Where To, Bud?

About The Time I Tried To "Go Home Again" In the words of Thomas Wolfe, "You can't go home again", and I'm the poster child for that.  Way back in the 90's, I thought I could go home and live again in my native Germany and it turned out to be a dismal failure. It set me back not only financially, but mentally as well. To be fair to myself, I had stars in my eyes and didn't think things through all the way. If I had, I'd never have moved, but you can't talk to someone who thinks he's finally fallen in love with the "right" woman. You can't make them see reason and you just have to go let them go ahead, make their mistake (s) and hope they can recover when things don't work out. And so it was with me and here's the story as well as I remember it - sorry, but I don't know any exact dates - I just know it was in the early 90's. In the late 80's, a few years before my Mother died, and while

This is being written in real time, right now, this minute. I thought about writing this a little while ago while watching an HBO documentary about Alzheimer's Disease. It had a title which I don't at this second in time remember. Maybe I will before I stop writing this, but I don't know for sure. This documentary had as its focus a poet, a man named Edwin Honig and it followed him on film through all the stages, even the very last one before you die; Stage 7. At the start the viewer is asked to remember three words in order and at this moment in time, I do remember them, but throughout the film, it was a struggle for me and I'll try to explain it so you can understand what was going on in my brain, because even though it seems important, I don't understand why it should be. Okay, the words are "chair", "tree" and "bird". As I just now wrote this, I hesitated maybe a second between each word to make sure. Is this important to

Cautiously hopeful that all my symptoms have stabilized, but not altogether sure of it. I still have the short-term memory loss, and I know this won't improve, but it hasn't gotten worse, so I see that as a good sign. I'm almost 64 after all, so nothing reverses now anyway. "From the minute we are born, we begin to die". Who said that? Damn if I know. I googled it, and although many people use the quote, no one attributes it to anyone. Nietzsche, Kafka, Crosby, Stills, Nash, Freud, Marx, Engels or Jung? Like I said, I don't know, but it's true. Our cells begin to die once we hit the open air. I can't remember it, but it musta been nice and warm in mother's womb. No wonder we get slapped on our butts when we exit: it's like a "welcome" of sorts to a world of pain and death - however they manifest themselves. In between we try to find a little happy-time, and some of us do. I'm still keeping up and promoting my German friends