I Can't Find The Reset Button!

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTpOPbufh6I

    I found myself at a place the other day where I was pondering on all the individual, and various, gizmos, gadgets, and high tech things that have become a part of my life. To be more specific, I was pondering on all the times that a said piece of tech, one in which I had come to rely on, would not turn on or function correctly. This is a phenomenon that seems to be tied directly to Murphy's Law, as it always seems to happen at the most inopportune time.

    I was imaging how convenient it would be to be able to schedule these break-downs in advance since we all know that these things are inevitable.  If a piece of equipment, say, like your smartphone, would just be upfront with you when you set it up for the first time. It would be a very helpful feature if it would tell you beforehand that after the first week, after you have gotten it all set-up the way you like it...with all the applications installed that you want to use and arranged in a pleasing way...that it was going to experience a glitch, resulting in the need to do a reset and the loss of your customized set-up.

    Being forewarned would be very helpful. Just think about how handy it would be if you knew beforehand that your tech would fail on a specific day, at a particular time. You would be better prepared, probably even have a plan to deal with or fix the issue.

Yep! That's my plan.....the only problem is that with my Ataxia I would more than likely miss,(even at this range), and either hit myself in the forehead first or put a huge dent in the table.

    There were times, in the past, where all I needed to do was only to push a reset button or to hold two buttons in sequence, like the volume up button and the start button at the same time, for example. But this is just not the case with the various disorders of the body, namely my Ataxia.

    At least, as of the current date, I haven't located any little portholes, like behind my ear, that I can stick a bent paper clip into and have my balance put back to factory specifications. Nor have I yet to discover any combination of movements or body manipulations, like sticking out my tongue while squeezing my nose, that will enable me to speak clearly.

    I find at times that if my PC is acting wonky, (a technical way of describing an electronic glitch...really...look it up), it needs to be re-started, or re-booted. This ability would really come in handy and be an excellent way to explain my Ataxia, as in,"Just hang on a second George, I need to do a quick brain re-boot and I'll be right with you."

    There also may be a need from time to time to run a system defragmentation because there is very minimal available free Ram left in the system to keep everything running smoothly.  Or there may be times when the PC becomes choppy, begins to lag, and/or hang-up (three more highly technical terms). I guess the closest thing to an "Ataxia De-Frag." is getting enough sleep at night.

    I have discovered the universal truth that I believe most Ataxians have found, that rest is essential. I usually start my day early and have energy, or enough available system Ram, to get needed chores done. I try to cram as many things as possible before one to one-thirty in the afternoon because that's about the time that the system begins to hang up, and there starts to be some severe scattering of available resources.

    It starts to look as if there is an impending danger of a complete system crash, and by the end of the day, depending on how much I have done during that day and exerted myself, I am merely DONE! Being able to get 7 to 8 hours of sleep at night acts as a system cleaning or a system reboot for me.

    During the day all my resources become scattered, fragmented and used up. At night all these systems are brought back together in one meeting room for yet another in a long series of pep talks. The problem is that every night fewer system administrators are being found to come to the meetings.

    Yep....I'm slowly running out of Ram and the only expanding going on is not tied to more memory, or processing power, but to calories.

     I'm in need of a reset button, but I just can't seem to find one.

    

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Neurological Smack Down

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvIWthJdU8Y

     One of the earliest memories that I have as a kid centers around professional wrestling. My mom was a huge fan of it, or I should say that in particular, she cheered for a specific wrestler named Gentleman Dutch Savage, who was part of a local wrestling circuit. The arena was located about an hour away from our home, and the action was also broadcast every Saturday night on a local t.v station. I can remember many tense and nail-biting weekend evenings in our house as we cheered and booed appropriately at the many diverse situations in which Dutch would find himself battling.

