insomnia, because if it is, you might just as well have got up and written a story about it.

So, do you give up?

But, hey!!! Wait a minute!!! All those cars—the neighbours were going to work!!!

You bounce out of bed and step off, only to be stopped by the pain in your shoulder, your neck, your upper arm. You shake it off, get into the tub, take a quickie shower, get dressed, and grab your car keys.

You reach for the door knob. Your bed partner’s voice stops you. “What?”

“I said, where are you going?”

“To work, I’m gonna be late, g’bye.”

You slam the door behind you.

Something clicks through the slot from the back of your brain to the front. You reopen the door. “What did you say?”

“I said you don’t have to work today.”

“Why not?” you ask snappishly, feeling annoyed.

“Because, silly,” says the calm voice, “You’re retired!”

“Oh. Oh yeah. Eh-eh.”

“Besides,” adds your partner, you’re sure, with mischievous glee, “It’s Saturday.”

Your body sags with fatigue. You settle for breakfast and wonder: How in the Hell are you going to get through the day?

________________________________________________________________________

So, did you ever have a night like that? And that wasn’t even a night when you had this and that and the other to worry about. That was just a night.

Oh. Wrong question. What DO you do when you get a night like that?

--Bryce the Third