Gratitude #83 - Sweet Biddies!
11 years ago
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sunday, December 30, 2007
he's gone
Jim went to rest this morning about 5.
Rest in peace, my friend, you were one of the good guys.
I have been asked to speak at the Memorial Service. I guess I knew him as well as any, I am told. I will do my best to honor you, Jim.
Rest in peace, my friend, you were one of the good guys.
I have been asked to speak at the Memorial Service. I guess I knew him as well as any, I am told. I will do my best to honor you, Jim.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
shutting down
The nurse from Hospice came by to check on Jim.
Two weeks, maximum, he said. Jim stopped eating but still drinks some water. I am afraid Jim’s time has come.
Of course I am saddened by the impending loss of a dear and trustworthy friend, but I am also in awe that I was allowed to be a part of this last part of a good life. Dying is a pretty private matter, in so many ways, and I have been allowed to be experience this special time, with him.
Last night I read to him from Proverbs, held his hand, prayed with him and told him what a good life he had lived, and of how much we all loved him. He seems to have gotten peace from the words.
I come back to think of the wonderful part he played in getting Tom and Jackie home this week. On his death bed, he raised up and helped others. It will likely be his last, but what a testimony to a life well lived.
Jim, truly I have walked among the giants this week.
Two weeks, maximum, he said. Jim stopped eating but still drinks some water. I am afraid Jim’s time has come.
Of course I am saddened by the impending loss of a dear and trustworthy friend, but I am also in awe that I was allowed to be a part of this last part of a good life. Dying is a pretty private matter, in so many ways, and I have been allowed to be experience this special time, with him.
Last night I read to him from Proverbs, held his hand, prayed with him and told him what a good life he had lived, and of how much we all loved him. He seems to have gotten peace from the words.
I come back to think of the wonderful part he played in getting Tom and Jackie home this week. On his death bed, he raised up and helped others. It will likely be his last, but what a testimony to a life well lived.
Jim, truly I have walked among the giants this week.
Friday, December 28, 2007
tom and jackie
I was visiting with Jim last night when I got a call from Tom.
Tom is another of those people in my circle that I would do anything for. His car had broken down and he needed a pull. I casually asked if he was in my town or the next one over, where Tom actually lives.
He and his mother had driven 300 miles into Oregon for family Christmas, and their little Suzuki had given up the ghost about 115 miles from here. They had driven that little tin can 350,000 miles. It had been a good rig. Tom wanted to know the name and number of a man who owned a wrecker. I didn’t know, and neither did Jim.
So, I said: Call me back in a few minutes, or I’ll call you while I work on this. I asked Jim if his car hauling trailer was empty and available. (My trailer does not have night lights and is loaded to the hilt with firewood right now.)
Jim said his was at his son’s place, but son was snowmobiling in the mountains. But, Jim remembered Alvin had one. Alvin is an airplane owner partner of Jim’s. We called Alvin. He had a car dolly (two wheels that you load one end of the car on and the other end runs on it’s own wheels).
It would work, so I got up to leave to get the trailer (I had to go home first to get my Dodge pickup. Jim opened his tired eyes and said: “Why don’t you take my pickup?”
My Dodge is a single cab, 2 wheel drive. Jim’s Dodge is a double cab 4 door, 4 wheel drive, diesel. Tom and his mom are large people and for the three of us to ride in my pickup would have been very uncomfortable for the middle person, so I agreed.
I picked up the trailer. It had proper lights and other goodies. But before I left, Dot, Jim’s wife pushed a credit card into my hands. “Buy diesel with this.”
So I took off, full tank of diesel. It was just good and dark.
Tom was waiting outside a restaurant in a town so small they don’t even sell gasoline. He was cold, but not freezing (it was 28 degrees). We drove the 20 miles to where the car was stranded.
Mom is not in good health, but she is savvy. She wrapped in blankets and stuffed pillows around her and she had a little warm blooded dog to keep her company and warm her a bit.
This section of highway is isolated with not much traffic. The guy who drives the sanding/snow plow truck stopped. Others stopped to ask if she was OK and if she needed anything. They passed the message on to Tom at the restaurant that his mom was doing fine.
Before we got to where the car was, it began snowing HARD. I was glad to have Jim’s 4wd truck. We got the car loaded (I have never loaded one on this kind of a trailer before and I am mechanically challenged at times), tied down, the lights legally arranged and headed back in a heavy snow storm.
Tom’s mom was a bit cool, but she was warm in all of her clothes. The dog was fine too. They sat in the front passenger seat, and warmed up while Tom and I worked on getting the car loaded. it was snowing hard.
We made it back home without problems, thanks in no small part to that big Dodge with 4wd. I took them home about midnight and agreed we’d finish the details today, after 10!
I left Miriam with Dot and Jim. I didn’t want her to be home alone and I had no idea how long this might take. It was a good decision, though we had to dip to a bit of chicanery to get her to stay.
When I picked her up, the first thing she said is how good it was that I was at Jim’s when that phone call came. How Jim knew where a trailer was we could borrow and how it was so incredibly good of Jim, who lying on his death bed, to act so like the Jim I know and love, not just by loaning us his truck, but even paying for the fuel.
It was late when we got home, but I had to sit and decompress, to think and remember. I am going to loose Jim soon, and it will be one of the saddest days of my life.
I love you Jim for all the goodness you have shown to everyone in your life.