     By the time I entered Kindergarten I had already been soundly immersed in the world of wrestling, and it was there, on the first day, that I met a classmate who would become my best friend. Soon, there were a lot of sleepovers at each other's homes, and I joyfully discovered that my best friend also loved wrestling. We spent many Saturday nights glued to the television, and then afterward, we would spend the rest of the evening imagining ourselves to be residents of the ring, re-enacting all the action we had just witnessed. As a kid, I could believe myself to be a hero of the squared circle with a name that brought fear and respect, something like Steel Knuckles. My friend and I would jump off the furniture, pretending that it was the top ropes. We used pillows, picturing them as steel folding chairs, swinging away at each other like the men on t.v, and we would wrap tape around paper towel tubes and imagine them to be foreign weapons that had been smuggled into the ring when the ref wasn't looking. Then the ultimate came when my best friend had a 7-year old birthday party, and his parents not only took us out for pizza but also took us to see Portland Wrestling, the show we had been watching! We were even treated to a main event consisting of a three-man tag team, involving The Battling Midgets. I look back at the memory now with a fondness. But also through the eyes of a parent and realize that taking a bunch of six and seven-year-olds to see grown men pretend to hate each other and beat on one another in a little roped off ring was probably not the kind of decision that would propel one to a parent-of-the-year status.

     Most people, of course, understand that the so-called Professional Wrestling is as fake as margarine that pretends to be butter. It has been choreographed, and, unless you are one of those people who is thinking that the Tooth Fairy most likely is stuck in traffic but will eventually come to retrieve the 40-year-old tooth that's under your pillow, you have come to the realization that it is all just an elaborate show. Sadly, this is not the case with Ataxia. My childhood fantasy concerning a stout gladiator of the pro-wrestling circuit named Steel Knuckles has been replaced by a forty-nine-year-old flabby man named Jerky Cramps.

     I sincerely wish, though, that all my self-inflicted injuries and falls had been scripted and rehearsed beforehand, and ONLY looked real. The best that I can do at this point is to try and limit the kinds of situations that cause me to fall. Awhile ago at the Ataxia support group that I attend we had a Physical Therapist come and talk to the group about balance concerns and some safety issues. The topic that he explored with us that is relevant to this article was the subject of falling. Most of us tense up; I know I do when we trip or feel ourselves being pulled by that relentless stalker known as gravity. Myself, I'm always trying to avoid the invitation,( read blog #32 ). The speaker was telling us that we need just to relax and lay ourselves gently on the ground, folding the knees and laying down sideways, like you are getting into your bed. This would probably work great, but I seem always to forget, and at the moment of stumbling, stiffen up and fight it. After a ten to fifteen-second impromptu ritualistic-style dance, I will usually end up falling anyway. And the fall is made worse by the fact that all my pre-fall dancing has only helped me to pick up a full head of steam so that when I do hit the ground, I'm sure to injure myself. The latest example of this was when I recently stumbled on my carport stairs, did a dance routine for a few moments, and body slammed myself on the concrete driveway.

     Somehow, it all comes back to wrestling. I started childhood watching two opponents face each other in a rope surrounded ring. As an adult, well....when I hear the bell, and look around, I see only myself. You might think that this would be an easy win, but no, I usually lay the smack down and have become my own worst enemy.

Conspiracy Of Bad Puns

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9xpEYNUAJQ

    I drop things.....occasionally. Now, before I say anything else, I need to tell you my definition of the word occasionally.  Based on my personal experience, and for the purpose of this article,"occasionally," is about every thirty to forty-five minutes. The thing is that I REALLY want to hang on to stuff.....I LIKE to hold on to things. But I am beginning to suspect that several years ago my brain and my muscles came to an agreement that it would be fun to play a trick on my fingers. Everything will be going along fine, the fingers growing more and more confident in their ability to grasp things,(and, suddenly, a loud voice is heard, shouting, Okay everybody, that's a wrap!),(( This is bad pun number 1.)).  And then suddenly, without any warning, there is drop-age.

     Sometimes it is because the brain will send out the correct message but along the route to my hand the original message will be subtly changed, and a non-sensical one will get delivered. This phenomenon is almost exactly like the game I used to play in grade school, called Gossip. All the students would form a single file line, and the teacher would whisper something in the first person's ear. Usually, it was something pretty simple, a short statement along the lines of, "My dog is brown." Everyone would whisper this core message into the ear of the person next to them, and the last child in line would say out loud what the message was when it got to them.  Usually, the dog was no longer brown, and more to the point, the dog was no longer even mentioned. "My dog is brown,"  was now, "Someone will need to weed the garden soon."

