Heed not Steve

And I don’t ride my motorcycle anymore. I haven’t ridden it since December of 2017. I guess I don’t miss it. I do miss the idea of it. I need to get it roadworthy and sell it; I suppose. It’s not easy to let it go.

I still like to drink whisky and wine, except, as of this point, I’m not drinking at all. Lucie is doing a 30 day fitness jumpstart diet which excludes alcohol, so, for 30 days, I’m abstaining in solidarity. We’ve been drinking hot tea in the evenings, instead.

We did this once before, a few years ago. It’s a good way to recover from the holiday excesses and to reset our overall volume of booze consumption. I’m curious to see what benefits I notice. I did have a drink out with friends on Sunday, though. And we’re going to a party in two and a half weeks where I’ll likely drink.

It’s bad science.

Here’s two things I haven’t much touched on in this blog:

First, turning 50 was hard for me. I don’t know why. It wasn’t just the age. I didn’t turn 50 in a vacuum. There were other things going on which didn’t help. My father’s diagnosis of Alzheimer’s didn’t help.

Being 51 is easier. Again, I don’t know why.

Second, it’s very difficult to write about my father’s condition. I doubt he reads my blog, so that helps. My sister does. My mom does. The whole situation is hard on her and my sister; I’ve no doubt. At this point, my dad seems still, temperamentally, mostly the same. His ornery sense of humor is the same. But, he really isn’t quite the same man I’ve known my whole life. His keen, perceptive awareness is gone. It’s replaced by an almost childlike passivity. I don’t know how to talk to him, except to crack wise.

There’s more I want to say about him as the father he was to me and my sister, but I’ll do that another time. For now, I’ll just say he was always kind and firm and fair and compassionate and tolerant and deliberate.

Yeah.

Anyhow.

It’s still raining.

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