Sunday, January 11, 2026 – Day 516

Sunday, January 11, 2026

Good morning, everyone. Happy birthday wishes to my sister Maria, who recently retired to northern Wisconsin, and to Cindy’s cousin Pat S. in Florida.

Fare Thee Well Yesterday we lost Bob Weir, one of the founding members of the Grateful Dead, and later Dead & Company. A sad day for the many Deadheads who followed that music over a lifetime.

I have a lot of fond memories of seeing the Dead, primarily at Alpine Valley Music Theatre. It was a great venue to let yourself go and dance away on the hillsides of southern Wisconsin, surrounded by people who all seemed tuned into the same rhythm.

In October of 2022, I even managed to get Cindy to a show when Bob Weir & Wolf Bros. performed with the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center. It was a completely new experience for her. While she probably wouldn’t sign up for a second one, she now has a small appreciation for the atmosphere and the connection people felt at a Dead show. She’s still feeling the effects of 2nd hand 💨.

May he rest in peace.

Swallowing Check Speaking of fare thee well… this morning delivered a pretty stark reminder of how much things have changed because of ALS.

I’ve had to modify my morning pill routine because swallowing pills whole has become unreliable. Most of them get crushed and go through the feeding tube. One capsule, though, has been broken apart and mixed into a small spoonful of yogurt. That approach had been working fine… until today.

Cindy mixed it as usual, and I took the teaspoon—maybe the amount you’d give a toddler. Almost immediately, the yogurt obstructed my airway. This isn’t my first swallowing scare, but this one felt different. Every attempt to swallow and then breathe failed. I couldn’t get air in.

My body started making loud, exaggerated swallowing sounds—the kind that would immediately alert anyone nearby that something was wrong. I kept trying: swallow… breathe… swallow… breathe. Eventually I found the tiniest opening to pull in air. It felt like breathing through a cocktail straw.

Cindy paced, watching and listening to the awful screeching sound of me fighting for air. Slowly—thankfully—my breathing returned to normal. I took off my glasses, wiped away the tears streaming down my face, and tried to relax. Then came five solid minutes of burping from all the air I’d swallowed in the process.

Not a great experience for either of us. It’s no wonder why waterboarding is such an effective torture. Not being able to breathe is pure terror.

Decision made: from now on, all pills go through the feeding tube—no exceptions.

I’ll probably be burping all day after that ordeal.

Have a great Sunday. Love you guys! ❤️

P.S. I’m going to watch the recording of the Chicago Bears–Green Bay Packers game to find out who won.