     Other times the dropage is due not to a correct message that has been changed in its travel through the system...but because the hand muscles receive a prior agreed upon signal from the brain,(usually a subtle wink or nod). This will alert them that since everything has been working well for the fingers for the last several minutes....that it is time once again to not show up for work,(kind of a hands-off approach,....pun number 2). This is becoming a problem and people, (mostly me),  are starting to take notice and complain about the lack of brain and muscle support. It is frustrating for me to suddenly lose my grip on something and drop it, so as much as I can, I use an aid whenever available. My walking sticks have wrist straps on them which I always use. If I drop one while using it, which happens more often than I would like, the stick doesn't hit the ground, causing me to bend over to retrieve it, which, more than likely, will result in a new situation. It really gets exhausting just thinking and writing about it, and I'm all worn out and may have to take a rest break before I finish this. But back to the point I wanted to make, which is, that any aid or whatever helps me and makes holding on to objects more accessible is a great thing, and I would not hesitate to use it.

     And then there are the legs, or more specifically, the calve muscles. I'm beginning to suspect that they may be getting ready to form a Union. At least, there seems to be SOMETHING going on. During the day they appear to be on their best behavior, you know...when they think management is watching. Nighttime seems to be a little different story, though. There seem to be some secret meetings going on, and all the troublemakers and usual suspects begin to show up. Based on the cramping in my legs that I have been experiencing only at night, the talks, or meetings, going on have been becoming very intense. All the restoration that goes on at night,( read my former blog, titled I Can't Find The Reset Button), continues to get interrupted because of these skirmishes and various other body members are taking notice and beginning to grumble. But so far the legs keep showing up for work every day, and as long as they don't stage a walk-out I should be okay,(a bad pun, I know, but I had set myself up for that one and couldn't resist.)

     I am aware that both the speculation that my brain and muscles are deliberately tricking my fingers and the idea that my leg muscles may be entertaining Union negotiations right now are nothing more than conspiracy theories at this point. But I have presented what I believe to be some very conclusive evidence, and I think they are both theories that have legs.(bad pun #4). Many things are a source of frustration for me,  but I would have to say that the loss of my ability to maintain a grip is, ( here comes the 5th and final bad pun..... Wait for it....), hands-down the greatest.

Avoiding The Invitation

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdnDQbY0WjE

There are a few things in my life; I have come to realize, that remain to be incredibly consistent. One of which is the invitations to do bodily harm that I receive from gravity.  I keep trying my best to ignore its hospitality, but it never seems to be discouraged, relentlessly sending out invites every day. There are days when I may have received dozens by the end of the day. These invitations remind me in a lot of ways of junk mail, both the kind that I receive in my physical mailbox and the type that comes to me digitally. I don't have any real need for all of the useless flyers and adds, and frankly, I wish that they would just stop.

The digital version of junk or unsolicited mail is referred to as Spam, so I guess in a lot of ways you could say that gravity, for a balance-challenged individual such as myself, is a form of Spam. The invitations vary of course, but the desired result is always the same, that I will fall hard on the ground, bounce off a door, wall, or tree, or in some other way injure myself. Gravity, you see, is very creative....and the invitations usually read along the same lines, which is something like, " Dear Mr. Wolfer, your presence is desired on the ground, and you are cordially invited to lose your balance and/or, by any means available at present, cause bodily harm to yourself ".

Of course, I am always trying to evade gravity and avoid attending the events to which I have been invited, but it is not as easy as it seems. The summons can come from anywhere, at any time. It's not like I can just forget to leave a forwarding address and hope the law of physics will not find me. It reminds me of a teacher I had in 5th grade. Her name was Mrs. Beeson, and I'm reminded of her because....as a student in her classroom I couldn't get away with anything. I often wondered if she had eyes in the back of her head because it seemed like she saw everything.

So I suppose that you are thinking to yourself at this point that I could just stop checking my mailbox thereby successfully avoiding the invitation, right? I mean, I can't go if I never know I was invited in the first place, correct? Well, in theory, you would definitely be on to something....if gravity only used the mail. But apparently, it has decided that it would be much more efficient using a multiple-pronged approach, or attack. It has also been making soliciting phone calls that I thought may be wrong numbers that someone called by mistake because when I answer no one is there, but it must be gravity calling and leaving some kind of subliminal message because I will almost immediately drop, trip over, fall down, or run into something. And as far as I know, there is not a do-not-call list that I can get on to make it stop.



