Geoff Fox: My Permanent Record

My dad slept well last night. That’s a good thing. He was already downstairs when I woke up.

We walked this morning. Perfect day. Sun filtered by high, thin cirrus, with a few contrails thrown in for good measure. Temps in the mid-70s.

We didn’t go far–down my block then across the next street to sit on a bench near a neighborhood basketball court. Then we walked home.

Later this afternoon we walked again, a little farther. “I feel better this time,” he said. Not so fast, Harold.

Yes, he’s 89, but my dad’s level of physical activity has been near zero. Change should come quickly. Soreness too.

Meanwhile, I’m on my way to Burbank tomorrow and he’ll be riding shotgun. Two days in California and he’s already unlocking the HOV lane for me.

My dad’s in California. Long day. Everything did not go exactly as planned.

He’s fine. Exhausted. Well fed. Asleep.

His flight from Milwaukee to San Francisco was flawless. For those counting, WN4233 flew the 1,843 mile MKE-SFO route so directly it added only 17 miles to the mathematical minimum!

He sat in the first row, window. The middle seat was empty. Airplane nirvana.

At SFO an unannounced change of equipment! This route was chosen specifically because it was direct. Poof.

My father reports it was handled well with a waiting wheelchair, though he did have to show ID two times while in San Francisco.

Dear TSA —

Really? Seriously? The 89 year old guy in the chair who didn’t expect to get off the plane? Do you need a Director of Common Sense?

All the best,
Geoff

The SFO-SNA run wasn’t nearly as direct, avoiding LAX by flying mainly over the ocean. The flight left two minutes early, arrived twenty minutes late.

My father was in transit nearly seven hours. Exhausted. We all sat and watched football then had (for him a late) dinner.

We walked to the patio–larger than he thought. It’s not. We are just small people. However, it is this magical little space that’s inside and outside and private with a view when desired. And hummingbirds.

My father’s petted Doppler a few times. She licked him back. We never had a family dog. It will be interesting to see this relationship develop.

He is upstairs now. At least in-the-beginning my father’s days will be divided into upstairs and downstairs periods. Not a lot of up-and-down. We work on his stamina starting tomorrow.

He walks fine. We have no chair or aids for him to use. He just doesn’t walk far.

Hold on. He reads this. Daddy, we’re going to get you stronger, more physically active.

Lofty goal. We’ll see.

Welcome to SoCal, Harold Fox.

Helaine is shopping. She has time for shopping because she’s already baked. She is in catering mode. She is driven. She can’t not give 100%.

My father would like to lose weight. He’s coming to the wrong place.

We’re in the last 23 hours.

I’ve vacuumed the sofa on the patio then Windexed the table top. Good grief the air is filthy here. It’s natural filth–mainly dust particles blown in from the desert. Still, the paper towel I used turned black with grime.

One bird related spot needed removal. I am hazmat.

The Mouseketeers used to say, “Neat and pretty!” That’s the goal.

Southwest just emailed. His flight has free TV. “Charge your iPad,” I wrote.

Even if there’s nothing to watch, he’ll want the satisfaction of making it work on his tablet. The Foxes are tinkerers. My dad used take the back off TV sets to troubleshoot them, though not in the last 45 years.

Is there still a tube tester at the drugstore?

The WiFi cable box has left my office and crossed the wall to the spare bedroom. Helaine found a large digital clock. It’s there too.

Additional artwork from Connecticut has been brought upstairs and hung. In Geoff’s world upstairs and hung aren’t always simultaneous.

Helaine’s getting a few nightlights while shopping.

“I usually go to bed around 8:30 or 9:00,” my dad said this afternoon on the phone. He fades. Tomorrow’s bedtime probably 7:00 PST?

Times have been especially tough for my dad. We hope ‘sunshine therapy’ will be helpful.

I was on the Five long enough to immortalize it in video!

I try and speak to my dad every day. It’s not easy. His ability to hear over the phone changes from day-to-day.

“You know,” he’s said a few hundred times, “I don’t hear so well.”

It’s a speedbump, not a roadblock.

“Geoffrey, I’m doing something I’ve never done before,” he said yesterday. “I’m packing.”

Since the Navy, my mom and then Lena took care of this task. I understand how it feels to be spoiled. I relate.

I told him to pack for warm-to-cool. He’ll be fine. “Worst comes to worst you’ve got Costco,” he assured me.

He flies in Sunday. It’s the only direct flight from Milwaukee to Orange County. They stop in San Francisco, but he stays onboard.

My dad walks fine. The trip through security to the gate is near his limit. He will take advantage of the curb-to-plane-to-curb wheelchair service airlines must provide by law.

Part of my goal here is to help him get a little stronger. Circumstances have kept him sedentary. A little walking will go a long way. Our weather is salubrious.

I told him Helaine baked chocolate chip cookies. “I told everyone here she would,” he said with a smile in his voice.

He’s excited. I’m excited.

I’m in the poker room at the Venetian.   It’s a $2-$5 no limit Texas Hold’em table.

There are chips in front of all ten seats,  but two players are absent.   It’s ok to walk away with hundreds or even thousands of dollars on the table.  I’ve never heard of a problem.

The dealer’s job is the most interesting.  Tom is our dealer.  Dealers change tables every half hour.

In front of Tom is an automatic shuffler. It’s made the game a lot faster.

The dealer gives out the cards,  but he’s also the banker.  As pots grow he removes money for the casino’s rake–up to $4 per deal.  He’s also keeping track of bets and settling disputes.

The dealers are salaried but also get tips.   Each dealer here keeps their own tips.  In Connecticut tips are pooled. It shows.

It’s after 1:00 but the place is jammed.   Cocktail waitresses are bringing some liquor,  but more bottles of water and lots of Red Bull.

The dealer just told two guys speaking in Vietnamese to speak English. Vegas is like the UN.  Lots of languages spoken. English only at the table.

We leave tomorrow.  We’re driving back.   No rush.  Good time.

Having a wonderful time.  Wish you were here.

I’m playing poker tonight.  No surprise there.  I’ve moved from Venetian to Aria.

No cup holders.  My coffee is on the felt next to my chips.

Dinner tonight was at  Mon Ami Gabi at Paris on the Strip.  We sat outside under heatlamps across from the Bellagio fountains.

Yes it’s touristy,  but the food and service are great.  And there’s that view!

My Cousin Michael once explained how Vegas hotels are designed to look smaller than they actually are and closer to the road.   Walking in Las Vegas is always father than it looks.

Anniversary dinner.  Fab.  H,  Stef and me under the heatlamps on the terrace.   Two ducks arrived at the fountain beside us with the bread.

Dal Toro was very tasty.  I had a seafood infused spaghetti.  Stef and Helaine had ravioli.  The ducks had bread.

The girls have gone their own way.  I wanted to play in the 7pm poker tournament.   That meant walking across this giant complex.

I like people watching.   This is a good place for it.  Maybe the best place for it.

My guess is many people are down here after taking selfies .

I am typing this as I play.  The tournament isn’t quite fifteen minutes old.   Very early.  The winner won’t be known until well past midnight.

Poker is not a hobby for early risers.