Sunday Mornings

It’s the beginning of the week for some, the ending of the week for me. Sunday mornings are the last bit of time I have and that I give myself before getting ready for the upcoming days and week. It’s my re-charge time. I used to love this quiet respite I had alone with my boys, including Fritz the cat. We used to sit in my room, all of us on my bed. Normally, I’m a, get up and shower first thing out of bed kind of person. Not so on Sunday mornings. It was the one day a week I would stay in my pajamas. Usually I would be doing something on the computer, always something on the computer, the animals would lounge around with me. Never the TV or radio on, I preferred the silence of these mornings with just a cup of coffee and the sun beaming through a window, the rain hitting the windows, the snow gently falling, the gray enveloping the house and us. There is something so peaceful about this time for me. It was my me time. No matter where I was, no matter where I lived, I always gave myself Sunday mornings. They never became so important as they did once I moved back in with Mom and Dad. I went from living on my own, to being surrounded by people the moment I woke up or walked in the door, after being away. I had no alone time, except for these mornings.        
Since Dad’s stroke, my weekly havens are slightly different now, as is everything else really. I do still get up early, the boys and I still have our quiet time together. I still reflect on the week past and what I have to look forward to during the upcoming week. The only difference now is I focus on getting ready to go see Dad and where he is for the moment. I put together things to bring him, show him, talk to him about. Things are so different, even though they’re similar. There is so much to learn, so much to do. Everything is a re-training of what was once familiar. Everything is a re-learning of what was once familiar. The focus has shifted off of me and onto Dad. Now I focus on coming up with an ever changing routine, a million and one questions running around in my head. Will it get easier when he returns? By the very nature of him returning home things will get easier, but it will forever be changing and besides, easier is subjective. What is easy anyway? As long as I have my Sunday mornings, well, there isn’t anything that can’t be done.    

Stillwater

These couple of photos are from the visit Mom and I had with Dad yesterday. Always the weatherman, he managed to convey to us the fact that this was the third weekend in a row we have had any significant snowfall. Yet we agreed that this late in the month, whatever would fall would melt quickly and so was only a nuisance for that moment. And it was true. 

On this visit, Dad did an amazing job putting his arm sling on , he did an amazing transfer from his bed to the wheelchair and back to his bed when we returned to his room. While exhausting now, it can and will continue to improve. He's itching to come home.    

Not the best panoramic but you get the idea

Nature Boy

Below are a couple of photos of Dad involving some similar poses I've taken of him (always a great sport) and some of the many hikes we have gone on. The one with Mount Katahdin in the background was the closest we got to the top that day. A personal goal of his, was always to climb that mountain. You never know, couple of years from now, maybe we will have a photo from the top. 

Mount Katahdin in the background, Baxter State Park, Maine

Mount. Battie, Camden, Maine

Great Pond Mountain, Bucksport, Maine

Jockey Hollow, Morristown National Historical Park, New Jersey

Belfast, Maine

Streaked Mountain, Buckfield, Maine

This is one of my favorites of Dad along what was, at the time, the newly built river walk along the Penobscot River in Bucksport, Maine.

February 20, 2013, day 49

Yesterday Dad transitioned to the skilled nursing facility Stillwater Health Care in Bangor. Today my Aunt Mel flies back home to Arizona. Where has the time gone seems to be the feeling around these parts lately and that’s not a bad thing. When once it seemed like every hour we were on the edge of our seats waiting and waiting, now in a flash, here we are almost at the end of February, some 40 plus days since Dad’s original incident. I would say time flies when you’re having fun, but I don’t think that’s quite the sentiment everyone has. And yet, we are all in good spirits, Dad especially. He has made huge improvements in just the last two weeks, specifically that I’ve noticed, in the speech department. Last Friday February 15^th, I asked him, which one of your parents was born today? One of my grandparents was born on 2/13 and the other 2/15, both in 1904. He thought for a moment and then said quietly, but distinctly, mother. He has begun to use more words and has started to piece together and form the beginnings of simple sentences. When I stopped by Stillwater on my way home from work last night, the Occupational Therapist came in to do her initial assessment. Skilled nursing facilities are required to do a minimum of only two hours of therapy a day, split between the physical, occupational and speech. After Dad’s assessment she said she was going to be working an hour a day with him, something he and I were happy to hear, as it is our intention for him to be able to come home. We told her our goals for what he needs to be able to do in order for this to happen. He needs to be able to get out of bed by himself, be able to bath and use the bathroom by himself and be able to maintain his balance while maneuvering through the house. Those are the immediate short term goals. Everything else on all our wish lists (like gardening and cooking, two things Dad loves to do) will come at a later point.

