Shake, Rattle and Roll

When the New 60 Feels Like 6

I celebrated my 60^th birthday this month. The average age of onset of Parkinson’s Disease is also 60. I never wanted to be average and with the diagnosis at the age of 46, I figure I’m better than average.

Rushing through childhood, I was always in a hurry to grow up. With Parkinson’s, I’m no longer rushing – it’s more like plodding. Yet, remarkably, I’m still dancing.

In celebration of my birthday, the Rockyettes danced at my party, and I joyfully danced 5 of the 15 dances with them. Ann Kennedy, the director of the Rockyettes, carefully chose the music that represented different aspects of my life, songs such as:

Kansas City – where I grew up and lived for my first 17 years

MacNamara’s Band – representing my Irish heritage

Welcome to the Sixties from Hairspray – because I was a teenager during the sixties and also just turned 60

 California Girls – for the time we lived in California

Sing, Sing, Sing – representing my love of big band/swing music

And a surprise dance of Shake, Rattle and Roll, which is the name of my blog

It was the best birthday any 6 or 60 year old could ever have.

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My classmtes from the class of 1967 from Hogan High School in Kansas City, MO

Looking Pretty Darn Good at 60

Front L to R: Kate Kelsall, Debbie Creasey; Back L to R: Kerry Neas, Mary Hobson. All currently are living in the Denver metro area.

The Truth

We thought we might have been twins separated at birth. Jean from Missouri (pronounced “ma-zoo ra” by everyone from there) found me on my blog. We both have Parkinson’s, and Jean will soon be evaluated as a candidate for Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) at the University of Kansas Medical Center in Kansas City.

The similarities are uncanny. Both of us growing up in Kansas City, Jean attended the elementary school across the street from where my Dad managed the paint and wallpaper store in Brookside. Jean’s brother took accordion lessons from the same teacher at the same music school in Kansas City as me.

I enjoy her sense of humor and Jean generously gave me permission to publish “The Truth.”

The Truth by Jean from Missouri

Hi Kate,

I must accept the truth.  I had begun to believe that we were twins, separated at birth, but I finally understand that this isn't so.  The fact that I am ten years older should have been a clue.  I began to suspect something when I learned from your blog that you are a vegetarian and eat sensibly.  I eat hot dogs. There were other hints--you are active in the PD community; I am passive.  You have had two professional careers; I had a job.

But, taking another look at your Blog photo, I was struck by the truth: YOU WEAR OUTFITS.  My husband and I have been looking at brochures for retirement communities in the KC area.  All of the women pictured in the brochures wear OUTFITS.   I don't own any OUTFITS.  Does Walmart even have an outfit department?  At the age of 68, I have the wardrobe of a 4 year old--lots of play clothes and a party dress.  I think that by cramming I can pass the mental acuity tests required for DBS and independent living facilities.  But do you think that I'll lose points for failure to dress like a grown-up?  This is serious stuff.

I suddenly find myself being judged and tested.  I want my doctors to like me.  If we move to a retirement community, I want to fit in.  Having Parkinson's has turned me back into an insecure teenager.  I read your Blog on Cramming, and I started counting backwards by 13's.  I fill out forms, dozens of forms, conscientiously.  I want the doctor to find me worthy.  As much as I don't want to care, I CARE.  I want to be confident again.  I want my self-assurance back.

We'll also tour some retirement communities while we're in Kansas City.  I will not go out and buy an outfit.

Jean from Missouri

Taking Up the Challenge

I’ve lost confidence shuffling along my Parkinson’s path for the past 12 years. Now and again, I challenge myself to do something that was easy in the past, but has become more complicated with PD. I now consider traveling alone to be challenging for me (as compared to traveling with my husband, Tom).

 

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled to Kansas City for my nephews’ graduation from Rockhurst High School. Kevin and Neil are identical twins. Aren’t they good looking young men? And smart too.

 

I drove to the Park and Ride and took the Sky-Ride bus to the Denver airport.

 

I schlepped my luggage from the bus to the ticket counter.

 

I used Frontier’s self-serve computerized check-in and walked to the security gate.

 

I had a full body pat-down because of the deep brain stimulator to my brain.

 

I flew to Kansas City.

 

I picked up my luggage at the baggage claim, found the bus to the car rental, rented a bigger car than I am accustomed to and drove to a motel in Overland Park where I stayed for three nights.

