BULLSHIT FROM PORT ST LUCIE

If you're not my mother, Carl's early stage Alzheimers can be pretty funny. 


 Mom spends a good deal of time mailing back products and canceling services. She has returned from a UPS drop off location where she was shipping back an expensive BOSE radio, only to find a UPS truck in her driveway delivering another one. 


 She has called to cancel an order for slippers, only to find Carl standing in the doorway wearing another pair, and she now has a strong telephone friend relationship with the operators at QVC, who inform her confidentially, that 25% of their business is from Alzheimer's patients ordering stuff that will eventually be returned by family. She is convinced many segments are targeted to the dementia consumer. Think Teletubbies. 


 What's fascinating about Carl's illness is its specificity.


 While he is totally functional and exhibits few other signs of memory loss, he has nearly completely blocked out everything to do with their financial difficulties. They lost all of their retirement funds in the Bernie Madoff scandal, and while mom understands the severity of their situation, Carl carries on as if it didn't happen. 


 He'll stay up late pledging money he doesn't have to obscure causes, or order from catalogs as if they'd just won the lottery. When pressed about these things, he gets a bit confused, and sometimes but not often, belligerent. 


 When mom needed to get online to check a Visa statement to see how many pairs of the same men's cotton brief's he ordered, or see if he'd perhaps recently contributed to a fund for underprivileged chimpanzees in the Congo, she asked for his online password. 


 "Carl, what's the password to the Visa account?"


 "Why?" 


 "Carl! What's the password?!"


 "Why do you want the password? Stop canceling my orders." 


 "Carl, I'm not starting this with you. I need to check the balance. What is it?"


 "It's bullshit, Alyse. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"


 "Carl. Trust me please. We don't have the money. Please don't make it difficult. I feel horrible already."


 "Alyse, I'm telling you it's bullshit!" 


 "Carl, we've been through this before. I will show you the bank statements. There's no more money. Just give me the password to the Visa account." 


 BullShit! BullShit! Bullshit! I'm telling you, it's bullshit, and I'm taking the dog out." 


 "Fine Carl, enjoy your walk." 


 She walks into his office, and looks through his Visa statement files, with mounting frustration, until she comes across the initial statement from the time the account was opened. 


 On top in handwritten letters carl has written: 


 Username: AOKCBK
 Password: BULLSHIT 


 Alzheimers or not, marriage is tough. 


 Sometimes it is bullshit.