I have had several therapists comment to me about how Dad is a hard worker and he doesn’t give up. No truer statement could be made. He’s like me or should I say I’m like him? When he has something in his head he won’t stop until he accomplishes it. Returning home is in his head so I know he’s going to continue working successfully towards this goal and before you know it he will be walking around the house, feeding the dogs cookies again and having the cat sit on his lap in the TV room.           

Beginning to Walk

Friday afternoon was Dad's last day with the therapists at EMMC. His afternoon PT session was the first time he moved his own foot while walking with the therapist. The therapist and I both commented to each other at the same time we had not seen this yet. She said he was showing off because he had an audience. All good things come to those who work really hard!

Leaving EMMC

It's going to seem odd to not go to the hospital after work next week. How many days does it take to form a habit? 14, 21, more days, less days? I have no idea. What I do know is I've grown accustomed to parking in the same section of the garage everyday, walking the same maze of floors and sections to get from there to just about the opposite end of the hospital where Dad is, passing by the same cafeteria staff  daily. This weekend will hopefully be the last time we all have to walk the long hallway to his room, hopefully the last Dad will ever see of acute rehab. The next phase begins next week in a new, different facility that brings him one step closer to home. Below are just a few of the photos I've taken during this phase of the experience.

View of the Penobscot River from the end of the hallway before turning towards Dad's room



Mom in the distance, making her way down the hallway



Dad's NYC apartment view from his room in rehab



View of Penobscot River from 5th floor in the Grant Tower 



The final stretch to Dad's room

February 13, 2013, day 42

Got word yesterday that Dad will need to be transitioned to a Skilled Nursing Facility or SNF as we call it in Medicare world by next Monday. Medicare only pays for a limited stay in an acute facility and Dad’s time has run out. He has actually been there longer than he would have because he had to go over to Grant 5 for a spell, so when he returned to rehab he started over from day one (way to find a way around the system eh?). There are several options for us to look at and many more questions to ask, but the bottom line is, he is not ready to come home yet and so has to enter a SNF.

This afternoon PJ and I visited three such facilities from a list we received, Ross Manor, Stillwater Healthcare and Bangor Nursing and Rehabilitation. All were fine facilities, all offer the same services, all had friendly knowledgeable staff. Our concern with moving him is that we don’t want him to regress. Obviously we want him to continue to improve to the point where he can come home again. 
Touring these facilities I felt like a parent touring college campuses for my child, the obvious difference being this was for Dad and not my child. It was a whirlwind of information and to be honest, in the end, no one facility was better or worse than the other. They all do the same things and they all base much of their services on what kind of insurance you have (that is a topic for another discussion though). It’s kind of like Goldilocks and the three bears and looking for the bed that fits best. This one talked about what the goal was (for us and Dad) after he was done at their facility, this one was very knowledgeable about insurance requirements and was pretty to look at, this one talked about physical therapies used specifically with stroke patients. So which one is the best fit and is just right? As different as PJ and I are is also as similar as we are. We are only 16 months apart in age and growing up always had the same friends and always hung out together. It was actually a point of contention when other parents found this out, because their children were not as close as PJ and I. We are completely on the same page when it comes to Dad and what is best for him and when we left all three of these facilities we both agreed on which one we were leaning towards. It was very comforting. You can say what you want about either of us and I wouldn't care. Both Mom and Dad raised two very loving compassionate children, who would do anything for our parents. Dad is ready to take this next step and he has to take this next step so he can come home, something I know he will be able to do.           

