Nothing is Easy.

Over the years I've had people ask me to do things, simple things, things that for people in normal circumstances might take a few hours out of their day.

Dealing with anything Alzheimer's related, I've learned that anything takes a minimum of three phone calls and at least an afternoon. I'm not even factoring in the pain in the ass factor.

Nothing is easy.

I went to Human Services on Monday and laid out my case: My wife has lived beyond our savings. I can no longer afford the $3600 a month I've been paying for the past 18 months. What do I do now?

Wendy, the woman who has seen some redeeming qualities in this broken down writer, said she was prepared to bring my wife home to die. For me, that was saying you take out those zombies, I have your back with this horde over here. This was the apocalypse.

Caring for Jenny in 2014, when her decline mirrored western civilization's with everything on fire and panic in the streets, made me more than a little crazy. It took an intervention for me to let go and find people who could care for my wife all day every day.

One day, one of her new caregivers said, "It takes three people to give her a shower." I laughed, because I remembered all those mornings I did it alone.

Nothing is easy.

Today, I called to get the contact information for the care facility's physician. I need him or her to fill out a form that would allow me to move Jenny from assisted living, which I could no longer pay for, and into a skilled nursing home, where a combination of Medicare and Medicaid would cover the enormous expense.

I got the physician's number. I called. This is how the call went:

Hello?

I expected a nurse to answer, or a response a bit more professional than an irritated hello.

Is this Dr. Bag?

This is Douche, what do you want? Who is this?

I was taken aback by his tone, I admit, and I stammered out my name and my wife's name, who is one of his patients.

Is this Dr. Bag? You are a physician?

I'm a PA. Who gave you this number?

Caswell House. You are my wife's physician. They told me you're her physician and I need you to sign a form FL-2.

They had no business giving you this number. Whoever gave you this number should be fired. This is illegal.

Always curious as to legal questions, I asked, How is this illegal?

Dr. Bag stammered bit and said, Privacy.

I told him again what I needed and who I was and who his patient was.

They had no business giving you this number. This is my cell phone. I have 405 patients. Can you imagine if every family member had my number? Can you imagine?

I said I could.

Do you remember who gave you this number?

I said I didn't, and wouldn't have given a name even if I could. I went back to the main issue. I needed him to fill out and sign a form FL-2. I then told him I didn't expect this hostility.  I just needed a form.

In the past, before I learned patience with Jenny's illness, I would have flamed this guy. I would have used bad words and wondered aloud about his parentage and upbringing. Which would have gotten me nowhere.

Instead, I asked again about the form.

He backed off a bit, Dr. Douche Bag, PA. He told me he would give me what I needed on Friday when he went on his weekly rounds to Caswell House.

I thanked him.

Then he said, I'll be sorry to see Jennifer go. She's one of my favorite patients, She is so sweet and always has a smile.

I was disarmed. I told him I had been lucky in that Jenny, unlike many Alzheimer's patients, had never been combative, but always sweet and good-hearted. I said that I missed her like a man would miss a limb. I began to cry on the phone with this strange, angry man.

We hung up and I wept for a while longer.

Nothing is easy. Nothing.

Life in America.

My wife has Alzheimer's. From what I can piece together, she's been in decline for eight years and now she's close to death. She is in hospice care and while I can't guess whether we she knows who I am, I know that she's happy to see me. Two days ago she reached for my hand and pulled it close to her. Holding it, she closed her eyes and seemed content.

Today the nursing home called to tell me that Jenny had gotten out of bed and scooted down the hall to be with other people. She can't walk, but she can scoot.

Unless a miracle happens and our Republican administration grows a heart, Jenny will be coming home to die. We are out of money. We did all of the right things. We saved money. We invested. But eight years of terminal illness has taken all of it. Every goddamn cent.

But I'm ready for this. I think. Wendy thinks she's ready for this.

We'll see.

Thanks, Republicans. You guys are so empathetic. You are so Christian.

when will you feel like an idiot?

Trump has backed away from eliminating Obamacare, the great wall, and now his massive deportation.

Do you realize now that you were taken for stupid?

Probably not. Stupid people rarely realize that they're stupid. I see them every day, on their cell phones, piloting a big ass SUV thinking, "I'm winning."

