My grandfather was a lefty, but the nuns tied his arm to his chair so he wouldn't use it. The end result was he used his right hand for anything he learned at school (writing) and his left for anything he learned at home (using a knife). This included sports - he was a righty batter but a lefty golfer.

And I play guitar lefty (well, "play"). Even though my right hand/arm is strong enough, reaching over the body of the guitar to strum or pick is just not an angle I can do, for whatever reason. But reaching up to the frets, no problem. So, Paul McCartney, the Muppets, and me - that there is some illustrious company.

Timelies all!

Tomorrow we hit the road and head to CT to visit my parents. Let's see how that goes....

Driving? Yikes! Good luck!

My grandfather was a lefty, but the nuns tied his arm to his chair so he wouldn't use it.

My mom assumed she was supposed to be left handed because she did everything left handed except writing. Yep, nuns and she was born in 1921. Her handwriting was awful.

Have a good road trip Sheryl. We leave in the morning for NY, but with 3 animals and no child. Animals are fairly easy to keep entertained on the road.

I am a bad Buffista! I had dinner with Pix tonight and we just talked and ate and didn't think to take pictures. I hang my head in shame. It was nonetheless pure delight to spend the time with her.

Aww yay dinner together Laura!

I went to a friend’s for an evening bbq thing which was great and I even met a few new people, but now my throat hurts a little/is v dry from being outside in the smoke. Yuck.

I taught myself to mouse Lefty so that I could take notes with my right hand. My left eye is dominant which means that my brain is cross-wired in some fashion.

I get arthritis when I use one hand exclusively for mousing, so I've taught myself to periodially switch hand. I also use a trackball which helps.

It was wonderful to see Laura and Brendan. A little oasis of joy during a difficult few days.

My dad's cognition is getting a little worse every time I see him. He's getting confused about his pill organizer and not taking his meds correctly, and today he was asking me questions about people I last saw when I was four. It's not every day; today is particularly bad. He's furious at the suggestion he might need to move into assisted living and refuses to consider it, but all we can afford in home right now is three days of six hours of care, and that isn't going to cut it. We are meeting with a Medicaid attorney tomorrow to see if there's any other in-home care he qualifies for before we go through his entire life savings, but I'm feeling pretty grim. He won't consider moving closer to me (and would be miserable in SoCal, so fair enough), but we have such house debt that I can't just take a leave from my school to live with him; without my salary, we can't pay our bills...not to mention not wanting to leave Drew and the pets and my life in SoCal if I don't have to. Sigh. I'm hoping the attorney tomorrow will give me some options that won't involve me having to get into a massive fight with Dad about moving. I want him to be able to stay here; I really do. But dementia is insidious and always worse than you think it is, and Dad can't see how bad it is. It's so hard.

We finally got a referral to a great neurologist, at least, so once I can schedule that, I will fly back to be here for that consultation and see where we are.

Blah, not looking for solutions, but I can't post on this on social media, and I need a place to brain dump sometimes.

I'm sorry, Pix. I will just say that people with dementia might not know what the best thing for themselves is and sometimes short-term conflict can result in a long-term good solution. Good luck.