Patience

A virtue is a particular moral excellence. This is one of the base definitions of a virtue. And what do “they” always say…patience is a virtue. I actually think it’s one of the only truly noble virtues (but that’s me). Well, since Dad’s stroke it appears everyone’s patience has been tested, Dad’s included. I suppose this is to be expected. We are in a sort of hurry up and wait scenario and while each new day provides the opportunity for improvement, it seems like that doesn’t necessarily happen every day, which can obviously lead to frustration. The more time that passes though, the more we will be able to look back at the progress made yesterday and the progress already made in days past and be able to say look how far he’s come, compared to where he was. And Dad does make little improvements we don’t even see every day. With the exception of his stint on Grant 5, he has not gone backwards but continues to propel himself forwards. He can tense the muscles in his right leg to the point of being able to lift his foot an inch or so off his bed. While he may not think that’s a huge leap, I think it’s tremendous and have to remind him sometimes that just a month ago he could not do that, to which he then agrees. It’s the same with eating. We can now bring him food from home or from where ever, so he doesn’t have to eat the somewhat tasteless meals he gets from the hospital, compared to just over a month ago when they had to install a PEG because he had no gag reflux. He is also attempting to use new words every day and is successful a good part of the time, whereas a month ago he really could only say yes and no. I was talking to Dad’s friend Bill last night on the phone and he was telling me about how Dad spoke what time it was yesterday while Bill was visiting with him. I could hear in Bill’s voice though, the seeming urgency to have things happen faster. I said to him, a little bit every day is all we can hope for and that every little bit is amazing. I said it all takes time and we just have to be patient. He replied back saying he was very patient for things that happened now. I laughed. That seems to be what everyone is thinking and feeling. I guess it’s human nature, yet impatience is counterproductive. It leads to frustration and frustration needs to be squelched much like fear. None of these things have a place in this here and now, not with this.  

Besides what are we waiting for? What are we impatient about? That Dad didn’t have the kind of stroke you just bounce back from, like so many other people I read about? He didn’t and it’s going to take a long time to recover and even then what his recovery will be we don’t know (but I’m so dam optimistic it’s disgusting sometimes, so I have faith). Yes, there will be a point Dad will be able to come home, yes there will always be room for improvements and rehabilitation after this stroke, but this what it is right now. To expect anything more or less, well you are only fooling yourself.   

For example, I used to be incredibly impatient, for most of my youth and a chunk of my adulthood. Everyone who knew me knew it too and on top of it I had a horrible temper, because of my impatience. My friends now laugh when I tell them this because they know me to be the complete opposite of this and can’t even picture me losing my temper let alone not being patient with them on just about anything. I learned patience, because of something I loved and as a result became one of the most patient people you will ever meet. Take the movie Shawshank Redemption (one of the best Stephen King adaptations by the way) and put yourself in Andy Dufresnes position. Then think about spending the next several decades slowly picking away, biding your time, patiently waiting and working towards a specific goal. Think you could do it? I know I could. You can, if it’s important to you, if it’s something you love, if it’s someone you love. Heed my example. If I could devout myself and patiently wait for something that never happened, then anybody can with something that can happen. Everyone just needs to be patient, because it really is the only noble virtue.        