Tonight we watched The Crown, episode 4, where they mention the town where I was born, Donora, PA and the toxic fog caused by coal burning.

In the states the health crisis was the beginning of our modern environmental movement. In London it was the end of Churchill's time in office.

Very few admire Churchill more than I do. The Gathering Storm is a brilliant piece of writing.

Why do I mention it here? Because Trump has promised a renewal of the coal industry. This in spite of cheaper natural gas and mountaintop clearing that provides few jobs and pollutes drinking water.

The crisis in Donora inspired me to write the short story, After the War, which you can buy on Amazon for 99 cents.

Today I went to see my wife. She is dying and under hospice care. It cost me $3600 a month. She makes $1688 a month in Social Security. I make $1800.

You can see that even if I lived in the woods off squirrels and berries, the numbers don't add up.

So Jenny will be coming home to die. I will take care of her, just as I did between 2011 and 2015. I will need help as I've gone through all of our savings and our retirement accounts. I am too old to be hired for anything a few bucks over minimum wage. That is the reality. That is not reality television.

For everyone who voted for Trump, know that you voted to throw me, and people like me, away.

What a happy present to give on Veteran's Day.

If you have ever declared yourself a Christian. If you have ever voted because "character counts". If you have ever voted because you are appalled at our decline in moral values and you voted for this philandering, morally bankrupt, dishonest human being, congratulations, you are a hypocrite, by definition.

Wear the label so the rest of us can know who to blame.

With the rise of Trumpism, I think it's time to relight the Planet. It may take me a few days, but I need a voice.

Is a blog as old fashioned as the rotary dial? Am I sending out Morse code in the age of the Internet?

I don't know.

But I do know that I am outraged. A horrible human, devoid of character, has seized the executive seat of government.

So I am here. An angry voice in the void.

Full Frame 2011 - a doc lover's 4-day weekend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eq_ogQtpteQ

Last week Ted flew in and we began our annual rite of Spring, the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival.

For those deprived souls who don't have a film festival, this is how it works. You choose the films you think you want to see based on subject matter and film maker, neither of which is a sure indicator that the film will be good. The doc you weren't sure about becomes a surprise favorite while the film maker you love and would gladly grip her next project for free, serves up a yawner.

This tricky process mirrors our larger life choices, only with less vomiting and tears. Some films will surprise you, some will disappoint and some you will miss just because you can't see 'em all. My advice is to concentrate on the good films and forget about the inevitable stinkers.

With that in mind, I won't dwell on the disappointments, any more than I would on ex-girlfriends, blog trolls or unsatisfying novels.

In chronological order:

Guilty Pleasures, directed by Julie Moggan, is one of those films that if I'd chosen it on subject alone, I would have passed. I would have missed a great documentary that is not about romance novels, but about love and commitment and sacrifice that, in the end, is more satisfying than any fantasy.

This was the festival's opening film and a great choice for a primer on storytelling, with each character getting their own 3-acts. It was also the American debut.



Buck, directed by Cindy Meehl is a gem. You should search it out. Beautifully shot and edited, it's a solid film with a no-nonsense character at its center. Here's the trailer: www.buckthefilm.com.



The Bengali Detective is another film with a strong character at its center. The film follows an entrepreneurial, self-made private eye as he and his team try to solve three cases, one a multiple homicide. The logistics of shooting in Calcutta alone are boggling.



Burma Soldier is the story of Myo Myint, a casualty of the civil war in closed off Burma. Myint went from being a young soldier to becoming a voice for the democracy movement, which landed him in a Burmese prison for 15 years. Myint made it out to tell his story, captured by film makers, Nic Dunlop and Rickie Stern, narrated by Colin Farrell.

One of the real joys of this festival is the opportunity to meet the directors of the films. In this case, the subject, Myo Myint, made a tearful appearance before a standing ovation at the Carolina Theater. A beautiful experience.



One Night in Kernersville, directed by Rodrigo Dorfman is a beautifully shot short about the John Brown Jazz Orchestra recording in Mitch Easter's studio. Not surprisingly, it won the award for best short at the festival.



Tabloid, by Erroll Morris. Highly entertaining and in Morris' words, “It’s a return to my favorite genre – sick, sad and funny ... It is a meditation on how we are shaped by the media and even more powerfully, by ourselves.”



