Happy Happy Joy Joy

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and I am afraid that I’m not “such a happy Chewbacca!”

Certainly not as happy as that Texas woman who recently bought the Chewbacca mask and recorded a video of herself getting quite a big kick out of it.  The video was watched by over 50 million people during the first 24 hours it was on the internet this past weekend.

Me, I am afraid I have not been a very happy Wookiee.

There was a television cartoon on the Nickelodeon channel in the early ‘90s, when our kids were young, called Ren & Stimpy.  Ren was an emotionally unstable Chihuahua and Stimpy was a good-natured but stupid cat. They performed the ‘happy happy joy joy’ song and dance.

Some feel that ‘Happy happy joy joy’ was a tribute to folk, country and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer singer Burl Ives, since some of the lyrics are from some of the songs Ives sang.

Some feel ‘Happy happy joy joy’ is when the world expects you to put on this happy and joyful face when what you really want to do is scream, curse and cry. To make everyone happy even though your world is falling apart, you put on this mask of ‘happy happy joy joy’ while singing a silly song.

I guess I have been guilty of wearing a mask.

Not quite the Chewbacca mask, more like the one Eleanor Rigby kept in a jar by the door.

The British DNA in me has helped ‘keep a stiff upper lip’ the last two years, since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease. I would have to admit, however, that the lower lip has been known to quiver from time to time.

One of Terry’s favorite music videos is Miranda Lambert’s “Mama’s Broken Heart” and in it the country star complains that her mother is telling her “don’t matter how you feel, it only matters how you look. Go fix your make up, it’s just a break up, run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady. ‘cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together, even when you fall apart.”

I’ve been working hard to not fall apart, trying to keep it together. I really haven’t felt too much true happiness the last few years.  But there have been times when I was enjoying the moment, which has been my goal all along, to try to enjoy the moment and try not to think of the big picture.

Fortunately, this time of year is when those moments usually begin to get more and more enjoyable. And more and more frequent.

It is the end of May, my favorite time of year. My work load slows down, the weather turns nice and most importantly; I am home a lot more. Home with my Terry.

My wife Terry needs me more and more each day, needs help with more and more tasks.  When we are apart I worry about her quality of life. I know she gets nervous when she is alone. She calls me and asks me where I’m at? She doesn’t always understand why we are not together.

But when we are together, we laugh. A lot. Seeing Terry laugh is the greatest.

To me, it is so much better than the infectious laugh of the Texas woman wearing the Chewbacca mask. It truly makes me happy and gives me joy.

So as the warmer weather arrives I will be home more with Terry to enjoy it.

The other side of the coin, however, is that as the days grow warmer, with each passing day Terry’s cognitive skills decline more and more. This makes me worry about the future and, in turn, start doing the happy happy joy joy song and dance.

I never let Terry see me sad or upset. I need to be strong for her, to give her a sense of security. The best way for me to make her happy is to be happy myself. Or at least wear the mask of a happy person.

Happy happy joy joy.

Until next time, hope you can be as happy as the latest internet sensation, the woman wearing the Wookiee mask in Texas. She is such a happy Chewbacca!

Bud

Power of Prayer

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and like Tim the Tool Man from the popular 1990s TV show Home Improvement I want ‘more power.’

The power of prayer.

I’m reminded of the aphorism:  “There are no atheists in foxholes.” (If the word aphorism has you stuck, other examples of aphorisms include “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’, “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” or my favorite, “Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man to fish; he is out on his boat with his buddies drunk every weekend.”)

Back to atheists in foxholes. I assume the term ‘foxhole’ goes back to one of the World Wars when soldiers dug out defensive positions during combat. And speaking of World Wars, if WWI was supposed to be “The war that ends all wars”, how come they gave it a number?

I think the aphorism about foxholes, dealing with times of extreme stress or fear, is true. People in those situations believe, or hope for, some form of higher power. You know, God. Or as my wife Terry calls Him, by His ‘old school’ name, Jehovah.

When the shit hits the fan, all people pray, whether they call it prayer or not. They ask for help. From anyone. From anything. When there is nowhere else to turn, they turn to faith.

And for good reason. It works.

Not too far from where we live is the National Shrine of Saint Katharine Drexel, the second American-born person to be canonized. Katharine was a wealthy Philadelphia socialite whose family founded Drexel University. She founded the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, a religious order serving African American and Native American missions.