Maine Blizzard of 2013



Despite the blizzard the Cardnial & Red-Bellied Woodpecker showed up for suet & seed

So this past weekend Dad missed out, in a way, on a storm of probably historic proportions. Maine (and the East Coast) was hit with a good old fashioned blizzard. We are talking the kind of record setting blizzard a city like Portland Maine hasn’t seen since 1979. The big winner for snow amounts went to someplace in Connecticut, but that’s not to say many places in Maine weren’t too far away from the 40.0 inches that fell down there, particularly Gorham Maine with the deepest, 35.5 inches of snow. I don’t think I have to tell anyone, that is a lot of snow to fall during one storm. I kept thinking, it was a good thing the little bit of snow that had blanketed the ground prior to the storm had melted because the 30 plus inches would have almost obscured views out of first story windows, had it not.  

My cousin Dawn had flown in Thursday night, ahead of the storm and Friday morning, she, my Aunt Mel and Mom drove down to PJ’s in Rockland. They were all going to stay overnight at the Inn. The plan was for me to work my usual Friday four hours, go see Dad and eventually meet them all down in Rockland for dinner, where we could all have a little Hunt family reunion (that’s Mom’s side of the family). That was the plan. As is the case with my life, plans aren’t something that really work well for me. I do much better with no plan and flying by the seat of my pants, with regards to what happens it seems. There’s less chance of disappointment that way. Needless to say by dinner time Friday night it was apparent I was not going to be making it down to Rockland. I had at least managed to see Dad during the day and drop off some roast chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy I made for him. The dogs, Fritz (the cat) and I settled in for the night. I did not at that time, realize that settling in for the night really meant settling in for the next day and a half.

I woke up around 2am Saturday morning and thought, let me see if it was still snowing as the real beginning of the storm was to hit late Friday night. We all know weather reporters can be wrong. Sure enough it was snowing when I looked out the window. I went back to bed, not thinking much of it. I went to college up here and have been living back up here for almost 10 years now. I’ve seen my share of storms. Or so I thought. Let me tell you, this was a storm! By 2pm Saturday afternoon, it was quite apparent I still was not going to make it to Rockland and I was also not going to be able to see Dad. It was still snowing (and ended up not stopping until 7pm that night). I had told him the previous day I might not be able to make it depending on the weather. Luckily my friend Lindsay had to work at the hospital and promised to peek in on him and let him know about the storm, not that Dad would have been worried one way or the other. Most selfless man I ever met, there had been times already, while visiting him after work that he would see me yawn from burning the candle at both ends and wave me away telling me to go. But this storm, this blizzard! This was the kind of stuff Dad loved and lived for! This was the stuff he would have been talking about for years afterwards! And there he was stuck in the hospital, seemingly missing out on it. We all project our own feelings and emotions, thoughts and behaviors onto other people. I was doing just that with Dad and feeling bad he was not with us to be part of this incredible blizzard. Yet, despite him being in the hospital, he was still part of it, because PJ and I made sure to take a bunch of photos and set up web albums so that Sunday morning, when all was said and done and I was able to get out to see Dad, I was able to show him what had happened. He could not believe it. His eyes grew wider and wider with each new photo of this huge nor’easter. He looked at the photos of Rockland and of his backyard in disbelief at how blanketed everything was, especially his backyard. Mom and Dad recently had sliding glass doors installed in their TV room but the contractor hadn’t had time to re-attach the small deck and stairs that were previously there (they are still sitting on the side of the house until spring). The snow was almost a foot up on the glass of the doors!

I have joked with Dad several times now, since the stroke, saying if he didn’t want to deal with winter and the snow and cold he just had to say so, he didn’t need to take it to this extreme. I made the same joke with regards to snowblowing the driveway and dealing with snow removal after the storm. He laughed.  

Below is a link to some of the photos PJ and I took and showed Dad. Enjoy!   



Photos of Maine Blizzard 2013
(or as PJ calls it Snowmageddon 2013)

Music and Meaning

The leitmotif is essentially a continuous musical theme. To give an example of this I think everyone should know, 36 years later, would be Darth Vadars theme in the Star Wars series. The leitmotif is usually attributed to Richard Wagner and his operas, even though he did not originate the concept or even reference it with regards to his work.
I often say I am my father’s daughter and in many regards this is true. One aspect in which this rings especially true is my appreciation of opera. Now everyone in our family has a musical ear and can carry a tune, harmonize and what have you. Heck, my parents first met singing in the choir at the church they both happen to be going to in Livingston NJ. My Opa played the guitar, the cello and the accordion. At one time he even played in a band. 