 

I visited my family and friends, attended my nephews’ graduation and completed a 5 K walk sponsored by the Parkinson Foundation of the Heartland.

 

Several days later, I flew from Kansas City to Denver repeating the same steps that I had taken when flying from Denver to Kansas City.

 

In my pre-Parkinson’s days, traveling alone was unremarkable and uneventful. Twelve years into Parkinson’s, traveling alone has become a big deal. Taking up this challenge has increased my confidence and self-esteem. Knowing that I am capable of traveling alone has given me a sense of competence and independence.

 

I took up the challenge, and I’m glad that I did!

Hoganites Reunite

I was both nervous and excited before attending my 40th year high school reunion in Kansas City, Missouri the past weekend.

Some of my reunion reflections include:

The Bishop Hogan High School of 1967 morphed into the Hogan Preparatory Academy. Only memories of nuns as teachers exist, now that it is a public charter school. The new Hogan is composed of 99% African American students, all who will attend college and earn an average $20,000/year in college scholarships.

The fellow classmates, the Hoganites who graduated in 1967, are all the same, except in different packages – same needs, feelings, desires, fears, hopes and dreams.

I couldn’t recognize most classmates, unless I stared at their faces for awhile (not recommended). With the women’s dyed and graying hair and the balding men, I wondered “who are these old people?” (me included).

Other classmates and I feared attending the reunion, being uncomfortable with small talk, having to account for the last 40 years. Recalling teenage angst and feeling as though we didn’t belong in 1967, it didn’t seem to matter in 2007.

In 1967, there were numerous cliques in our class: the jocks, the nerds, the smart ones, the dumb ones, the popular ones, the unpopular ones, etc. In 2007, there were no noticeable cliques.

I was viewed as one of the “smart ones” but I frowned on those who weren’t members of the “smart” group.

There were at least three fellow classmates who were forbidden to sing out loud in our high school choir and forced to mouth the words to the songs. I thought it was just me that had a “flat voice.”

A classmate who I never would have pegged as adventurous spent a nine years sailing around the world with her husband.

Even a classmate who is a judge has a compassionate heart.

Classmates that seemed the happiest enjoyed their roles of grandparents. If we could only skip parenthood and move on to grandparenthood, that would be perfect.

With the deaths of seven classmates and illnesses of others, we have a greater appreciation of life.

Reconnecting with former classmates who now live in Colorado has been particularly meaningful for me. Several months ago, four of us discovered that we live in the same metro area and had a couple pre-reunion get-togethers. We are determined to maintain contact with each other and keep that Hoganite spirit alive.

Ticket to Ride

Today is the first Monday in September, and Labor Day, a holiday that has been celebrated for more than 100 years. Labor Day evolved from a holiday which originally celebrated labor unions and working folks, to an unofficial ending to summer. With a touch of coolness in the air, we are reminded that September marks the beginning of autumn.

With the celebration of Labor Day, I would like to tell you about one of my two favorite jobs. If you are thinking, “Oh no, she’s going to complain again about losing the last job of her career due to Parkinson’s” (see It’s Not Working), not to worry. I am also sick of my whining.

Instead of whining, I would like to tell you about my first real job while growing up in Kansas City, Missouri. My age was 16, a milestone year when I could officially land a real job, although part-time as I was still in high school. Attached to the real job was a real paycheck, not merely spending money from babysitting.

In 1966, the record of the year was A Taste of Honey by the Tijuana Brass, the song of the year was The Shadow of Your Smile, and the best picture of the year was The Sound of Music.

John F. Kennedy was assassinated three years earlier, and the Beatles were singing We Can Work It Out.

The event of 1966 which started my work career was the opening of the Metro Plaza Theatres in Kansas City, Missouri. I was a proud cashier at the first four-theatre complex in the world opened by Stanley Durwood of Durwood Theatres, the forerunner of AMC Theatres.

What did I learn from my first real job that I hadn’t learned from my father who touted hard work as the panacea for all of life’s problems and from the nuns, my teachers, who promoted the work ethic as a second religion?

I learned how to multi-task, i.e. sell hundreds of tickets to hurried customers attending any of four different movies throughout the day.

I learned to tabulate the price of the ticket sales in my head and how to count back change without a cash register.

I learned to balance the records at the end of each evening and the importance of being exact with money, not being over or under.

I learned how to manually calculate ticket sales (remember these were pre-computer times) so that I wouldn’t oversell tickets to any movie.

