No One Feels At Home In Them

Today, I felt the best I've felt in about a week. Some may say it's because Mercury is about to un-retrograde. I think its because I felt an inkling of hope today. 

I took Paul out for breakfast at 8:30 this morning we went to the Panakin Cafe. Paul has this weird thing he's been doing for about 5 years now and that is bending over like he's bobbing for an apple but there's no reason for it. People always look out the corner of their eye at him like 'what's wrong with that guy? He got a really bad back?' At any rate its just a compulsion he has nothing wrong with his back. So we got some of those looks. 

It was great getting him out of that life sucking nursing home, not to get me wrong, he lives in a relatively nice one where I and his friends can visit him regularly, but there's something innately wrong with nursing homes. No one feels at home in them. That seems like such a simple fix. 

I could see Pauls mood lighten being out in the sunshine, er overcast sunshine, and seeing all the regular folks waiting in line for their morning coffee. While eating I texted our friend Lenny Kaye who's in the studio with one of my favorite musicians Patti Smith. So Paul dictated a nice hello to them and rah rah in the studio sort of thing. That was fun. 

Sure its great knowing a well known musician like Lenny but the real fun of it for me was the comm exchange with someone outside my daily routine someone in that fun place of all fun places New York City. (I used to live there, it really is that fun). It made my day just picturing my friend tooling around on the subway heading up to the studio in the city. 

I think the hardest thing for me in my life has always been to put my name down on a dotted line and commit myself to a person, place or thing. A contract. A paper or statement of responsibility. I didn't even want to sign with the first tour booking agent back in the late 80s and my manager made me do by saying, "contracts are made to be broken" and hey he was right the booking agency broke the contract a year and a half later. 

Now I'm under contract with myself to be a "good  person", make sure my son goes to his school each day and stay in a town where Paul can be in a nice nursing home where a few of his friends can visit him. 

A few years ago I imagined myself moving to the east coast where a musician like me can tour easily because the distances between big cities aren't so  huge. Now I have many reasons to stay here in this town I've lived in for 15 years. But I long to venture elsewhere. 

More back-story another time

Today was a difficult day. I dropped in to see Paul this morning at his nursing home near our home and Alexanders school. I worked pretty hard for many months convincing the local nursing home to admit Paul, but that story is for another time....I like the home pretty well the staff are nice and seem on top of things mostly, but today I came in to find Paul's glasses gone. Not on his face. They were nowhere to be found. Me and a social worker looked everywhere for them. Nowhere to be found. Paul never goes anywhere without his glasses, just takes them off at night and puts them on the floor by his bed. Then, first thing, back on in the morning. 

It really bummed me out. He can't see a thing without those glasses, he's NEVER without them, blind as a bat. So dang sad. I am not a highly emotive type but that got to me, I mean Paul's glasses are a sort of iconic representation of him and his brilliance. That sort of Issac Asimov, mathematician, horn-rimmed nerd guy thing that I always found adorable. Gone. 

Where do things go when they're lost at nursing homes. I've heard others tell me its a common occurrence. I know Paul, even in his current state of dementia, is not far enough gone to throw them in the toilet. Where do they go? Who would wanta pair of Issac Asimov, coke-bottle lens with prisms glasses? 

The rest of the day was better. I finally did find an old pair he can use temporarily. And now, too tired, must sleep now...

First a hello and then what...

Hi, my name is Cindy Lee. This is the first of a hoped for, batch of thoughts and musings on this weird life I've been living for well, a whole bunch of years. 

My husband Paul Williams(more on the cool stuff he's done later), had a bicycle accident in April 15 1995, he was riding his bike home (with no helmet) and it was tax day, he'd finished our taxes and his ex-wives taxes, delivered them to the post office on time and fell off his bike going down a hill too fast. 

It was a weird day, I'd been at a band practice with my group the Garage Orchestra, we were preparing songs of the next album. Afterwards I drove home and had the inclination to stop for a bite to eat, I was starving but something told me to get home sooner. These were the days before rampant use of cell phones, no one I knew had one, expect my booking agent John in England.  But I wanted to wait to eat with Paul and see what he'd been up to this day.

I arrived home and no one was there (we've lived in the same apartment building by the beach since 1994.) A neighbor came by and hollered for me to go see Paul at the end of the street, he'd fallen off of his bike and an ambulance was there. I  ran down the hill just in time to catch a ride with the paramedics. Paul looked dazed and there was blood coming out of his ear. The EMT's decided it was the job for the big hospital which has ICU's and big time surgeons. Remarkably, Paul and I had JUST started taking Kaiser Health insurance and were accepted a week before his traumatic brain injury.

A couple of friends just now came by and waylaid me from the finishing of this here first blog, now I'm tired and I've gotta get my son off to school at 8AM so I'll sign off for now. More to come.