Opa posing with his accordian

My dad played the recorder and cello. PJ and I played instruments all throughout our youth, trombone, piano, trumpet, clarinet. PJ even sang in Oratorio Society of the University of Maine when he was in college. You hear people talk about genres of music and what they like or don’t like. “I like everything but country” or “I like everything but rap,” are the two I hear the most. The one that gets me though is “I like classical music but not opera.” PJ is famous for this one (and he definitely has a musical appreciation, so I never understood why he wasn’t so much a fan of opera)! I suppose there are certain tastes you acquire, kind of like acquiring a taste for martinis (because those are an acquired taste if ever there was one). Well, opera is also an acquired taste and to loosely paraphrase Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, you either like it or you don’t. 
PJ and I were essentially brought up on classical music and Abba, the first because of Dad, the second because of Mom. Somewhere along the way I discovered opera. In the beginning it was mostly Puccini and his arias. Talk about having a hook! If he wrote pop music today I’m sure everything he would touch would be a hit. It would be a crime that should be outlawed, he would be so popular. Even famous Austrailian director Baz Luhrman did a production of Puccini's La Boheme! As I got older; however, and learned more about music and meaning, I began to branch out of Puccini’s beloved operas and into other composers works. Over the years I've gained such an appreciation and love of opera. My friend Arlana, who was a voice major, used to sing arias to me in college, something I always loved. I’ve been to a bunch of operatic productions, the most enjoyable was the summer Arlana and another friend of mine, Michael, were working for Glimmerglass Opera Company in upstate New York. The weekend I visited they had lumped all their summer productions into one long event and I got to see them all for free. It was a great experience.
With everything that’s happened recently with Dad there have been good moments and moments of normalcy. One such moment was the first Saturday Mom and I went to see him in rehab. He has a Grundig radio he purchased for himself a couple of years ago. He loves this radio and there were countless times I would hear his radio playing while he quietly sat in the dining room, sipping a glass of wine and looking out at the birds in his backyard. Never really one for the TV, I brought his radio in for him to listen to. This particular Saturday I said to him, let’s turn on the radio and see if we can get Maine Public Radio. I knew they always played an opera on Saturday afternoons and I knew Dad would often listen to them. We turned it on just as they were giving the rundown of the story. Dad’s eyes lit up as he listened. Once the music started he closed his eyes. Mom thought he was going to sleep. He hand came up and started moving around like he was conducting the opera and I knew he was quietly just listening. So we all sat there and listened with him. It was a good Saturday.
I mention the leitmotif and Wagner because his greatest work, The Ring Cycle or Der Ring des Nibelungen is something Dad always wanted to see a live production of. A decade or so ago, The Metropolitan Opera Company in NYC did a production of the four operas, encompassed in the cycle, over the course of a week or so and I remember Dad and I had talked about getting tickets. It is definitely a time commitment to devote yourself to these works. We never did go, but always talked about it. A few years ago I purchased an amazing production of the series on CD and gave them to Dad for Christmas (as well as a copy for myself). Personally I have listened to them countless times. Below is a link to a scene from a documentary about the Ring Cycle put forth by the Met last year. There have been many debates about this particular production and I'm not here to have an opinion about it one way or the other, just to present the magic of what opera music represents for me and for Dad. You either like it or you don't. Enjoy! 