I learned how to speak respectfully and cheerfully to customers, employees and supervisors.

I learned how to dress appropriately in the workplace.

I learned how to enjoy good movies with free passes to AMC Theatres when I wasn't working.

***

A lot has happened since my first real job in 1966.

A year later, I graduated from Bishop Hogan High School on the hill across the street from that movie theatre.

Three years later while I was attending Creighton University, I helped Stanley Durwood open his first six-theatre complex in Omaha.

Nine years later, the movie theatre of my first real job, closed. Some time later, the building morphed into a social security office.

Forty years later, I retired.

Forty one years later, I continue to enjoy movies at the AMC Theatres and will attend my upcoming 40th year graduation from the high school on the hill across the street from my first real job.

How to Find Almost Anybody, Anywhere

I whined after learning that I hadn’t been notified of previous high school reunions. Feelings of teenage angst resurfaced.

With the upcoming 40th year reunion from high school, I believed that it was important to account for ALL the Hoganites (classmates who attended Bishop Hogan High School in Kansas City, Missouri, not to be confused with Grobanites or Josh Groban groupies).

Apparently others felt the same. The reunion flyer stated: “Ask not, what your class can do for you, ask what we could do if we found our class...We need all the class we can get!”

I helped track down some of my classmates. This is what I learned along the way.

Tips in Search of the Living

Start the old fashioned way by opening the white pages. Many of my fellow classmates have remained in the Kansas City area their entire lives. Without exception, people were delighted to receive my phone calls at home or work informing them about the reunion.

Just because I am sometimes more comfortable maintaining distance by email, don’t assume everyone else feels the same. Some prefer the personal touch of a phone call.

If you are not able to locate someone through the phone, another route is through contacting their family members or friends from high school.

Websites to Search

It continues to amaze me how much one can find about a person online, and for free or a nominal price. You don’t have to pay big bucks to find out basic information.

Google
http://www.google.com
If you search with quotes around my name, “Kate Kelsall” you will find out more information than you ever wanted to know about me.

White Pages People Search
http://www.whitepages.com/person

White Pages Email Search
http://www.whitepages.com/email

USA People Search
http://www.usa-people-search.com
Standard Search: You can search by the person's name, or address, or phone number.
Advanced Search: You can search by any or all of the following criteria and leave the rest blank: person's name, address, phone number, age and/or date of birth.

I was able to locate several classmates, even those with fairly common last names, by specifying age 57 or 58.

Classmates.com
http://www.classmates.com
Reunion.com
http://www.reunion.com
Classmates who are interested in reconnecting with old friends and reunions often register on these sites.

Various Professional Organizations
If you know someone is a doctor, nurse or lawyer, you can contact their professional societies to search. For example, I found one classmate, an attorney, through Find Law, a free lawyer directory at: http://lawyers.findlaw.com.

In Search of Professionals
Linked In claims to have 13 million professionals registered on this website: http://www.linkedin.com

When It Gets Complicated

It gets complicated when the female classmates marry, get a new last name, then divorce, revert to their maiden name, remarry, get another last name, divorce again, and so on. It seems our class has a large number of classmates who have gone down this path.

If you don’t know someone’s married name, but know the whereabouts of any of her family members, contact them to find her married name and current address.

Check with their old high school friends to see if they may know their married name and whereabouts.

Although I’ve lived in many different cities, most of my family lived in the Kansas City area their entire lives and are easy to locate. If anyone contacted my family members, they could easily find out my married name and current address.

Tips in Search For Those Who Have Died

When my mother with dementia told me that a classmate had passed away, I wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating (or having “little delusions” as my sister described them).

I needed to confirm my classmate’s death.

I found the website ObitsArchive.com. It is the largest and most comprehensive collection of newspaper obituaries and death notices in the US. Each obituary or death notice is indexed by the name of the deceased person. In addition, the text of each obituary or death notice is searchable, making it easy to find just what you're looking for using a place of residence, occupation, names of family members, or other personal information.

The problem I had confirming this classmate’s death was that I didn’t know the woman’s married name. I could have contacted her brother, but decided against it. But I was able to locate the obituary of her Mother through Obits.Archive.com which listed the full name of her daughter who was my classmate. From the same source, I was able to confirm the death of my classmate.

Social Security Death Index
http://ssdi.rootsweb.com/
Some people have been successful in finding those who have died on this website. However, I was unable to find my father who passed away in 1995 on this website.

