Scott and his college paper

Both Derek and Scott have written papers about Alzheimer's. My guess is the reason they liked the subject is they know someone personally who has been affected by the disease.

As part of Scott's research, he conducted an interview with me. So I thought I would share it in case it would be an interest to any of the readers.

1. What type of questions did the doctors ask when Grandpa went in to see if he had mild memory loss or severe?

A. There were a range of questions, but some were like: How many kids do you have? Can you tell me their names? What town are you in? Draw a picture of the face of a clock. Now put hands on the clock to show the time as 1:45. Can you spell "world" backwards?

2. How many questions did he ask and how many did grandpa have to answer right to have mild, moderate or severe?

A. I can't remember how many questions but the top score was 30. When he first took the test in Roundup in February of 2006, he scored a 19 and the doctor then said he could continue to drive - although I thought that was scary. A year later he scored a 14 and the doctor in Mandan said he shouldn't drive and that someone should be with him 24 hours a day so he did no harm to himself - such as get lost - or to our home, such as leaving a hot plate on or the water running. It wasn't hard to talk Grandpa into not driving because he gave it up when he moved to Mandan. I guess he didn't want to study for the test to get a North Dakota drivers license.

3. What are the treatments that they have for memory loss patients?

A. Grandpa is on Arricept and Namenda, which I think have kept his condition probably stable over the last two years. However, I don't think he has gotten any better.

4. What are different things you do to keep his mind exercised?

A. We play Scrabble, listen to familiar music, such as Johnny Cash and Flatt and Scruggs, read books together, and I've put together a PowerPoint with names and pictures of his family, including his parents, his deceased spouse, his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. We are currently reading a biography of Dwight Eisenhower, written by Stephen Ambrose. Dad's obviously a very good reader. We've also read Undaunted Courage by Ambrose along with a slug of westerns by Louis L'Mour and Zane Grey.

5. How long has Grandpa had memory loss?

A. We first noticed it during the winter of 2004 when we were playing card games in Roundup. He could play cards, but if you went from Phase 10 to Rummy, he couldn't easily make the switch because he had forgotten the rules. Same thing with Pinochle. My sister Janet's the one who told me we should get a doctor to look at him. We tried that in the summer of 2005, but the doctor was the one who didn't seem to know what he was looking for. Instead of memory loss, he tried to treat Dad for fibromyaligia, which Dad doesn't have. Dad simply has worn out the cartilage in hands and wrists, but that's treatable with an Advil in the morning and at night. As Beagle could probably comment on, the doctor we saw in Roundup wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.

6. What are the positive things about living with a person with memory loss?

A. Every day is a new beginning. If you had a fight with him the day before, all is forgotten. It's a pretty good philosophy for all of us. Take each day as a new gift from God. You can't hold a grudge if you can't remember what happened yesterday. Also, you learn to trust your caregivers because you really have no choice. My Dad has given me the power of attorney for him, and that's an immense responsibility as I can control almost every aspect of his life. My brother and sister (Ar Vee and Penny) have the scars to show for getting Dad to sign the Power of Attorney paper, but we're all glad he did now.

7. What are the negatives?

A. You feel like your losing your father, because he can't remember the old familiar stories that helped form you when you were growing up. Dad can't remember that he worked on a dairy farm, or in the coal mines or on the oil rigs...and he's forgotten the anecdotes about his military service that he used to like to share. He was a boxer during World War II and found some rubies when he was stationed in India, but that's forgotten now.

8. What are his medications doing for him and how do they work?

A. I told you the medications and I'm not sure how they work. I guess they excite the neurons in his brain, because a doctor once told me that reading will excite his brain better than any medication.

9. Any other useful information?

A. Some people with Alzheimer's turn mean and they have to be sedated, which really changes their personality. In fact, one guy we know seems almost like a Zombie. In Dad's case, his personality hasn't really changed. Since his wife died, I think he is more relaxed and more at peace. However, he still can roar like the Dad of old - especially if you try to make him do something he doesn't like to do, such as go to church or eat asparagus.

The new and improved me....

You know something's wrong when a 92-year old man tells you that you look like Methusaleh or when a 10-year-old girl scowls at you every time she sees you or when your pastor tells the congregation from the pulpit that you look like an Ayatollah and the beard has to go!

About 30 minutes ago, I once again cut off my beard. For my son Scott, it was at least a day late. That's because this morning we got our pictures taken for the church directory and I still had my beard.

He wasn't impressed. Neither was my Dad.

Last week in church there was a lady sitting in the back who laughed every time she saw me.

She said, "I only missed a couple of Sundays but I'm back now and what happened to your face?"

Obviously, she wasn't a fan either.

However, there is a couple of good sides to shaving.

First, I won't be scratching my beard any more. The hair never got soft. It had the feel of steel wool.

And second, I look at least 10 years younger. If you don't believe me. Compare these pictures. The older me (with a beard) and the younger me (without a beard).

Anyway, it was fun while it lasted -- exactly a month.