I really really will miss your goodness.
Tom is another of those people in my circle that I would do anything for. His car had broken down and he needed a pull. I casually asked if he was in my town or the next one over, where Tom actually lives.
He and his mother had driven 300 miles into Oregon for family Christmas, and their little Suzuki had given up the ghost about 115 miles from here. They had driven that little tin can 350,000 miles. It had been a good rig. Tom wanted to know the name and number of a man who owned a wrecker. I didn’t know, and neither did Jim.
So, I said: Call me back in a few minutes, or I’ll call you while I work on this. I asked Jim if his car hauling trailer was empty and available. (My trailer does not have night lights and is loaded to the hilt with firewood right now.)
Jim said his was at his son’s place, but son was snowmobiling in the mountains. But, Jim remembered Alvin had one. Alvin is an airplane owner partner of Jim’s. We called Alvin. He had a car dolly (two wheels that you load one end of the car on and the other end runs on it’s own wheels).
It would work, so I got up to leave to get the trailer (I had to go home first to get my Dodge pickup. Jim opened his tired eyes and said: “Why don’t you take my pickup?”
My Dodge is a single cab, 2 wheel drive. Jim’s Dodge is a double cab 4 door, 4 wheel drive, diesel. Tom and his mom are large people and for the three of us to ride in my pickup would have been very uncomfortable for the middle person, so I agreed.
I picked up the trailer. It had proper lights and other goodies. But before I left, Dot, Jim’s wife pushed a credit card into my hands. “Buy diesel with this.”
So I took off, full tank of diesel. It was just good and dark.
Tom was waiting outside a restaurant in a town so small they don’t even sell gasoline. He was cold, but not freezing (it was 28 degrees). We drove the 20 miles to where the car was stranded.
Mom is not in good health, but she is savvy. She wrapped in blankets and stuffed pillows around her and she had a little warm blooded dog to keep her company and warm her a bit.
This section of highway is isolated with not much traffic. The guy who drives the sanding/snow plow truck stopped. Others stopped to ask if she was OK and if she needed anything. They passed the message on to Tom at the restaurant that his mom was doing fine.
Before we got to where the car was, it began snowing HARD. I was glad to have Jim’s 4wd truck. We got the car loaded (I have never loaded one on this kind of a trailer before and I am mechanically challenged at times), tied down, the lights legally arranged and headed back in a heavy snow storm.
Tom’s mom was a bit cool, but she was warm in all of her clothes. The dog was fine too. They sat in the front passenger seat, and warmed up while Tom and I worked on getting the car loaded. it was snowing hard.
We made it back home without problems, thanks in no small part to that big Dodge with 4wd. I took them home about midnight and agreed we’d finish the details today, after 10!
I left Miriam with Dot and Jim. I didn’t want her to be home alone and I had no idea how long this might take. It was a good decision, though we had to dip to a bit of chicanery to get her to stay.
When I picked her up, the first thing she said is how good it was that I was at Jim’s when that phone call came. How Jim knew where a trailer was we could borrow and how it was so incredibly good of Jim, who lying on his death bed, to act so like the Jim I know and love, not just by loaning us his truck, but even paying for the fuel.
It was late when we got home, but I had to sit and decompress, to think and remember. I am going to loose Jim soon, and it will be one of the saddest days of my life.
I love you Jim for all the goodness you have shown to everyone in your life.
I really really will miss your goodness.
needlepoint
Quite a few years ago, one of my kids bought their mother a needlepoint kit.
It was after Miriam was diagnosed with Alz, and they were looking for a creative outlet.
Miriam woud take the project with her when she went with me on tile jobs. She would sit in the truck on good days, or come inside the job on bad weather days. I always carried a comfortable chair for her in my work trailer, but since most of our work was remodel work, she would often sit with the customer and talk of children and grandchildren.
We were not sure she would ever finish it, but we decided that we would give it great respect if and when she did. And, should it not be finished, we would still frame it well.
Well, one day she did finish the project, including a few changes here and there. We bought a cheap frame (she would hear of nothing else), and it hangs in our entry hall.
It is a testament to a good design and a very truthful phrase (that was part of the kit), but it is also the tribute to a great artist, who found even this to be a long time project. Score another win for damned Alz.
If only I could display the wonderful paintings she did, so well for so long, but alas they are all gone, I still weap.
But, I am so glad to display this picture in our house. Even though we are both educated as artists and have done tons of art of all kinds, there is precious little of it on display in our house. It is just the way we do things.
Rats.
It was after Miriam was diagnosed with Alz, and they were looking for a creative outlet.
Miriam woud take the project with her when she went with me on tile jobs. She would sit in the truck on good days, or come inside the job on bad weather days. I always carried a comfortable chair for her in my work trailer, but since most of our work was remodel work, she would often sit with the customer and talk of children and grandchildren.
We were not sure she would ever finish it, but we decided that we would give it great respect if and when she did. And, should it not be finished, we would still frame it well.
Well, one day she did finish the project, including a few changes here and there. We bought a cheap frame (she would hear of nothing else), and it hangs in our entry hall.
It is a testament to a good design and a very truthful phrase (that was part of the kit), but it is also the tribute to a great artist, who found even this to be a long time project. Score another win for damned Alz.
If only I could display the wonderful paintings she did, so well for so long, but alas they are all gone, I still weap.