Corman's World, directed by Alex Stapleton and featuring interviews with Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro, Jack Nicholson and others who owe a large debt to Roger Corman. Corman is the producer and director who, it's said, made 400 pictures and never lost a dime. If you love matinees like Attack of the Leech People then you've seen Roger Corman's work. Great stuff.

Every one of these docs is a class in how to tell a story. Each is different, each has its own POV and voice and each is worth the effort to look them up. You won't be disappointed.

As usual, I missed a number of award winners: Scenes of a Crime, How to Die in Oregon, Pit No. 8 and several others were honored on Sunday. They'll go on my Netflix queue.

A special thanks to archivist Rick Prelinger who screened some fascinating selections like Buddy Can You Spare A Dime?, Strictly Propaganda and America Lost and Found.

Full Frame, I love you.

A new web site.

I needed to update my web site so that prospective employers could see my most recent work.

This is the opening page. The design is very simple and the pages few. The tone should be familiar to readers of this blog. Now, all I need to do is slice it up, paste it all into Dreamweaver and link the links. I'll start on that later today and hope to have something up by Monday morning.

In the meantime, I wrote a few hundred new words on the novel. Not great, but it's progress.

UPDATE: It's alive! It's alive! New web site is up at http://www.davidterrenoire.com/

Someone needs a reminder.

I had lunch with a good friend yesterday and we didn't talk politics, because we wanted it to be a good time, right? Because we're all disappointed that Obama wasn't the reformer we'd hoped he'd be and much of what is wrong with where we're heading is still wrong.

Wars, Gitmo, the tax breaks, etc. We all have a list.

But then I think back to 2008 and see what could have happened. Jesus, imagine these two in charge during the greatest financial meltdown of our lifetime?

I said at the time that Obama won't be everything his supporters hope nor his detractors suspect, but still, standing next to McCain and Palin, he looks pretty damn good.

A low point.

Today's been rough. The payout that Jenny was promised is now, after the paperwork is done, only two months instead of three. That means our ability to pay our bills has just been shortened by thirty days.

I continue to work on the novel, which in today's market is like buying lottery tickets, and I continue to update my web site so that prospective employers can see my portfolio.

Which in today's market, also feels like buying a lottery ticket.

But what else am I going to do?

Men at Work

With the help of a friend I've got my computer talking to my web host. That's good.

I still can't figure out how to make a few small changes until I can get the time to completely redesign the site. That's bad.

I'm thinking about it, in the dark, at 3 a.m. That's not great, but OK.

I'm in here trying to get it to work again at 3:30. Not so good.

I should be working on the novel.

Updating my web site.

The last time I updated my web site was in 2006, so to help in my job search, I wanted to maybe change the design, update the portfolio and make sure the phone number was right. (It isn't.)

So, I open up Dreamweaver CS4 this morning, try to download my existing site and I can't connect to my host. I don't know why.

I change my password. I check my ftp address. I make sure that the site is where it should be. (It is.)

But it won't talk to me.

Two hours later and I am at a loss. So, I have reached out to a friend for help. I'll let you know how it goes.

For those who want to see what it looks like now, go to www.davidterrenoire.com.

Is this thing on?

One of the the scariest things about the Internet is that nothing ever goes away.

Including this blog.

That's just one of the many things I know that politicians don't seem to understand. Or maybe they just don't care.

But luddite politicos aside, I'm shedding some new light on this dark planet to document some of the things that have happened to your narrator and his family since we last convened. For a lot of you, this will be old news from Facebook. But for the rest of you who care (yes, both of you), here's a rundown beginning from last October.

1. Things at work heat up. Carlos and I are tasked with creating a 12 minute documentary, shooting and editing as we go, for a show in November.

2. Molly and her fiance, Mark, move to Nashville, where Mark has a better job selling shoes than he had here. Hard to imagine, but it's true. Molly gives up her first employment in two years, a job she enjoys and is doing well, to be with the man she loves. We wish the young folks well and plan to stuff the rent we'd been paying on their house into a retirement account because between supporting Jenny's mother and now supporting Molly and Mark, we've got nothing put away for ourselves.