Katharine Drexel used her wealth and fame to set up a meeting with the Pope.  When she had her audience with Pope Leo she demanded he give more support to the Native Americans in the Southwest part of the United States. In response to her demands, the pontiff suggested Drexel become a missionary herself, and she said “fine,” and did.

Today the Drexel Shrine draws about 6,000 people a year, who come there to pray. Many of them have documented stories about how after their visits to the shrine they experienced “miracles” in their lives. Their mother’s cancer went into remission.  Their child’s ineffective immune system began working.  The Phillies won the World Series.

My in-laws raised 10 kids in the 1950s and ‘60s in a three-bedroom tenement, living on the first floor of a three-story house they owned that they rented the second and third floors out.  All 10 kids are now successful professionals with happy family and social lives. (Make that nine of the 10. The sixth child, Therese, married badly and developed a terminal illness) That family of 12 said the rosary, every night, together, and my Mother-in-law swears (she never really swears) that it worked.

She has told me and others that prayer definitely works, and she has proof.

Many people have proof that prayer works. And I am not talking about the people who see the face of Jesus in their grilled cheese sandwich or on a potato chip. (and speaking of that, how can those people think it is the image of Christ? If anything, it is the image of an artist rendering of Christ. I don’t think the Son of God ever had a formal sitting for his portrait, and he died about 1800 years before the first camera. Those images of Christ are really images of what sixth century artists agreed upon.)

There are many people out there who agree upon the fact that their prayers were answered. And believe it or not I might be one of them.

I truly believe that prayer works. The rub is, it doesn’t always work the way you expect. The way you want. When you ask for Devine Intervention you don’t always get the result you ask for. But that doesn’t mean your prayers weren’t answered. They just weren’t answered the way you wanted, or expected.

A lot of people I know think I drew the short straw. They think my wife Terry got the shitty end of the stick, when she was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease two years ago. And I would have to agree. My first reaction was “What’s up with that, God? I pay taxes. Terry never did a thing in her life that would make her deserve something like this. WTF?” I was just shy of sounding like the Olympic ice skater Nancy Kerrigan, after she was attacked back in the 1990s by rival Tanya Harding’s friend and performed that famous whine “Whhyyyy?”

But I also feel that despite what happened to Terry and me, we are blessed. Our prayers have been answered. Well, obviously not all of them, but some of them, anyway.

Sure, Terry having cognitive impairment is no blessing. For me, seeing my best friend, my soul mate, my helpmate, decline mentally on almost a daily basis is no picnic. It sucks!

A wise man once said “you can’t always get what you want but if you try sometime you find you get what you need.”

If there is one thing I have learned over the last two years, it is that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. He sometimes gives you a shitload more than you would like to handle, but when push comes to shove you can handle it if you really have to. If you really try.

And Terry and I have really, really been trying. And so far we have been able to handle it. So far.

But despite Terry’s Alzheimer’s we feel blessed because we have three great kids, we have great friends and family, and we have each other.

This disease has brought Terry and me so close. And it was Divine Intervention almost 40 years ago that brought Terry and me together in the first place.

Looking back, if I had been told 40 years ago that I would get to spend all this time with someone like Terry but at the end it was going to get messy, I would have signed on. No questions asked.  Well, maybe a couple of questions, like for instance, Whhyyyy??

But, that really is not my style.  Most of my praying involves saying thank you for what I have and saying please can I have help with this or that.

I have always prayed throughout my life. Looking back, I am sure some of my prayers were answered.  And I am pretty sure some of them were not.  Or at least answered the way I had hoped or expected.

I will continue to pray, pray that I can keep Terry happy and safe in the years to come. Keep her with me as long as I can.

Until next time, hope your prayers are answered.

Bud

May Day

By Bud Focht

Hi, my name is Bud and yesterday, Sunday, was May 1, and in many parts of the world was celebrated as May Day.

I celebrated May Day yesterday because, due to rain, I had the day off.

May Day is an ancient spring festival, involving dancing around the maypole, singing and eating cake.

I’m thinking it must be a big deal if it involves cake.

In olden times towns and villages would celebrate the coming of spring on May 1. Most farmers had already planted their crops by May 1 so it was a day the laborers could have off from work to celebrate the end of a long, cold winter, and the promise of more pleasant days to follow.