But, I am so glad to display this picture in our house. Even though we are both educated as artists and have done tons of art of all kinds, there is precious little of it on display in our house. It is just the way we do things.
Rats.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
christmas day
Christmas day was good.
We were alone for the day, but not alone either.
I fixed breakfast of cornbread and granola from one of our daughters, we lazed around, opened out presents and enjoyed each others company.
Then we went to see Jim. There was a dinner scheduled at his son’s house and Jim was too weak and tired to go. Dot wanted to go, so I offered for us to stay with Jim while Dot went to the family dinner.
We stayed a couple of hours until Jim’s baby brother came by to take over.
Earlier I had accepted an invite to friends house for dinner, even though I really wanted to be alone with Miriam. I was going to try to get out of the invite, but Jim told me go, so we went.
We had a good meal and a good time. I am glad we went.
But somewhere alone during the day or evening, I was struck quietly and silently by the silence of being alone. We are an artist family and we don’t mind spending huge quantities of time alone, but this time it was different.
I suddenly wanted to hug a grandchild or three, to feel the love of my beautiful daughters, to hug a son in law. It was good, and so lonely at the same time.
That mood didn’t last too long, but it cut deep for a tiny bit.
Dear family: I love you and I bask in your love. Thanks for being such a wonderful family.
We were alone for the day, but not alone either.
I fixed breakfast of cornbread and granola from one of our daughters, we lazed around, opened out presents and enjoyed each others company.
Then we went to see Jim. There was a dinner scheduled at his son’s house and Jim was too weak and tired to go. Dot wanted to go, so I offered for us to stay with Jim while Dot went to the family dinner.
We stayed a couple of hours until Jim’s baby brother came by to take over.
Earlier I had accepted an invite to friends house for dinner, even though I really wanted to be alone with Miriam. I was going to try to get out of the invite, but Jim told me go, so we went.
We had a good meal and a good time. I am glad we went.
But somewhere alone during the day or evening, I was struck quietly and silently by the silence of being alone. We are an artist family and we don’t mind spending huge quantities of time alone, but this time it was different.
I suddenly wanted to hug a grandchild or three, to feel the love of my beautiful daughters, to hug a son in law. It was good, and so lonely at the same time.
That mood didn’t last too long, but it cut deep for a tiny bit.
Dear family: I love you and I bask in your love. Thanks for being such a wonderful family.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
christmas morning
Christmas morning.
The first christmas in 52 that just the two of us have been together. It is OK, we like each other’s company.
We opened our presents this morning. Good solid home made stuff for the most part, along with a couple boxes of “hand crafted chocolates” but daughter 4 works for the chocolate company!
I am reminded of how important family is. Our family is fairly small, but as I sit here waiting for the cornbread to come out of the oven, I get to thinking.
As old men do, I remember the years when my kids were small. How they would climb out of bed and come and sit on my lap or besides me in the mornings. Those memories are so special. This morning I wish I could hug those 3 and 4 year olds yet again.
And as I sit here I remember wonderful times with our grand kids.
Then I remember back further to christmas days with my parents and grandparents, when the girls were small. We lost both generations of my family in less than a decade, but those were the good days in so many ways, except we were so broke.
I sent a christmas email to my daughters a bit ago, and I know they will appreciate it, but it is not like hugging them once again, and wishing them merry christmas. I miss my girls so much at times like this.
Bless you my daughters for the joy you have brought an old man. May your kind prosper.
The first christmas in 52 that just the two of us have been together. It is OK, we like each other’s company.
We opened our presents this morning. Good solid home made stuff for the most part, along with a couple boxes of “hand crafted chocolates” but daughter 4 works for the chocolate company!
I am reminded of how important family is. Our family is fairly small, but as I sit here waiting for the cornbread to come out of the oven, I get to thinking.
As old men do, I remember the years when my kids were small. How they would climb out of bed and come and sit on my lap or besides me in the mornings. Those memories are so special. This morning I wish I could hug those 3 and 4 year olds yet again.
And as I sit here I remember wonderful times with our grand kids.
Then I remember back further to christmas days with my parents and grandparents, when the girls were small. We lost both generations of my family in less than a decade, but those were the good days in so many ways, except we were so broke.
I sent a christmas email to my daughters a bit ago, and I know they will appreciate it, but it is not like hugging them once again, and wishing them merry christmas. I miss my girls so much at times like this.
Bless you my daughters for the joy you have brought an old man. May your kind prosper.
Monday, December 24, 2007
merry christmas all
Tis the day before Christmas.
In my house it is a day of quiet. We will visit Jim today, but for a shorter time than yesterday. His wife Dot retired last week.
I will fix my darling breakfast, and later as good a dinner as my skills allow, but it will be a quiet day. We will crack the last of the three bags of walnuts that our neighbor gave us, we may go for a walk in the snow, but it will be quiet.
This year the family was all together in July for grandson David’s marriage to sweet Mandy. Next christmas all of us will dock at our oldest daughters house and have a suitable noisy celebration. We will take our travel trailer up earlier (to avoid potential icy roads), and have our own little bit of quiet.
But this year we are home alone. Don’t get me wrong and don’t feel sorry for us. I find myself enjoying quiet more. I suppose my life, which involved a good bit of noise making (i.e. machinery), is balanced by my love of solitude and quiet.
To each of you who lost loved ones this year, my condolence for your losses. The rest of us have our turns coming up some time, maybe soon, maybe late. But may the good memories of your loved one never fade.