Wagner's Dream: The Opening Bars of Rheingold  

Chickadees

Chickadees, or more specifically the Black-capped chickadees are the state bird of Maine and they are everywhere. As Dad tells it, they are so friendly you could hold seed in your hand and they will come and grab it. I feed Dad's bird feeder at least twice a week and while there are many different types of birds that feed off this seed, the chickadees are my favorite. I was watching this afternoon as they came and went to the feeder. There were so many! I had to include them here, because Dad watches them and they are the cutest little buggers you ever saw!

February 6, 2013, Day 35

PJ and Frank made their way to the hospital to visit Dad yesterday and were able to sit in on his physical therapy session. This day they were working on his walking. His right foot has to be bandaged up right now so his foot drag. Currently the nurse has to help his leg along. I say currently because I know this will change and it won't be long before he doesn't need assistance with this. Below are some photos PJ took of Dad in action.

And just for the record, those camo sweatpants are not his!

February 4, 2013, Day 33

It’s been about a week and a half since Dad has been back in acute rehab, so I thought I would do a recap. It’s been a busy week!

The physical therapist, on the second day back to rehab, commented and was encouraged Dad had not lost a lot of the progress he made by leaving and spending some time on Grant 5. That was the first bit of good news! Then last Tuesday, one of my Mom’s three sisters, my Aunt Melody flew in from Arizona to help us out. I had been so busy running around, I couldn’t wait for her visit! While she’s staying with us for 3 weeks, she gives me some time to breath, my Mom company and support, and Dad, well she makes him laugh. Laughter truly is the best medicine and it has been a joy to have her here, she is so good for the soul.

Lastly, Friday, PJ and I sat in on Dad’s afternoon therapies. It was the first time either of us had the time to sit in and observe what therapy was doing with Dad to help him improve. With the lack of language and writing on Dad’s end we were pretty clueless and had only our own research and some vague answers from the nursing staff to go on. Everyone at the hospital does their part and the level of care is exceptional (the only complaint I have is that the clothes I first brought to rehab for him disappeared, something that apparently happens, good thing none of it was designer clothing!), but not one of them knows the whole scope of everything it seems. That’s ok though because I do not have a problem asking the same question to a hundred different people just to get to the right person and get an answer. This particular afternoon he was only scheduled for PT (physical therapy) and Speech. OT (occupational therapy) had done an hour with him that morning, so unfortunately we didn’t have the opportunity to sit through their session. Again, with the acute rehab they are required to do three hours of therapy spread throughout the course of a day, five days a week. It doesn’t sound like much to you and I, but to someone who has had a stroke and is physically and mentally exhausted all day long, three hours is a lot out of your day. Add on top of that, the myriad of Doctors, RNs, technicians and even students who come in to check on you, monitor you, feed you, bath you, change you, all requiring you to move, shift, sit up, lie down. Then take something as simple as eating, which prior to the stroke maybe only took 15 minutes to have let’s say dinner. Now it takes a half an hour, forty five minutes and you don’t even finish all your food, because you’re that tired from just trying to feed yourself. I can only imagine the exhaustion Dad must feel daily.  

It was really good to sit in as a silent observer with him though. We all went up to the fifth floor where rehab has their own gym and watched as the therapist worked on Dad’s legs and hips. He does have some movement in his right leg and hip, mostly tensing his thigh and calf muscles right now and beginning to try to pull his leg up to a bent position. The goal is to continue building up Dad’s left side, which is already so strong with the eventuality that his right side will then begin to mimic his left side. It truly is amazing how our bodies work. That was PT time and the therapist said he did great. Speech therapy, on the other hand didn’t go so well and I could tell Dad was not a fan of it at all. You can read exactly how he feels just by looking at him (I am my father’s daughter in that respect). The therapist confirmed what we had all already suspected. Dad is still not consistent with his yes’s and no’s. Now some of the questions asked to determine and improve his consistency with this, are questions like “Do you turn on the TV before you watch it,” or “Do you brush your teeth before putting the toothpaste on the brush.” He has improved since he began therapy though and was around 65% correct in his answers as of last week. The other thing she mentioned was that when Dad answers a question, he tends to then give that same answer to subsequent questions. For example, when I was there, she wrote on a dry erase board 2+2=. Dad got the correct answer and wrote 4 but when she then wrote 5+2=, he wrote 4 again as the answer. It was only after she asked him if that was right that he understood and realized what the correct answer was. She said to me, as everyone else has, all the connections are there is his brain, they are just getting a little jumbled up on their way out. That’s what time and therapy are for. Improvement is improvement and I do see his improvement every day.

