Y chromosomes and jugs.

Genographic Project kit #3 is waiting at the end of the counter for a second swab of Jeff’s inner cheeks before it gets packed back to National Geo. for analysis. So far I can provide my children with the interesting notion that their grandpaternal lineage (my side) takes them back to Nordic roots, and that--based on me--the maternal side is, um, European. (yeah...that silly mitochondrial DNA doesn’t tell you much.) But maybe a swab of their Dad’s Y chromosome will reveal something exciting and unexpected. Like, I don’t know...an Inuit sneaked in there somewhere along the line. But I doubt it. Most likely it’s going to be Heinz 57 Euro and any hopes anyone was holding out for exoticness (from our pov, anyway,) will be dashed on a rock lying in an inconspicuous glade somewhere on a smudge between Germany and the UK.

To completely change the subject, I’d like to say something about having an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. At first you think (well, I thought,) maybe we shouldn’t say anything...no one wants to be marginalized. And of course no one does. But then you think (me again,) it’s good to have people understand what’s different and why...and there’s no shame, so why not? But now I’ve gotten somewhere different altogether...especially because we’re more or less fine. Different than 7 years ago, and limited in some ways, but fine. Fine and holding as far as I can see. Not only holding, but maybe even better than a couple years ago in a certain way. It’s as if (and here I’m more or less bull-fewmeting) there was an acute tumble down a rocky slope which happened a few years ago, followed by the perplexing state of trying to figure out what the heck happened, and maybe even a stage of inflammation associated with the downhill tumble. Inflammation which has eased, leaving us with a different set of cognitive skills, but feeling better for the easing. So, we know where we are, and why, and whatever happened has, perhaps, healed, albeit with limitations. I may be very silly, but I expect the status to remain quo for quite a long time to come, so it’s a little troublesome to suppose that the community may be watching with thoughts in their heads of the tottering or immobile old folk in the Heartlands Memory Wing, and I truly don’t believe we’re headed that way for the foreseeable future...so I’m thinking we almost need to redefine Alzheimer’s. Without a doubt it can be a continuous and markable process through the 7 stages, but it can also mean damage--in an Alzheimer’s pattern--that happens, then stops happening, just leaving you different. My present assumption is that that’s what happened to us.

Anyway, I think the silly online tarot reading I got a few years ago was right. That I had 10 jugs of some good stuff. 5 spilled. Obviously, I’m very sorry about that, but the advice is to appreciate the remaining 5 jugs. Or maybe I should call them amphorae. (I’m not sure I can appreciate Jim Kramer bellowing about stocks on MSNBC from the next room. But I can live with it. Boooyah.)