3. Work gets more intense and 60 hour weeks become common.

4. Around the middle of November, Molly moves back home. It appears that Mark, who moved to Nashville with a job, can't understand why Molly hasn't landed employment in a few weeks. Because, hey, the economy is booming, right?

5. Thanksgiving. Carlos and I work on the documentary on the Friday after Thanksgiving. We are the only people in the building.

Shortly after that, Molly checks herself into the hospital.

6. On December 14th, my sister calls saying my mother is in the hospital. Should I come out to Oklahoma? Should I wait until Mom's back home? My sister says to wait.

7. With Christmas approaching, the family becomes almost paralyzed with waiting. Meanwhile, work ramps up to more nights and weekends.

8. Christmas. I have bought presents for Jenny and Molly. My presents are from my sister, sent before Mom went into the ICU.

9. My sister calls. Mom has been sent home. It is a matter of days. By the luck of the cosmos, I get a check for a freelance gig I'd done last summer that pays for our flight to Oklahoma. Molly and I arrive on Wednesday afternoon. Mom opens her eyes and smiles. Tears fill her eyes and she closes them. The next day she is gone.

10. I fly home. Work is intense. I raise my voice to an account executive who has rewritten one of my headlines. HR tells me to go home for a week. It's the week of my colonoscopy, so I go.

11. My health is deteriorating and no one knows why. Work is back with a vengeance. Our department is told that we're unreliable and uncollaborative. We go back to logging 70 hours a week while the other departments, those who are reliable and collaborative, go home at 5.

12. Last week, as I approach my 61st birthday, I am called into HR and fired. They mumble some reasons why, none very compelling, and after five years, I pack all my shit in a box.

13. Yesterday, we learn that Jenny is getting let go, too. Her co-workers believe she's losing a step or two, and we fear they're right. We are faced with the prospect of far too much money going out, and no money coming in. I begin looking for work.

And that's where we are today.

As the next few months unfold, I'll be using The Planet to document what it's like to be over 60 and looking for work in this job market.

Stay tuned. It should be fun.

My answer to John McCain.

Below is a letter I sent to Senator McCain's office after his tantrum on the Senate floor.

Dear Senator McCain,

I watched your recent reaction to the repeal of DADT.

Let me assure you, I have served in the military. My brother and sister served in the military. My father and my uncle served in the military during WWII. My uncle was KIA on Iwo. I have his flag in my office.

My nephews and my niece are serving in the military. My brother-in-law is a graduate of the academy (64) and my wife's father was a young lieutenant in the 82nd, dropped into Normandy on June 6th. Her grandfather was a graduate of West Point and an aide to Omar Bradley.

We know what it's like to serve. We know what it's like to sacrifice.

And I am happy that the Senate stood up for the rights of individual Americans in repealing DADT.

As a former enlisted man and someone who had far fewer advantages than you, I found your comments about elitists versus real Americans unfortunate.

If an average Joe looked at you and me, I am not the one he would brand the elitist. A public high school in Pennsylvania and a degree from West Virginia University are hardly upper crust.

I respect and honor your service and I would have voted for you in 2000. It saddens me to see how bitter, and partisan, you've become.

I hope that you reclaim your legacy and continue to fight for nonpartisan progress.

Sincerely,

David Terrenoire
US Army 1969-1971

We live among heroes. A Veteran's Day tribute.

On most Veterans Days, I write about people of a previous generation. There's my father's brother, a young Marine who never made it off Iwo Jima. Or Jenny's father, a lieutenant in the 82nd, dropped into Normandy on June 6th.

This year, I want to salute a new generation. This is Karin, Jenny's niece. She's a new recruit to the US Army. Last year she enlisted on the same day that her son, Little Jon, signed up.

She comes from a tradition of service. Her brother, Big Jon, is a blue steel warrior, a combat arms officer who it is my privilege to school at the pistol range every chance I get. Which isn't often enough.

Her older sister has served in the State Dept. for decades and her younger sister, Katherine, is studying to be a nurse.

Service to others. That's what Karin and her siblings represent and they carry on a family tradition that goes back to the Revolution. It's in their DNA and I am proud that they call me Uncle David.

So, on this Veteran's Day, I salute Karin, her sisters and her brother. Thanks, kids, for letting this old dogface be part of your family.

Truly dark days are upon us children.

Now there's a shortage of peyote.