Merry Christmas to each and every one of you.
You are loved.
In my house it is a day of quiet. We will visit Jim today, but for a shorter time than yesterday. His wife Dot retired last week.
I will fix my darling breakfast, and later as good a dinner as my skills allow, but it will be a quiet day. We will crack the last of the three bags of walnuts that our neighbor gave us, we may go for a walk in the snow, but it will be quiet.
This year the family was all together in July for grandson David’s marriage to sweet Mandy. Next christmas all of us will dock at our oldest daughters house and have a suitable noisy celebration. We will take our travel trailer up earlier (to avoid potential icy roads), and have our own little bit of quiet.
But this year we are home alone. Don’t get me wrong and don’t feel sorry for us. I find myself enjoying quiet more. I suppose my life, which involved a good bit of noise making (i.e. machinery), is balanced by my love of solitude and quiet.
To each of you who lost loved ones this year, my condolence for your losses. The rest of us have our turns coming up some time, maybe soon, maybe late. But may the good memories of your loved one never fade.
Merry Christmas to each and every one of you.
You are loved.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
wish list
Dear Father Christmas
Thank you for recognizing that I have been very good this year
For skipping that lump of coal in my stocking
And for filling my huge stocking with luscious oranges
And sexy silk goodies
And very fast sleds.
I recognize that all were not as good as I
It must be part of your great plan.
But I was so good
And you really do owe me.
Bless me now as I study the menu
Of this huge steak dinner called life.
Help me choose the best and the tastiest.
Who cares about the fat content.
One final thing I ask, dear father
Change the nasty cholesterol to good stuff
So I can enjoy and feast again.
While I enjoy my oranges, my wife’s silk lingerie
And my very fast sleds
Thank you for recognizing that I have been very good this year
For skipping that lump of coal in my stocking
And for filling my huge stocking with luscious oranges
And sexy silk goodies
And very fast sleds.
I recognize that all were not as good as I
It must be part of your great plan.
But I was so good
And you really do owe me.
Bless me now as I study the menu
Of this huge steak dinner called life.
Help me choose the best and the tastiest.
Who cares about the fat content.
One final thing I ask, dear father
Change the nasty cholesterol to good stuff
So I can enjoy and feast again.
While I enjoy my oranges, my wife’s silk lingerie
And my very fast sleds
Thursday, December 20, 2007
hmm
Once I was explaining to then 8 year old Matthew the importance of work.
He was having an off day and was not much interested in being helpful.
“Work,” I said, “ is one of God’s great gifts.”
I was sure that was a good line. It sounded good at the time.
“Grandpa, work came after the fall, it is the result of Sin.”
What could I say? I did wait until he was out of sight before I doubled up with laughter.
At 11 he is no less sharp, but he is more helpful.
He was having an off day and was not much interested in being helpful.
“Work,” I said, “ is one of God’s great gifts.”
I was sure that was a good line. It sounded good at the time.
“Grandpa, work came after the fall, it is the result of Sin.”
What could I say? I did wait until he was out of sight before I doubled up with laughter.
At 11 he is no less sharp, but he is more helpful.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
today
Family is coming.
Today Arline, our oldest daughter, her husband Sid and children will stop for a visit. They are on their way to Arizona to spend Christmas with her husband’s family.
Next Christmas Miriam and I with our daughters and their families will all gather for Christmas, probably at Arline's house.
This visit won't be long, but we will cherish every moment.
Friends come and go, but family is forever.
Long live forever.
Today Arline, our oldest daughter, her husband Sid and children will stop for a visit. They are on their way to Arizona to spend Christmas with her husband’s family.
Next Christmas Miriam and I with our daughters and their families will all gather for Christmas, probably at Arline's house.
This visit won't be long, but we will cherish every moment.
Friends come and go, but family is forever.
Long live forever.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
rozella
Rozella called this week.
Her husband was our youth pastor decades ago when we were all young. He was diagnosed with Alz a few years ago.
We talk by phone once or twice a year. They are about 60, have 4 adult children and are super special people to me.
They have been living in Eastern Washington State for the last several years, but all of their children live in Portland, so this fall they moved. Sold stuff, gave stuff away, and downsized dramatically.
But Roz is a music teacher with 50 or 60 students and a group she performs with, and moving is harder on her than it was on Ron.
So far they seem to be doing fine. He has weathered the move, has found a part time volunteer job and seems to be adjusting. She is looking for students and a group, and support and friends.
Roz is under the gun all directions. Their kids are wonderfully supportive and kind to them, but it is tough to see your dear spouse go away and it is tough to have to remake your whole life because if it. And there is NEVER enough money.
We will go to Portland in March. Emily is in a school play then, but I will make sure we look Roz and Ron up. They are so dear to us. And I deeply grieve that they, at such a young age, are having to go through this horrible experience.
“You sound sad,” she said when we first started talking. Hmm. I thought I had that under control.
But, truth is, I am sad for all of us, today I grieve for Ron and Roz.
Her husband was our youth pastor decades ago when we were all young. He was diagnosed with Alz a few years ago.
We talk by phone once or twice a year. They are about 60, have 4 adult children and are super special people to me.
They have been living in Eastern Washington State for the last several years, but all of their children live in Portland, so this fall they moved. Sold stuff, gave stuff away, and downsized dramatically.