I've grown beards before. They are not hard to grow...all you have to do is not shave. Once I won a prize in a contest for growing the best beard in the shortest amount of time -- one month. The prize was a new razor. How ironic.

If my beard had come in black instead of gray, I might have kept it a little longer. But who wants to go somewhere and hear people say, "Isn't that nice, that old man brought his daughter with him."

Halloween - the scariest night of the year

I have a date for tonight...it's the same date I've had for the last 12 or 15 years, but more about that later.

We really don't live on the edge of town, but people seem to think we do so we get very few trick or treaters. While our house is lit up and our front yard is decorated with orange inflatable pumpkins and electric illuminated jack o' lanterns, you would think that there's a no trespassing sign on our fence.

We see trick or treaters across the street, but for some odd reason, they won't venture to our block. Instead, most get into their parent's car and head off for greener pastures.

I know there's candy to be gotten on our block. Our boys used to get it when they were younger. But for the 22 Halloweens that we have celebrated in our house, I don't think we've ever gotten more than 10 trick or treaters. And as the years have gone by, the number has dwindled.

Grandpa has come to believe that people in Mandan don't have children. He remembers the "salad" days of living in the booming metropolis of Roundup and making home-made goodies for the trick or treaters -- like carmel popcorn balls. Car loads of kids would stop at his house. Never mind that most of them were nieces and nephews or that he lived in the nicest house in town so people would think that the treats were better at his house than others.

But alas, we live in the city across the river from North Dakota's capitol. As such, we know better than to make anything homemade because it would automatically get thrown out because it poses too much of a safety risk. In our town, families can take -- and do take -- their bags of Halloween goodies to hospitals to have them x-rayed to make sure they don't contain any unwanted items, such as stick pins and razor blades.

So tonight, like so many before, I'll be home with my date -- a VHS copy of the Don Knott's movie, "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken."

No slasher films for me. Nothing says Halloween better than Luther Heggs' wild imagination as he spends a night in a haunted Simmons mansion, which was once the sight of a spectacular murder/suicide. The blood stains will still be on the key board of the organ, just like they were last year and the year before. And some old lady will once again proclaim, "They couldn't remove the blood stains. And they used Bonami."

I'm not sure they even sell Bonami -- which for younger readers was a lot like Comet. And Luther's car will still be a Ford Edsel, which I know they have not made since the late 1950s.

The characters in the movie are generally familiar faces. Like Knotts, many of them also appeared in episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show."

One thing about watching the same movie over and over again is that you don't mind getting up and going to the bathroom or getting another can of pop from the fridge, or even answering the door for a youngster dressed up as a witch or the tin man...because you've seen the movie and you know that in the end, Luther gets the girl.

Atta boy, Luther!

Random thoughts while walking

When I worked at MDU, my mornings often began before sun up. It was better that I worked early to catch up on backlogs when my little boys were asleep. Then I could be home with them after work to eat and play.

Now the boys are grown, but their needs have largely been replaced by a Grandpa who likes to eat and be with Steve in the evenings, whether it's reading, playing Scrabble or watching another baseball game on TV.

But instead of going to work early, I now go for my therapeutic walks early. I get up at 5:30 a.m. Now that it's getting colder, it takes me about 10 minutes to get dressed in layers so that I stay warm on my four-mile hike west on second street and east on first street until I reach home.

Grandpa and the rest of my family are sleeping, so I'm not taking away any "quality" time from them by being gone. Right before I leave the house, I take a drink of water and pop two pieces of peppermint gum in mouth so that I won't get thirsty on my walk.

Walking alone leaves me with an hour or so of solitude as I trudge down the streets, dimly lit by street lights that are often shadowed by tall trees. For some of the time, I pray about this or that, but its hard to pray, walk, and chew gum at the same time. So sometimes I think about songs that talk about walking.

My favorite is probably "In the Garden." I like the part where it says, "He walks with me and talks with me...and tell me I am his own." That helps me to feel less alone -- especially when I reach the west end of town farthest from my house and I hear dogs barking and growling from a farm nearby.

Today, however, another song came to mind. It's from the Disney movie, "Snow White." You know the song, when the Dwarfs (now known as little people) are heading of to work and they sing "Hi, Ho...Hi, Ho...it's off to work I go."

Well, in my version, the song goes like this: "I eat, I eat, so off to walk I go...I don't walk fast, I take it slow...hi, ho...hi, ho"

Don't laugh...it beats being chased by dogs.

Odds and ends

I really don't have a clue how many people are reading this blog. However, I want you to know that if you are reading it and enjoying it, I truly thank you for investing a little time.

One of the reasons that I like it is simply because I must express myself. You've heard the old axiom, "I think, therefore I am." Or as the taxi drivers think in New York City, "I honk, therefore I am."