I think it's Glenn Beck's fault.

How else do you explain his show?

They should have hired a Mexican to take the test.

Well, this certainly explains a lot about last week's election.

A conservative group in Oklahoma, and that means that they don't wear brown shirts to work, but would if they could, thought they would celebrate the Constitution by asking a bunch of Oklahoma high school students to answer questions that every immigrant has to answer to become a US citizen.

And how did the little Sooners do? Only 2.8% passed. Yeah. As the kids say, epic fail. Turns out that OK students aren't so OK after all.

But the questions must have been tough, right? I'll let you decide. Can you answer these ten questions?

1. What is the supreme law of the land?
2. What do we call the first 10 amendments to the Constitution?
3. What are the two parts of the U.S. Congress?
4. How many justices are on the Supreme Court?
5. Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?
6. What ocean is on the East Coast of the United States?
7. What are the two major political parties in the U.S.?
8. We elect a U.S. senator for how many years?
9. Who was the first president of the United States?
10. Who is in charge of the executive branch?

"It's depressing," said Brandon Dutcher, vice president of the group who funded this little lesson in despair. "If these survey results are any indication, we are very much a nation at risk."

These were high school students. High school. And only 23% could name Washington as the first president. Jesus Christ, kids, he's on the fucking dollar bill.

The only question that a majority of these kids could answer was number 6. Yes, a whopping 61% of them could identify that giant body of water to the east.

Oh, and how do the immigrants do on this test? 92.7% of them pass.

And we wonder why tea baggers can't spell.

A Tea Party Rant.

So, the Democrats got their asses handed to them on Tuesday. I'm not happy about that, but I can't say I'm surprised.

At the risk of becoming that old man who claims that everything was better in the old days, because it wasn't, there is something significant that we've lost.

We used to have the courage to see beyond today. We used to believe that watching your neighbor suffer in hard times was like saying to him, "Your end of the boat is sinking."

We rebuilt our former enemies with the Marshall Plan, one of the most humane, smart, and foresighted government expenditures of tax money in this nation's history.

We educated an entire generation of men through the GI Bill, a spending of taxpayer money that came back to us seven-fold.

We financed the moon landings, Interstate highways and the Internet, all things that made us richer, smarter and more advanced than any nation in history.

We saw our grandparents in poverty and made Social Security a way for them to retire with some independence and dignity.

Today, our political zeitgeist is all about balancing the budget by cutting taxes and cutting spending. It resonates because it's simple and easy to put on a bumper sticker. But we know from experience that it doesn't work. Why? Because the problem is too complex to be solved by bumper sticker ideology.

The country I grew up in was one where every able-bodied male had an obligation to serve because, in my father's words, "that's the price you pay for living in a free country."

We used to be a place where people grudgingly paid taxes, in Ike's time up to 91%, because we all knew that better schools, a healthy workforce, and a sound infrastructure were the foundation of a strong economy.

When I was a kid, we heard people say, "no kid should go hungry in the richest nation on earth." We knew, without saying it, that one day those hungry kids would grow up to be angry adults. And besides, they were kids. It was the right thing to do.

We have, in the past 30 years, become a pinched and stingy society where people are scared that somewhere, someone is getting something for nothing. Higher education in California used to be free and the system was the envy of the world. Now, students graduate owing tens of thousands of dollars to bankers.

This is Republican progress, encouraged by people like the Tea Party movement, a political party that is part astroturf, funded by invisible billionaires like the Koch brothers and part willfully ignorant people who don't see that their Social Security checks and Medicare payments are the only things keeping them from a diet of ramen and dog food.

Seriously, I don't recognize my country any more. It's not the great nation it once was. I don't know whether I'm angry about this or just sad that our political engine has been hijacked by corporatist oligarchs who have duped enough people to keep them in power. Maybe it's both.

But I'm trying to let politics go. I'm trying to listen to more music, spend more time with my wife and friends, and most of all, turn off that fucking TV.

The tea partiers wanted to take their country back. Great. Here it is, ladies and gentlemen. Let's see what you do with the responsibility of governance.

But first, you might want to work harder on your spelling.

News of a literary sort.

It looks like I'll be ghosting another novel again if my agent works out the details. That's good news. Not as good as finishing this novel of my own, but good.