But Roz is a music teacher with 50 or 60 students and a group she performs with, and moving is harder on her than it was on Ron.
So far they seem to be doing fine. He has weathered the move, has found a part time volunteer job and seems to be adjusting. She is looking for students and a group, and support and friends.
Roz is under the gun all directions. Their kids are wonderfully supportive and kind to them, but it is tough to see your dear spouse go away and it is tough to have to remake your whole life because if it. And there is NEVER enough money.
We will go to Portland in March. Emily is in a school play then, but I will make sure we look Roz and Ron up. They are so dear to us. And I deeply grieve that they, at such a young age, are having to go through this horrible experience.
“You sound sad,” she said when we first started talking. Hmm. I thought I had that under control.
But, truth is, I am sad for all of us, today I grieve for Ron and Roz.
cooks
I come from a long line of good cooks.
My grandma was “matron” at a boarding high school for 25 years or so. Some of her student workers tell me that grandma could make a meal out of nothing. She had to, it was the depression and there wasn’t any food, or money to buy food.
Mom was a good cook. When we were young, especially, the diet was pretty thin, but it was good. We had home made bread and home canned fruits and vegetables. It wasn’t fancy, but we ate well.
Miriam’s mom was a pretty good cook, though not close to my mom or grandma. She was always sure that if she turned the burner on high the food would cook faster, but she often didn’t remember on time. Once, Miriam’s dad grinned at me and said: “Marie burns more food than I can eat.”
But Miriam exceeded all of them.
Not only was her food nutritious, it was color coordinated and the set table was a thing of beauty. My mom wanted to photograph the table before we began eating: “Miriam’s table always looks so good,” mom gushed.
So, now that Miriam has Alz as a roommate (this is in addition to her me), her skills have taken a dive, and I am pressed into service.
My step dad's mother had owned a small bakery when he was at home. The Army, contrary to their normal procedures sent him to cooks and bakers school.
Our daughters are all very good with food. Their families eat well. Some verge on being top gourmet cooks, some are nuts and bolts healthy cooks.
Then there is their father -- me.
I am a willing volunteer in this thing, but for the last 51 years I wasn't really allowed in the kitchen.
I was always allowed to make bread and I pretty well have that figured out.
The big thing about day to day cooking is making it healthy and pleasant and within the budget.
To make it even wilder, we are dedicated vegetarians, but since we have always been, we don’t really know what we are missing.
I am learning to lean on my daughters. I look at the cook books a bit, we have a pickup load of them, and I check on line for details I can’t remember. But, mostly I experiment and think.
Luckily I do not need a huge variety of foods to make me happy. I can eat peanut butter sandwiches every day the rest of my life and be happy, so I can repeat a meal more often than those with more adventurous habits.
And, I have a superb salad chef. She makes the salads, she insists that every main meal have one. And the same chef is good at cleanup, though I have a feeling she will not be able to continue that skill one day.
Now, that is a deal. I cook, she cleans.
Where was that service when I had a commercial cabinet shop?
My grandma was “matron” at a boarding high school for 25 years or so. Some of her student workers tell me that grandma could make a meal out of nothing. She had to, it was the depression and there wasn’t any food, or money to buy food.
Mom was a good cook. When we were young, especially, the diet was pretty thin, but it was good. We had home made bread and home canned fruits and vegetables. It wasn’t fancy, but we ate well.
Miriam’s mom was a pretty good cook, though not close to my mom or grandma. She was always sure that if she turned the burner on high the food would cook faster, but she often didn’t remember on time. Once, Miriam’s dad grinned at me and said: “Marie burns more food than I can eat.”
But Miriam exceeded all of them.
Not only was her food nutritious, it was color coordinated and the set table was a thing of beauty. My mom wanted to photograph the table before we began eating: “Miriam’s table always looks so good,” mom gushed.
So, now that Miriam has Alz as a roommate (this is in addition to her me), her skills have taken a dive, and I am pressed into service.
My step dad's mother had owned a small bakery when he was at home. The Army, contrary to their normal procedures sent him to cooks and bakers school.
Our daughters are all very good with food. Their families eat well. Some verge on being top gourmet cooks, some are nuts and bolts healthy cooks.
Then there is their father -- me.
I am a willing volunteer in this thing, but for the last 51 years I wasn't really allowed in the kitchen.
I was always allowed to make bread and I pretty well have that figured out.
The big thing about day to day cooking is making it healthy and pleasant and within the budget.
To make it even wilder, we are dedicated vegetarians, but since we have always been, we don’t really know what we are missing.
I am learning to lean on my daughters. I look at the cook books a bit, we have a pickup load of them, and I check on line for details I can’t remember. But, mostly I experiment and think.
Luckily I do not need a huge variety of foods to make me happy. I can eat peanut butter sandwiches every day the rest of my life and be happy, so I can repeat a meal more often than those with more adventurous habits.
And, I have a superb salad chef. She makes the salads, she insists that every main meal have one. And the same chef is good at cleanup, though I have a feeling she will not be able to continue that skill one day.
Now, that is a deal. I cook, she cleans.
Where was that service when I had a commercial cabinet shop?
full week
It’s was a full week.
Funeral on Monday.
Trip to the food bank on Thursday.
Lots of visits with Jim.
Some visits wtih David.
Miriam cracked walnuts, and was happy all week.
But it was a watershed week in another way.
I did the meal prep all week. No complaints, no irritating words.