Nothing, it would seem, will stop gravity, but just in case it can't reach me through the mail or by phone, it has a third strategy. The squirrelly little fella will show up at my door under the disguise of a salesman. He MAY think he has me fooled, trying to sell me on his particular brand of carpet cleaning or home security system, but I know it's him. I tried putting up a No Solicitation sign, but somehow the little weasel always seems to get through.

So, in the end, it would seem that I really, besides tying myself to the top of a flagpole and having my meals fed to me on the end of a long stick, am out of strategies, or options, for avoiding the invitation. But I am always open to suggestions....got any?

In Need Of A Tune-Up

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GE-_8EhU9Qs

     Going in to see a Neurologist is, in a lot of ways, like taking your car to the mechanics. You can't just give the mechanic your car key and say, "The car won't go." They need specifics, something along the lines of, "I'm starting to backfire and stutter....uh, I mean the car's exhaust is starting to backfire and stutter when I creep along or go slower than five miles an hour. Which seems to be happening a lot more lately, uh, the creeping along thing, I mean." Actually the more I think about it, the more similarities I see between my visits to the Doctor and my visits to the Mechanics. I'm also beginning to have a clearer understanding of why the car is starting to groan in protest whenever I step on the gas, asking for the extra power needed to successfully get to the other side of the speed bump that's so smugly trying to block my path. My zero-to-sixty has also changed. No longer do I hit the ground running. Oh, I still hit the ground,(inevitably and more often than I used to), but my zero-to-sixty is now closer to zero-to...... all day.

     If I let my imagination go, I can begin to see that there are a lot of parallels between the workings of an automobile and my physical state. There are times when the brakes squeak, the gas mileage goes down, and the vent only blows hot air. The tires wear out, the upholstery begins to wear thin and rip, and the new car smell is nothing more than a memory of a distant memory. Of course, there is also the complaint that the car just does not handle the way it used to. Some of this is because the car is getting older and has been around the block a few times. To be entirely truthful, though, it never was a really great car, from the very beginning. Nothing sleek and sporty, like a Porsche, Corvette, or Lamborghini. Never a muscle car, like a Mustang, Camaro, or Charger. I was always closer in resemblance to a Maverick, Volkswagon Bug, or AMC Pacer. There is also some likeness to a Chevy Chevette that Melissa and I owned when we were first married. We traded it in after about a year, and one of the dealership lot attendants was a friend that Melissa had known from High School. We asked him later about that car, and he told us that they couldn't even get the thing in reverse to get it around to the back of the building! That's the way my Ataxia is......somethings work and some things don't. My brain is like a clutch, sometimes it engages, and sometimes...." son, it looks like you've burned up your clutch"!

     Well, if I'm going to compare myself and Ataxia to a car, then the next obvious subject would be to talk about breakdowns. So, there I am, stuck, and after a thorough examination of the facts, conclude that the car won't go. So what do I do? Call a tow truck. In my time, I have experienced two kinds of trucks. One reminds me of my walker because the car is only half lifted up, leaving two wheels still engaging the ground, and basically, it just rolls along behind the truck. The other method is the wheelchair of the towing world because the whole car is pulled up onto a flatbed truck and now has movement, just on top of another vehicle.

     Fortunately, as with a car, there are routine maintenance steps that can be taken. No, it will not convert my Volkswagen Bug into a Porsche, but it will keep me on the road. Ataxia has many forms, and no two people are entirely affected the same. However, there are similarities to some of what we deal with because of this Neurological disease/condition, such as, issues with balance, difficulty swallowing, writing, or talking. There are also different ways that people have found to deal or survive in the face of their personal struggle with this condition, or disease. I would like to share with you the four ways in which I have come to look at and live with, my Ataxia. I have said these before, but as a way of reminding myself, I will repeat them.