Sunday, after directing my Aunt to where my parents church (Redeemer Lutheran) was, I headed over to see Dad. I’ve noticed Sundays are pretty quiet at the hospital. I like that. It’s very peaceful. Dad had the TV on when I walked in. The nurse came in while I was there and mentioned something about it being Superbowl Sunday, I suppose because at 10:30 in the morning they were already talking non-stop about it on the TV. She asked if Dad was excited.  He rolled his eyes and I burst out laughing. Dad is not a fan of sports at all. The nurse then asked, “Well you must like the commercials at least?” Dad rolled his eyes again and I laughed again. I said “Yeah, he could probably care less about either of those things,” to which Dad looked at me and pointed in agreement. We are all growing accustomed to learning new ways of communicating with Dad and he with us. After the conversation about the Superbowl they put him in his wheelchair and as soon as the nurse left he began pointing towards the door of his room. It took me half a second to realize he wanted out of the room. So we left. Directly out and to the left of his room there is a waiting area, surrounded on two sides with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Penobscot River. I wheeled him over so he had a river view of the chunks of ice floating downstream. The local newspaper, the Bangor Daily News happened to be sitting on a chair. The next hour was spent with us flipping through the Sunday paper, exchanging sections, pointing articles out to one another, catching up on what was going on in the greater Bangor area and the northern part of the state, called by everyone up here, the County. Before I knew it, it was time for me to head out to meet Mom, PJ and Aunt Mel for some lunch at Governor’s Restaurant (yes, shout out to best French fries ever), before we all headed back to see Dad together.

All and all yesterday was a stellar day. It was a great way to end one week and begin the next. You have to take it one day at a time and always remember, no one needs to save the world in a day.

                   

Photography

What do they (whoever they are) say about a photo? Something about how it's worth a thousand words? Well, our family has always had an interest in photography. It started with my Opa, Dad's dad, also named Rudolf (it's a family name and actually also PJ's first name). Born in 1904, by age 15, living in Germany, Opa had a camera and was snapping away. 

A view of Bohldamm, the farm Opa grew up on, his sister and mother in the distance, 1919

Photo Opa took of his schoolmates 1919

He used a Zeiss folding camera at one point I know when he was married  to his wife Helen, my Oma. I do not know if that was the camera that took these photos when he was 15, but I still have the Zeiss camera and have taken photos with it myself (the film for it is increasingly difficult to find). 

Dad's Opa, my great grandfather, 1919

Another photo of him taken in the 1930's, during a visit back to Germany

In looking through photos Opa had taken over the years I began to get the feeling he really enjoyed photography. I remember asking Dad about it one time and he confirmed my thoughts. Opa tremendously enjoyed taking photos and capturing moments. I asked him why he never pursued it. That was something Dad didn't know and at the time, growing up, Dad never asked him.  
There are three photos Opa took that are my favorites and instances were I felt he had an eye for this hobby and was noticeably knowledgeable with regards to composition, aperture and shutter speed. Below are the three that stick out for me; however there are many others.

Opa's interest in photography filtered down to Dad. Dad also had a Zeiss camera, only his was a few decades newer. Both cameras; however, required you to know the metric system when focusing on your subject (math was never my strong suit). Both had exceptional lenses and had been kept in mint condition. Dad gave me his Zeiss camera many years ago, having upgraded to something much more modern at the time. I still have it and have taken pictures with that camera also. Below are just a small handful of the photos Dad took.

