We Are Going to Die Here, Aren't We?

My octogenarian parents, bless their slightly enlarged hearts, came up to the cabin with us last weekend.  Their hearts aren't really enlarged and their good health is, in fact, what probably leads to all the trouble.  If they had dementia, or were confined to a wheelchair, I would most likely have way more patience and tolerance when I am dealing with them. As it is, I expect them to behave and move around just like they did when I was twenty years old and they had to help me move into my dental school dorm room.  Because they are still relatively active and relatively nimble minded I haven't adopted that caring mindset where my own needs become secondary to those of my feeble parents.

I say relatively nimble minded because there is the normal age related forgetfulness to contend with.  Spending the day with my parents can be like living in one of those psychological reality distortion thrillers such as Total Recall.  The whole time you believe you are living in the real reality but then 10 minutes before the end you realize it is everyone else's reality that is the real reality.  Or is it? It becomes a he said she said spanning five decades back to my youth on Long Island.  When your parents argue about what Uncle Lou on your Dad's side, did or didn't do to your Aunt Esther on your mother's side, during a Passover Seder at which some trafe dessert may have been brought by your cousin's gentile fiance, all of which occurred when you were 10 years old, but the details of which must now be hashed out 40 years later-even though we haven't seen our cousin in 20 years, and Aunt Esther died in Connecticut so we didn't even go sit shiva-while they ride in the back seat of your Subaru on the way to the Walkway Over the Hudson it may be time for a reality check.

Which brings me to the idea of my parents being relatively active. There are not too many 85 year olds who would even contemplate making an unassisted stroll across the Hudson River on the converted railroad bridge near New Paltz.  It is a 2.5 mile hike round trip with port-a-pots only available on either end.  And once you walk across the river, you must walk back unless you stashed a second vehicle on the Poughkeepsie side.  There is no AED at the mid-way point and according to the nice looking docent in her red vest, the gates get locked promptly at sundown so don't start across unless you can make it back by then.  Super Pretzels with mustard and cheese sauce product, sodas, and various ethnic foods are available at either end. But at $3.00 per pretzel, $2.00 for a can of lukewarm soda, and $7.00 for a grey looking sausage and peppers hero, the prudent walker would be well advised to carry a canteen of water and some granola bars.  We were not prudent.  The walk toward Poughkeepsie proceeded apace but it was on the return trip that my parents' stride began to go awry.  Awry for me anyway.  Tammy and I were half-way across when I realized my parents were not within eye shot.  Few people hike as fast as Tammy and me and when I realized it could be several hours before I would procure a snack, I began to envision slowly starving to death 200 feet over the Hudson River waiting for my parents to catch up.  When they opened the gates the following morning they would find my emaciated body at the 1 mile marker with an annoyed expression frozen on my face that screamed "where the hell are my parents?"

But they eventually did catch up and in my semi-starved delusional state I may have made a few comments about someone's hip prosthesis needing an adjustment.  And in his usual "when will you ever learn tone", even though I am 52 years old, my patient father suggested that I carry a few granola bars on me to avoid the inevitable hypoglycemia that makes me so unpleasant to be around.  When we finally made it back to the New Paltz side my Mom bought me a $3.00 Super Pretzel, even as I balked at the price, thus illuminating why she is still the parent and me the child.  For as long as my parents still know what's good for me, before I do, I know they are going to be alright.

Nothing to do with the blog but a very cool picture taken with a 200 mm lens and handheld camera.  Taken at the Ashokan Reservoir on the same weekend with Stan and Florence.