     1. Acceptance.  I was diagnosed eleven years ago at the age of 38. It came as quite a shock, and although I acknowledged that the Doctor was talking to me, the whole thing had a nightmarish quality to it. Honestly, I think I lived in denial for quite a while. I would explain to family and friends what Cerebellar Ataxia was and talk about my MRI openly, and on the outside, I looked like I was taking it well, but inside I was a jumble of raging emotions. Anger, frustration, sadness, and confusion. I really just wanted everything to be like I had never even gotten the news and continued to try and do everything on my own.  But when I began to see the changes in myself, that all I was really doing was making things harder for myself and others, and even setting myself up for otherwise completely avoidable injuries, that was when I had to stop and reevaluate. I permitted to be who I am and to embrace the opportunities I had before me that were only there because of my Ataxia.

     2. Attitude.  Once I accepted the reality of my Ataxia, I quickly made the connection to my disposition. It was one thing to understand my limitations, but it was quite another to be happy IN SPITE OF the current physical reality. I say physical reality because that is what it is. You are free to believe what you want to believe, my friends, but I believe that there is a Spiritual reality where Ataxia will no longer be a part of me. In fact, it is largely the reason why I can laugh in the face of adversity and joke about my daily struggles. The other reasons are because laughter keeps me from crying, and also helps me from making the loved ones around me miserable. I will not live a life that is embittered by struggles, or otherwise. I don't always succeed at having and maintaining a positive attitude, but I will tell you that when I do, my limitations are a little more bearable to live with.

     3. Exercise. After my diagnosis in 2003, the one thing I discovered was that it was crucial that I kept moving. My motto soon became," if I don't use it, I'll lose it'.  For the first nine years after my diagnosis I worked full-time, so constant movement and exercise weren't a problem. But, I lost that job in 2012, due to the advancement of Ataxia, and as I stated in my last blog, the concern became what I would do and how I would keep from degenerating faster. The job that I was doing at the time was physically demanding and wiping me out, but at least it was providing constant exercise for me. So at that point, I began a daily walking regime. I continued doing as many things around the house as possible and also began to volunteer at different places as a way to stay active. My motto is still the same, and I continue to do whatever I can and will do it until I can't do it anymore.

     4. Support. I cannot accurately describe to you how big of a role this has played in my life or how vital I believe support to be. For the first nine years of my personal struggle with Ataxia, I faced it with the love and support of family, but I did not know anyone else like me. When I reached out and found a support group, I was amazed, and it really felt good to be with other people who knew my struggles, not because they were sympathizing with me, but because they were living in the same reality as I was. It was an inspiring time for me, and I began to seek out any avenue that I could that would put me in touch with others whose struggle is like mine. I now have friends all over, not just the states, but the world. I can't say for sure why this helps, but somehow it just does. It also is a very encouraging thing to be able to ask a question about your symptoms, or about various medicines, or any other general issue that may come up in your battle, and receive advice, encouragement, and support, sometimes in a humorous way. And the beauty of it all is that there is never a dumb question. Just friendship and unity in the knowledge that we all have had our lives disrupted by a variation of the same unwanted guest. Any advice I have for someone struggling would be to find a source of support.

     Our struggle is not easy my friends, but I want to encourage you all, whatever stage you're at to continue to fight, grab any hope you can and hang on, and know that you are not alone.  My best to all of you.

Sweating The Small Stuff

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW8o8JR9hUU

Let me first begin by stating that I have full knowledge of what the saying, don't sweat the small stuff, means. It's just that for myself the saying is a bit more literal than to worry about minute details. Sweating is not just a fancy term that I am using to refer to or mean something else, but it is the actual physical act of sweating like I'm sitting in a sauna with my clothes on, (which would be a strange thing to do). I'm finding that it is the little things that are leading me to feel as if I have just participated in an Iron-Man competition, (in reality my speed would be more of a Wet-Paper-Bag competition).