It went well and we ate well.
I am thankful.
Funeral on Monday.
Trip to the food bank on Thursday.
Lots of visits with Jim.
Some visits wtih David.
Miriam cracked walnuts, and was happy all week.
But it was a watershed week in another way.
I did the meal prep all week. No complaints, no irritating words.
It went well and we ate well.
I am thankful.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
jim and fred
Yesterday was an emotionally draining day.
I made my mid morning visit to Jim. He was too warm (cancer seems to disturb his ability to stay comfortable). He was not wearing his PJ bottoms and his catheter bag was blood red. I was a bit frightened by that.
In early afternoon, we went to Fred’s funeral, Miriam and I. Maybe a third of the people there had known Fred since our days in high school fifty some years ago. I had a good visit with Fred's brother who remembered me from our childhood years.
Fred was a funeral director who had attended thousands of funerals. He had been the steady hand for the families and the communities he served. He also learned to dislike traditional funeral music. When we came into the church, the pa system was playing country western religious music, later we had “When the Saints Go Marching.” Not your regular stuff.
On the way home we stopped to see David who had just gotten out of the hospital. He was in good spirits and seems to be healing nicely. While there I checked my voice mail and found a plaintive message from Jim.
“Dave, if you can come see me, I have an emergency.” His bleeding had intensified and had stained the couch he was sitting on. He pulled out the catheter to see if that might help (Jim was a contractor, not a medico) and blood intensified.
No one was available, he was alone. His calls went no where, no one answered. In desperation he called me, and I was at Fred’s funeral. By the time I returned his call, his wife had come home from work and was with him. "Do you want me to come over?" Yes. "Could I get a bit of lunch and make it in an hour?" Yes.
So after a quick lunch (we eat at 4 pm) we went back to Jim’s.
His hospice nurse was there. Bruce is a very bright, very capable man who really understands this stuff. The van from the hospital equipment company was there also, putting up a hospital bed in Jim’s front room. Jim had to have an exam and asked me to go in the other room (I gladly took Miriam with me and went into the kitchen).
I got to empty his urinal, blood and all. It was not a comfortable moment, but it dawned on me that I am getting my training for dealing with Miriam by helping a wee bit with Jim. I have seen my own blood (worked around sharp knives for a living) but seeing others has always made me ill. but I am learning.
The hospice nurse spent a lot of time with him. “Death is not imminent” he told Jim and Dot. Jim, my friend (I thought) you have to suffer more, durn it.
We came home to a cold house and a barking dog. It had been a long day.
I made my mid morning visit to Jim. He was too warm (cancer seems to disturb his ability to stay comfortable). He was not wearing his PJ bottoms and his catheter bag was blood red. I was a bit frightened by that.
In early afternoon, we went to Fred’s funeral, Miriam and I. Maybe a third of the people there had known Fred since our days in high school fifty some years ago. I had a good visit with Fred's brother who remembered me from our childhood years.
Fred was a funeral director who had attended thousands of funerals. He had been the steady hand for the families and the communities he served. He also learned to dislike traditional funeral music. When we came into the church, the pa system was playing country western religious music, later we had “When the Saints Go Marching.” Not your regular stuff.
On the way home we stopped to see David who had just gotten out of the hospital. He was in good spirits and seems to be healing nicely. While there I checked my voice mail and found a plaintive message from Jim.
“Dave, if you can come see me, I have an emergency.” His bleeding had intensified and had stained the couch he was sitting on. He pulled out the catheter to see if that might help (Jim was a contractor, not a medico) and blood intensified.
No one was available, he was alone. His calls went no where, no one answered. In desperation he called me, and I was at Fred’s funeral. By the time I returned his call, his wife had come home from work and was with him. "Do you want me to come over?" Yes. "Could I get a bit of lunch and make it in an hour?" Yes.
So after a quick lunch (we eat at 4 pm) we went back to Jim’s.
His hospice nurse was there. Bruce is a very bright, very capable man who really understands this stuff. The van from the hospital equipment company was there also, putting up a hospital bed in Jim’s front room. Jim had to have an exam and asked me to go in the other room (I gladly took Miriam with me and went into the kitchen).
I got to empty his urinal, blood and all. It was not a comfortable moment, but it dawned on me that I am getting my training for dealing with Miriam by helping a wee bit with Jim. I have seen my own blood (worked around sharp knives for a living) but seeing others has always made me ill. but I am learning.
The hospice nurse spent a lot of time with him. “Death is not imminent” he told Jim and Dot. Jim, my friend (I thought) you have to suffer more, durn it.
We came home to a cold house and a barking dog. It had been a long day.
Monday, December 10, 2007
fred
We are going to a funeral today.
One of Miriam’s high school class mates died last week.
Fred was one of the good guys. His profession as a mortician was dignified and underrated at times. He was calm and steady, a good father and husband for 47 years.
Fred’s family lived in this town in those days. His wife’s family did too. She is ill with cancer. It is sad. Fred and Shar moved back a year or two ago to be closer to a daughter and her family.
Miriam’s class of about 25 has suffered a lot of losses in the past 51 years. Some we had kept track of, some we lost. But each loss diminishes us a little bit.
Our school was a small church supported boarding high school. In those days we had 70 some students. We knew each other pretty well, I guess. My class, the year before had fewer members, but somehow the class of Miriam and Fred has had more deaths than mine, a lot more.