Now that most of the Hoganites who graduated in the class of 1967 have been accounted for, I look forward to reconnecting with them at the reunion in Kansas City in October. Heck with teenage angst.

Being on the Defensive

Safety was never a personal issue when I grew up in Kansas City from the ‘50s to the mid ‘60s. Safety probably wasn’t an issue in most cities during those decades.

I’ve never been worried about the safety of my mother, sisters, aunts, niece, and female cousins, who currently live in Overland Park, Kansas, the idyllic suburb of Kansas City. I’ve never been fearful until now – with the abduction and murder of 18 year old Kelsey Smith, a recent high school grad who had her heart set on being a veterinarian.

Kelsey did nothing wrong last Saturday night while she was snatched from the parking lot of Target in Overland Park. The parking lot was well-lit, and the store is usually well-populated. Kelsey wasn’t distracted by being on her cell phone, and she was aware of her surroundings.

If Kelsey was a random victim, you might explain it as she being at the wrong place at the wrong time. But watching the surveillance video, the alleged killer appears to be trailing her in and out of the store. If he didn’t abduct and murder her then, it would have been matter of time before he tried it again.

I hate that law enforcement encourages women to be in a defensive mode, particularly toward men. Women have been warned to have their keys and pepper spray ready, carry a whistle, be aware of their surroundings, travel in twos, park in well-lit spots, take a self-defense course, be submissive if attacked, don’t resist, do resist, create noise, look him in the eye, avoid his gaze, and always have their defense strategies ready.

I don’t want to live defensively and long for the halcyon days of the past. I only wish that Kelsey had the same opportunity.

Her murder marked the end of innocence in Overland Park.

The Luck of the Irish

Today is my lucky day. Actually, March 17 has always been my lucky day - and not just because it’s St. Patrick’s Day.

I was born and raised in the Kansas City area with the “maiden” name of Kathy Doyle. My best friends in school were Mary Bridget O’Malley and Patty Shea. My sister’s married name is Pat O’Brien. Need I say more?

I left Kansas City when I was 17 and went away to college. Eight cities in two countries later, I frequently return to visit my family, most who reside in the Kansas City area.

In the last census, there were more than 250,000 people in the Kansas City metropolitan area who claimed Irish ancestry. This spurred the grand opening of the Irish Museum and the Cultural Center today, March 17, 2007 in the former Zephyr Room of the Union Station in Kansas City, Missouri. The Union Station is a fitting location because the Irish helped build a large portion of the railroads in the US. We always joked about my little Irish Aunt Eileen who “ran the railroad” as the secretary to the President for some 40 years.

Focusing on the Kansas City Irish experience, the mission of the Irish Museum and the Cultural Center is to promote Irish heritage, cultural education, preservation and celebration. The Executive Director, Rachel Casey, hopes to develop curriculum around issues such as hunger, immigration and religious intolerance, and feels that the museum/center provides an opportunity and perhaps responsibility, to do so.

St. Patrick’s Day should be one of Kansas City's symbols. It represents all of my growing up memories. I don’t like beer, green or otherwise, and being a vegetarian, I never eat corned beef and cabbage. However, I enjoy celebrating and appreciate the sense of community that I experienced as a baby boomer growing up in Kansas City.

The Kansas City St. Patrick’s Day parade, now one of the nations largest, has become the biggest single day event in downtown Kansas City. It is always celebrated on March 17, and even if it falls on a workday, businesses close and kids skip school. Families work together building floats for the parade, wear green and celebrate the tradition of Irish pride.

And thirty five years ago, I remembered another significant March 17 – in 1972 when I no longer lived in Kansas City. I was completing graduate school in social work at the University of Wisconsin. I flew from Milwaukee on a snowy winter day with a heavy tweed coat and black winter boots. When I got off the plane in Detroit, it was a 75 degree spring day. I was applying for a job as a social worker at the Family Service agency in Windsor, Ontario, just a tunnel or bridge away from Detroit. My future boss, Edwin, an Englishman, picked me up at the airport in his blue Citron, and we drove to Windsor via the tunnel for the interview. I don’t really remember much more except being offered and accepting the position and immigrating to Canada two months later. I had no idea at the time what a crucial juncture in the road that decision would be. A year later after completing his Master’s degree, Tom joined me in Canada. We married in 1974 and have been married ever since.

So now when I feel unlucky about being diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease at such a young age, I pull out my March 17th memories and feel lucky once again.