If you are old enough to remember the payphone, then you will of course, also remember the phone book. Years and years ago,(back in the 80's), it became a trend to show your strength by ripping a five-hundred-page phone book in half. Doing so, also served as a form of intimidation and was a warning to all phone books that you weren't beneath tearing them apart in case any of them happened to be thinking of attacking you when your attention was averted. Now I don't want to brag here but once I was actually able to tear a ten-page document in half. Currently, I feel I am carrying on in that paramount tradition whenever I try to remove the paper cover off of the straw that comes with the drink that I've purchased. Most people can grasp the little flap at the top of the straw and tear that paper off within about half a second, but I feel like I need one of those industrial size grabbers, you know, the ones you see guys using on the side of the freeway to pick up trash. It feels like I need to order one every time I order a drink. It's either that or a new brain so that I have the motor skills required to grasp the quarter inch flap of paper on the end. "Sir, would you care for any fries with your iced tea?" "No thank you...but would you happen to have the ability I'm going to need to remove my straw from its Fort Knox-like paper encasing?" It seems to me that if one of these fast food chains wanted to really make a tremendous happy meal that they should include a new Cerebellum with each order instead of a toy. At least make it an option!

For those of us who take more than thirty- seconds to unwrap a piece of chewing gum, again, I don't mean to brag, but I have come up with an idea for gum manufacturers. They really should start making the foiled wrapper chewable and the same artificially- enhanced flavor as the gum or some strangely complimentary flavor, like broccoli, so that we could just pop the whole thing in our mouth. I chew sugar-free gum, but I wouldn't have to chew it because I lose 35 calories just trying to wrestle the gum out of the wrapper. At times I've found myself wondering if there is not a hotline number you can call for assistance and helpful tips on how to unwrap a single stick of gum.

This next one I am actually not sure could be done, but it would make my life a lot simpler if there were a television remote available that did everything with just had one button. You might think the remote is simple, (and for my kids it is), and you might wonder why, after using the same remote for the last ten years, it is so difficult? It is just that, by the time I figure it out the season premiere of the new show we want to check out is now through its second season and showing reruns. And on top of that, I am still trying to figure out where to point the thing and the perfect angle for maximum efficiency. Do I aim it straight at the television? Would it work better if I bounce the signal off a wall or the dog? Should I just skip the middleman and go outside, aim up, and hope I hit a satellite? At this point, a game of Charades is looking like a very desirable option and a definite possibility.



Why is it that the small stuff, the things that should be easy, and quickly done in five minutes or less, are the things that end up consuming the whole day? I don't know the answer, but as I continue to struggle with the things that should come quickly and as I am wiping the sweat out of my eyes from wrestling with one of these simple tasks, I am reminded not to sweat the small stuff.

My family enjoying a day at the Oregon Coast. From left to right is Megan, Me, Jessica, Kameron, and my wife, Melissa. We were accompanied by our 2 dogs, Ollie( by Megan), and Lucy(held by Jessica).

The Big Brother I'll Miss....Terribly.

As many of you know, I lost my big brother, Bob, on 5-3-14. This post is dedicated to him. It is not about my daily life and struggles with Ataxia, but about my memories of the brother I had and loved.


The date of December 19th, 1964 holds no significance for me, at least it never did before. Other than the fact that this particular day happened to be my 4-day old birthday, which I guess was important to somebody, I know it was to me, and I'm guessing that it probably was too my parents, as well. But even more noteworthy was that this was the day that I came home for the first time and met my 2 older brothers, Bob who was 5 at the time, and Jon who was 4. I distinctly remember looking at the oldest one and thinking, "is that really what I'm going to look like"? I didn't want to look like that. My mature 4-day old mind assessed him as being rather tall for his age, and kind of skinny. Now, however, this 49-year old mind can tell you honestly that I count any sort of resemblance to my big brother to be an honor and something to be cherished.

                                                Jon is holding me, and Bob is on my right.

I grew up, I suppose, like a lot of other kids who had older brothers or sisters. I idolized everything about Bob and wanted to do all the things that he did. He was the first one to introduce me to the amazing world of music, as he spun 45's on a little turntable. A few years later he was able to branch out and play cassettes on a monotone tape player. I have many, many fond and wonderful memories of those days, but the one that will always be with me was the time when I was 5 or 6 and laying on the couch because I was sick.  Bob played my favorite song for me and would rewind it when it was over and play it again and again. I asked Bob about this years later, and he didn't remember doing it, but I will never forget and every time that songs plays, I remember that day, years ago. And now In the light of Bob's passing that song will mean even more to me and probably bring tears with the flood of memories. In our later years, we started a band in our basement. Bob loved the drums and kept the timing and rhythm while a friend, Dave Yoder, played the electric guitar, and I played the bass.