But we are that age, I guess. Jim is not doing any better, David gets out of the hospital today, but his health is a bit precarious. We have another friend named Fred who has been taking treatments for prostate cancer. My health is good, I think, but what do I know?
To the Freds of the world: We salute you for your steadiness, your ability to get along, and get things done.
Truly rest in peace.
One of Miriam’s high school class mates died last week.
Fred was one of the good guys. His profession as a mortician was dignified and underrated at times. He was calm and steady, a good father and husband for 47 years.
Fred’s family lived in this town in those days. His wife’s family did too. She is ill with cancer. It is sad. Fred and Shar moved back a year or two ago to be closer to a daughter and her family.
Miriam’s class of about 25 has suffered a lot of losses in the past 51 years. Some we had kept track of, some we lost. But each loss diminishes us a little bit.
Our school was a small church supported boarding high school. In those days we had 70 some students. We knew each other pretty well, I guess. My class, the year before had fewer members, but somehow the class of Miriam and Fred has had more deaths than mine, a lot more.
But we are that age, I guess. Jim is not doing any better, David gets out of the hospital today, but his health is a bit precarious. We have another friend named Fred who has been taking treatments for prostate cancer. My health is good, I think, but what do I know?
To the Freds of the world: We salute you for your steadiness, your ability to get along, and get things done.
Truly rest in peace.
Friday, December 7, 2007
durn it all
Yesterday was court date.
Two older daughters came down from Washington and Oregon to go with me and the lawyers to a small court room.
It was all over in a few minutes. Mostly the judge repeated boiler plate lines that judges have to say. There was a question or two and a reminder to me to file a report each December, and it was over.
Now, we have guardianship of Miriam.
I should be proud, we have her on drugs to make her easier to get along with (how many husbands or wives wish they could pull that magic trick), and now I have taken some of her rights as a human being, the right to sign contracts etc.
But I am humbled by it all, and a bit wistful of the old days. Now I have really durable power of attorney, that cannot be revoked except by the judge, hmm.
My children tell me that this is the right thing to do and the lawyers agree that it is, so I am to be convinced, I guess.
At least I did get a stack of papers to send to insurance companies, etc, telling them in words they understand that they have to deal with me from here on out.
Durn it all, durn it all.
Two older daughters came down from Washington and Oregon to go with me and the lawyers to a small court room.
It was all over in a few minutes. Mostly the judge repeated boiler plate lines that judges have to say. There was a question or two and a reminder to me to file a report each December, and it was over.
Now, we have guardianship of Miriam.
I should be proud, we have her on drugs to make her easier to get along with (how many husbands or wives wish they could pull that magic trick), and now I have taken some of her rights as a human being, the right to sign contracts etc.
But I am humbled by it all, and a bit wistful of the old days. Now I have really durable power of attorney, that cannot be revoked except by the judge, hmm.
My children tell me that this is the right thing to do and the lawyers agree that it is, so I am to be convinced, I guess.
At least I did get a stack of papers to send to insurance companies, etc, telling them in words they understand that they have to deal with me from here on out.
Durn it all, durn it all.
small
I guess we are a couple generations too late.
We heat out house with a wood burning stove.
We have a garden, an orchard, and we can and freeze food from both.
Our house is a bit smaller than some 3 car garages that go with “modern” houses.
And we even drive cars made in the United States.
I don’t want to knock big houses, it’s just that I admire well designed small packages: Ipods, MacBooks, BMW roadsters.
In SF recently, I was reminded of my love of these small houses. Small houses just aren’t being built out here in the grand west, but those old communities where a lot might be 30 by 50 and an equally small house grew on the site.
Some of these little homes have evolved, the epochs are obvious, the stretch marks show up easily. Others are done with great flair and élan.
In a town where a starter house can cost ⅔ to ¾ of a mil, I guess small is essential.
I designed and built our house 31 years ago. At the time it was considered adequate, now it might be quaint, or cute (which means tiny). At this point it is even a bit larger than we might actually need: Miriam and I, along with Leo and cousin Alz.
We heat out house with a wood burning stove.
We have a garden, an orchard, and we can and freeze food from both.
Our house is a bit smaller than some 3 car garages that go with “modern” houses.
And we even drive cars made in the United States.
I don’t want to knock big houses, it’s just that I admire well designed small packages: Ipods, MacBooks, BMW roadsters.
In SF recently, I was reminded of my love of these small houses. Small houses just aren’t being built out here in the grand west, but those old communities where a lot might be 30 by 50 and an equally small house grew on the site.
Some of these little homes have evolved, the epochs are obvious, the stretch marks show up easily. Others are done with great flair and élan.
In a town where a starter house can cost ⅔ to ¾ of a mil, I guess small is essential.
I designed and built our house 31 years ago. At the time it was considered adequate, now it might be quaint, or cute (which means tiny). At this point it is even a bit larger than we might actually need: Miriam and I, along with Leo and cousin Alz.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
do a favor
Yesterday Nancy posted a piece about the dumb things people say to her, and her anger about some of them.
I want to continue a bit that direction!
Miriam and I have a friend I’ll call Louise. She is a consummate good person, seeking out people she can help, doing too much every where she goes and being just a little too eager along the way.
But she is a good person, and you cannot help but like her.
Yesterday she called. “How is Miriam doing?” That sort of thing. She was sincere in her questions, I have no doubt. “When are you going to move?” was another question we jostled with.