For me it more basic, "I write, therefore I am." This probably won't come as shock to anyone, but one of my best toys as a child was a workable press with movable rubber letters that I bought from Annie Evans at Annie's Gifts in Roundup. (For people who don't know, when Annie got sick -- and later died -- her family locked up the store with all the merchandise, and as far as I know all the stuff is still in the store, collecting dust and turning yellow.)

Anyway, getting back to that little press that I bought when I was about 10, I knew then that I wanted to be a newspaper reporter. Well, I did that. Unfortunately, being a reporter didn't pay as well as being a public relations person, so I zigged and zagged and discovered that my writing skills were appreciated more financially by companies and organizations than by newspaper publishers.

This is a long way of getting to my point. I love to write -- to string thoughts together from mere words. Good writing is as close as I'll probably ever come to God. Just as he "spoke" and created the world, I can take a blank piece of paper and create a story. That to me is the true definition of creation -- making something from nothing.

Maybe that's why I'm a fan of the Seinfeld series, the "show about nothing."

A second reason I like the blog is because my family and friends can continue to share in the "great debates" about politics, Alka Seltzer Plus and investment strategies that we used to discuss at my parents' home in Roundup whenever we got together. Now our forum is this blog. We're probably saving our hearing, too, by reading our expressive opinions rather than having to hear them expressed orally.

So enjoy...and keep the comments coming.

Prescription for a good night's sleep

When Dad moved to Mandan in July of 2006, he brought along a black and white tomcat by the name of Nibby.

In Roundup, Nibby was an outdoor cat who came home every night to the comfort of Dad's garage where he ate, used the litter box and slept on the hood of Dad's car. He had all the manners of the Tazmanian Devil. Because he had largely been left alone, he didn't like being petted, held or even looked at. In other words, he was definitely not domesticated.

However, in Mandan, he became a house cat. And like all house cats, he decided early on that it was his house and the rest of us were simply intruders.

Over the ensuing two years, I have done my best to take the "wild" out of him. This was not without it's hazards, which included scratches, hissing and having the cat jump from my grip on most every occasion.

Now, don't get me wrong, I like cats. As a bachelor, I had a furry black and white cat that loved me and I loved her.

Let's just say that with Nibby, there often isn't much to love.

Sure, it's funny to watch Nibby follow Dad to bed, put him to sleep and then see the cat come back out to sit on our furniture and wash himself, or sharpen his claws on our carpet. Then about 7 a.m. Nibby will jump on Dad's bed so that when Dad wakes up, he thinks the cat has slept with him all night.

Now in Dad's eyes, Nibby the Cat is always right. Dad's son and his family better walk softly around the cat if we know what's good for us. Heaven knows we don't want to rile the ire of either Nibby or Dad.

So, in the final analysis, is Nibby really good for anything?

Yes, last night before I went to bed, I watched the cat lick and bathe for 30 minutes on the back of our couch -- white and black hair flying every where. Finally, the cat curled up and laid his head softly on one of his front paws. He stared at me with a growl on his lips for a couple of minutes as if to say, "Don't bother me. I'm warning you, don't even come near me...or else." And then he shut his eyes and went to sleep.

I looked at the motionless furry ball, comfortable as the back of the couch comformed to the 20 pounds of feline. Pretty quick, I got to thinking and you know what...I thought if its good for the cat, it's good for Steve. I went to bed, curled up, sneered at my earthly problems and decided I would deal with them in the morning. Then I closed my eyes and went soundly to sleep.

If the cat can do it, I can to.

If arrested, would there be enough....

I had a preacher in Glendive who had a favorite theme for his sermons, "If you were arrested as a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?"

That's is a provocative statement because as Christians, we are not only called to be disciples (followers) but also apostles (witnesses) of Jesus. Notice the difference? One is passive, one is active.

Last night, Belinda and I went to the movie "Fireproof", starring Kirk Cameron as a firefighter whose marriage was definitely on the rocks and the storm was fierce. There seemed to be no way out other than divorce. Then his parents stepped in, especially, his father.

As you can guess, by the end of the movie, the marriage was healed. But to get from the rocky start to the happy ending is worth the price of admission, because the movie clearly shows the role that God should be playing in our lives and in our marriage. This is no small feat in a fast-paced movie with plenty of action (fires, car crashes, etc.) along with faith-based teaching.

The movie centers around a 40-day program that the dad gives to his son. The program is called the "Love Dare" and its Biblically based. About halfway through the journey, the character played by Kirk Cameron surrenders his life to Jesus.

But enough of the movie, how about us? Going back to the original premise of being arrested as a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict us? Would we willing to open up to others about our faith just as the father did in this movie?

I can't answer that question for you...only you can. I've thought about this a lot since last night. Hopefully, the answer is yes, but there is always something that Holy Spirit is asking us to do. Are we saying "yes" and are we growing in our faith? Or are we ignoring the requests and simply getting by? Are we passive or active?

Do we tell others about our faith with words and deeds or are we content that "Jesus knows, and that's enough." Like the children's Sunday School song implores, let's not hide our light under a bushel, but let it shine, shine, shine.