          Here, Bob appears to be imagining that he is astride his first drum stool and keeping the beat.

From very early on Bob also had a profound love for cars and had a fascination with anything on four wheels. His two biggest passions surrounding the automobile were classic hot rods and trucks. He took great personal pride in his cars, and those who knew him well will remember that he was always tinkering with something and regularly washing and waxing his cars. He spent a major portion of his life driving delivery vans and trucks, his last job was driving a large delivery truck for Safeway.

MAN!....what a RIDE!!!(...." a serious but I'm thinkin Dad that maybe we should tweak the suspension")
As impossible as this may sound, things were not always defined by brotherly affection or done with the other's personal welfare in mind. I was, as most little brothers are, a severe cramp in his style. When he would have friends over he would warn me to leave them alone, but despite any common sense, and maybe a little bit of a death wish on my part, I would always try to creep as close as I could and spy. Of course, Bob would always catch me and then the process would begin with him showing his feelings concerning my latest choice of activity. This usually involved Bob sitting on my chest with a hand on each of my shoulders as he leaned over me, his face about a foot above mine. He would then snort and snuffle and work up a huge spit/snot wad in his mouth, which he would then allow to dribble out of his mouth. Being completely pinned down, all I could do was helplessly watch as the glob would inch closer and closer to my face. After a sufficient amount of time and mental torture, he would suck the descending terror back up. I would say that he was successful about 50 to 60 percent of the time.

To say that Bob had a fascination with spit is a understatement. He used to spit 2 equal globs on a flat board and then tilt it up at an angle to see which one would slide to the end the fastest. He called these, "spit races" and was always amused. I don't remember any betting going on, like at a race track, but that's probably due to the fact that we didn't have any money as kids. Another memory surrounding spit and my brother Bob had to do with a Brittany pup that he called Spit because of it's love for Bob's liquid offerings and which became the biggest and fattest puppy in the liter of 8 or 9 from my Dad's dog Ginger. He would also spit on our toy racetrack so the cars would peel out and spin like they do on the real racetracks.

                                                                 Yep, that was our Bob!

One of the classic older-brother to younger-brother interactions happened on a hot summer day when I was about 9.  My dad had not yet put up a fence, which would divide the field behind his house in two, allowing the cows to only graze on half so the other side could grow. So the three boys,(Bob, Jon, and I), were sent out to the field to be shepherds of sorts, staggering ourselves down the middle of the field. The idea being that we would prevent the herd from crossing into the wrong half. There were, however, two serious flaws in this plan. The first one being that I was deathly afraid of the cows, and the second one being that the biggest steer chose me as the weakest link and began to run straight at the hole beside me. It would mean a lot of extra running and work for us if the cows got into the wrong side of the field, but I would not run in front of the approaching steer to head it off, so Bob began to yell and tell me in a very positive and helpful way just what he thought of my shepherding skills . I was scared and stood there watching as the steer just ran right past me. Bob, who was up hill and about 30 feet away from me, emphasized his thoughts by throwing his pitchfork straight at me. I of course went into immediate evasive maneuvers and just stood there, watching as the pitchfork arched through the air and speared into my leg. He then ran, scooped me up, and became the most attentive brother ever. He carried me all the way back up to the house with instructions that I was not to tell the parents. Only one tine of the pitchfork had entered my leg and it had bounced out so it wasn't that bad.

                                 Look at that face.....could he really have thrown a pitchfork? Oh yes....


I have so many memories I just don't know where to stop. I could go on and on but instead of that I will just state how I feel. It is a devastating loss. Bob was a wonderful brother and much more than anything I could have ever wanted. But he also became a wonderful husband and then a father and then a grandfather. I will miss him terribly and I will never forget his warmth and sense of humor. Bob was also a very faithful son. He would call my parents every Sunday night just to check in and see how they were doing. Each of us has to be our own person but I cannot help but to hope that I become a little more like my big brother Bob. He was also very active in his church and had a personal relationship with Jesus Christ which brings me comfort knowing that I will see him again someday. Goodbye for now brother, I love you,  you will always be in my heart and mind, and you will be missed......terribly.

From left to right- Myself, Bob, Jon, and our younger brother Andrew

From left to right- Jon, Myself, Bob, and Andy