May has always been my favorite month. My work load begins to ease in May and my hours worked per week begin to decline.  Most importantly, May brings with it the anticipation of the arrival of summer.

I have always been a boy of summer.

That is reason enough to celebrate May 1. May Day.

There is also another Mayday. One that, unfortunately, I am becoming more and more aware of.

Mayday is an emergency procedure word used internationally as a distress signal. It is used primarily by sailors and pilots, and always said three times for emphasis (Mayday, Mayday, Mayday). It comes from the French word m’aidez which means “help me.”

There have been plenty of times in the last two years, since my wife Terry was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease, that I wanted to call out Mayday-Mayday-Mayday. In the last 25 months there has been plenty of distress. Plenty of times when I didn’t think I was going to make it. Plenty of times when I asked the Good Lord to “help me.”

May Day has also become the International Workers’ Day, a day to celebrate not only the hard work performed all year long but the eight hour work day. The balance of eight hours of working, eight hours of sleeping and eight hours of leisure. It commemorates the Haymarket Affair, which occurred in Chicago about 130 years ago, a peaceful rally in support of workers striking for an eight hour day that unfortunately turned violent.

My wife Terry worked for over 30 years in a variety of jobs. When we first got married she taught a 6am aerobics class at the local YMCA. For the life of me I could not figure out why people would pay to take a fitness class at that ungodly hour. I was happy that Terry got paid to lead that class, however.

That aerobics class grew into a full time job at the “Y” working with youngsters, teaching gymnastics to toddlers. “Gym-Jam” it was called.

That was the greatest job for us. The “Y” was right down the street and with the free day care they had, our kids practically grew up at the “Y”. It was a great atmosphere for them and the day care room was literally right across the hall from the gym that Terry called her office.

During the summer Terry ran the YMCA Sports Day Camp. Basically she got paid to play with kids outside all summer. Again, it was great for her and our kids.

But, as I have learned with too many things over the last two years, all good things have to come to an end sooner or later. Too many sooner. Terry was so well liked at the “Y” and did such a good job that they promoted her, to a different “Y” and to a different job, one that involved more money but also more responsibilities. It was also a job that she did not enjoy. It was more administrative and management duties and less hands on with the kids.

After the “Y” Terry, at different times, taught physical education and a computers course at a grade school, she was a postal carrier (what we used to call a Mailman before the age of political correctness), a grade school athletics director and a track & field coach, and later worked at the shopping mall at a Sears. (She never could find out for me what the people at Sears ever did with Roebuck)

For the past several years she worked in a doctor’s office where they help people lose weight and keep the weight off. The running joke in the office was that Terry was the “after” picture in the “before and after”, since she weighs in at a whopping 102 pounds.

But I am afraid Terry’s working days came to an end last year. She could no longer perform the duties she once was hired to do. Her cognitive impairment continues to worsen.

The worst part about Terry not working is not the lack of income, but the lack of input. Getting out of the house and interacting with others was so good for her. The brain is a muscle and it needs to be exercised. Working was very good for Terry.

This May Day, yesterday, was very good for Terry.

On this May Day, while others were honoring the working class and celebrating the arrival of spring, we were honored with guests and celebrated their company.

I had the day off due to bad weather and Terry and I were enjoying the company of one of her brothers and his wife, who were visiting, along with our son and his dog.

It sure beat working!  What a Great May Day it was!

May 1 is also the feast day of St. Joseph the Worker, a carpenter, and the Catholic patron saint of all workers.

Terry’s brother is somewhat of a carpenter. He is a university chemistry professor by trade, but is very handy with his large assortment of tools. He has done numerous construction jobs on our house and on this May 1 visit brought us a “project” he had been working on.

A kitchen pantry that he made for us is now the most expensive thing we have in our house. A solid oak kitchen cabinet that will truly become a family heirloom.

Many people were complaining about the rain on May 1 this year, but that is something we never do around our house. When our kids were little they always liked it when it rained in the spring because they knew that meant the games would be rained out and I wouldn’t have to work. I would be home.

This May Day I was home, enjoying guests. It was truly a great day to celebrate.

Until next time, hope you had a great May Day, with or without rain, and hopefully will have no reason to cry out mayday, mayday, mayday.

Bud

P.S. parts of this blog were taken from a blog I wrote last May, in case some of you with good memories thought you were experiencing déjà vu all over again.