Backyard of the house Dad grew up in in Maplewood, NJ

Another view of the backyard

Dad's favorite photo he took of his parents

My Opa, taken by Dad

Camera on the timer with Dad at the end of the table. 

I asked Dad why he didn't take more of an interest in photography, because in looking through his  photos, I again felt, as with my Opa, it was something he really enjoyed, and was an interest that could have, should have been nurtured and pursued. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't know, things happened." I took his comment to be just part of who he was. In a way I understood this. Responsibilities needed to be fulfilled. Photography was a luxury that he didn't have time for and unfortunately he didn't make time for it. Practicality & frugality were the reality, so he essentially abandoned it, even though he immensely enjoyed it. I have often wondered what he could have done or would have done though had he continued with this art form.
PJ and I ended up taking a huge interest in photography and Dad did foster that. When I was a little kid, Dad bought me my first camera at a garage sale. It was a Brownie and I will never forget it. I had the flash for it and everything. For me it was the coolest thing since sliced bread (and I will make the argument for sliced bread being pretty cool). I've been hooked on photography and taking photos ever since, always trying new techniques, always reading up on different ways to capture an image, make it tell a story, make you feel an emotion. When I had enough money of my own I invested in my own camera, a Pentax K1000. I still have it and still use it occasionally. While digital photography has become the dominant force and there are a million and one little modifications you can do with a digital photograph, there is still a nostalgia I feel towards actual film. With real film, I always felt you needed to really know what you were doing, versus the point and shoot, upload onto your computer and apply a filter, that runs rampant these days. PJ ended up following the same path as me, having the same passion as me, as Dad, as Opa. Over the last few years he has parlayed that into becoming a wedding photographer for small parties typically marrying at one of the bed and breakfasts in and around Rockland. One of the hallways in his inn proudly displays his photography of Maine. Below are just a couple of photos PJ and I have taken.

Winters Night, South Paris, Maine taken by me

Sunset from Streaked Mountain taken by me

Calcata, Italy taken by PJ

Venice, Italy taken by PJ

Several years ago PJ and I bought Dad his first digital point and shoot camera. Never one to spend money on himself, he was tickled pink to receive this gift. To this day he keeps it in the armrest of his car, for unexpected moments to capture. The interest is still there and I love that. I hope it flourishes when he comes home.     

 

Rye Bread

To switch things up a little I thought I would include an entry I posted a couple of months ago on my other blog that referenced Dad and our love of cooking and food. For any bakers out there, I'm serious, check out the link for the recipe because if you have the talent, the time and patience, it is worth it.
For several years now, Dad has been searching out the perfect rye bread recipe. A lifelong lover of rye bread (and specifically Pechter's that he used to buy in Shoprite in New Jersey), since he has retired to Maine; however, he has not been able to find good rye bread in the local supermarkets. He has searched and searched and searched. He felt there must be a way to make good rye bread at home to compensate for the lack of it up here in the land of the bulkie roll. He must have tried half to make a dozen various recipes, all in vain. There was always something missing? Hard and tasteless, they quickly ended up either in the garbage can or as food for the birds in the backyard.
One day I thought, let me give this a try. I love baking bread. I thought but wasn't sure, was it the recipes he was using or maybe just user error. What I did know; however, was that I wanted to try and make this for Dad. So one Sunday I decided to give it a whirl. Why the hell not right?
Below is the first random recipe I clicked on after searching rye bread recipes on the Internet. I highly recommend this to anyone who has a free Sunday afternoon and loves baking! It was far easier than I thought it was going to be. For my first attempt I'm so happy with the results and the best part was Dad loved it. It has become a staple that I make a couple of times a month now. Dad and I had talked about growing caraway, because the seeds can be expensive. I plan on growing that this season. I have promised him when he comes home, there will be a fresh loaf waiting for him.    

Rye Bread Recipe

The sponge poking through the flour mixture

The first rising 

The last rising

The finished product