Then, came the point of the call.
“I have a favor to ask of you.” I have a pickup and I do a lot of repair around the church, so often favors are related to that. This time it was different. Louise sells vacuum cleaners in her “spare” time and she needed to demonstrate one of the infernal things so another friend could get points for something they don’t need either. Is that complex enough?
She told me how I didn’t have to buy from her (I can’t and won’t), but that she just needed to polish her skills etc. (Our floors are all ceramic tile, we’ll see how the demo goes!)
I told her that I considered vacuum salesmen and amway dealers in the same way and that I had little use for either, but that I would agree to letting her do her demo (she can’t bug me again, I figure), but that this would use up a LOT of friendship points, maybe most of the pile.
So, I am going to sit through a 1 or 2 hour demo of a machine I don’t want, can’t afford so Jerry can get a gizmo he won’t use.
The whole thing is nuts. I’ll sit in my recliner, but I can’t go to sleep.
Drats.
I want to continue a bit that direction!
Miriam and I have a friend I’ll call Louise. She is a consummate good person, seeking out people she can help, doing too much every where she goes and being just a little too eager along the way.
But she is a good person, and you cannot help but like her.
Yesterday she called. “How is Miriam doing?” That sort of thing. She was sincere in her questions, I have no doubt. “When are you going to move?” was another question we jostled with.
Then, came the point of the call.
“I have a favor to ask of you.” I have a pickup and I do a lot of repair around the church, so often favors are related to that. This time it was different. Louise sells vacuum cleaners in her “spare” time and she needed to demonstrate one of the infernal things so another friend could get points for something they don’t need either. Is that complex enough?
She told me how I didn’t have to buy from her (I can’t and won’t), but that she just needed to polish her skills etc. (Our floors are all ceramic tile, we’ll see how the demo goes!)
I told her that I considered vacuum salesmen and amway dealers in the same way and that I had little use for either, but that I would agree to letting her do her demo (she can’t bug me again, I figure), but that this would use up a LOT of friendship points, maybe most of the pile.
So, I am going to sit through a 1 or 2 hour demo of a machine I don’t want, can’t afford so Jerry can get a gizmo he won’t use.
The whole thing is nuts. I’ll sit in my recliner, but I can’t go to sleep.
Drats.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
four davids
The 4 David’s.
I have three good friends whose names are David. We go to church together, we sit in bible classes together, we are on boards and committees together, we even do volunteer work together at times, but rarely all 4 at any one time. And, to make it more interesting, my oldest grandson is David!
I could write a lot about each of them; one a former pastor and now a book editor; one an engineer who used to manage projects for the Army; another former pastor and now an adventurer who drove his jeep to Nicaragua this fall, and me.
This summer I spent 4 months doing the lead work on a serious remodel of the front of our church. At one point or other all Davids worked on that project. One day our pastor stood up in church: “If your name is David, you worked on the church this week,” he chuckled.
The pastor/editor is quiet, and studious. A serious scholar. He is also the youngest of this batch of davids, in his mid 50’s, but he worked his way through seminary laying carpet. He is a good guy.
The Engineer I have known the longest, maybe 30 years. His daughter and one of mine were close friends in high school. I knew David’s brother when I lived in Washington state, then there was that name thing. We have grown very close.
But the wondering David is my very special friend. In our little group he is David and I am Dave. We lead a study group together, we hike together, camp together and enjoy each other’s company.
We guys don’t do well with close male friends. We tend to miss that part of our lives. This David was in the hospital once, and I took him flowers. “When was the last time a guy brought you flowers?” I asked. “Never.”
Right now, I think of David 3, the rest of are here in Idaho. He is in central america right now. He and his family have lived in Bolivia, Kenya, Belize and the US in their married life. David’s dad was an electrician and david apprenticed as a plumber and he is a certified aircraft mechanic.
The big shots of the world like to think it is their genius that keeps the world going, but reality is that the maintenance people, the ones that fix things, keep it all running. Bad maintenance and the best factory grinds to a stop, good maintenance and the big shots look good.
David has spent a life making others look good.
This fall, there was a project in Nicaragua to put in wells in one of the most backward of the villages. David went to help on that project. He got there in that Jeep I mentioned a bit ago. His travel companion is a concert organist. They are both having a great time, I know.
Before he began this trip, he asked me if I would like to go with him. I answered: “Of course.” I couldn’t for a lot of reasons including my friend Alz, but it was a good thought. We would have had a great time.
Be careful David and make it back safely. I miss you.
I have three good friends whose names are David. We go to church together, we sit in bible classes together, we are on boards and committees together, we even do volunteer work together at times, but rarely all 4 at any one time. And, to make it more interesting, my oldest grandson is David!
I could write a lot about each of them; one a former pastor and now a book editor; one an engineer who used to manage projects for the Army; another former pastor and now an adventurer who drove his jeep to Nicaragua this fall, and me.
This summer I spent 4 months doing the lead work on a serious remodel of the front of our church. At one point or other all Davids worked on that project. One day our pastor stood up in church: “If your name is David, you worked on the church this week,” he chuckled.
The pastor/editor is quiet, and studious. A serious scholar. He is also the youngest of this batch of davids, in his mid 50’s, but he worked his way through seminary laying carpet. He is a good guy.
The Engineer I have known the longest, maybe 30 years. His daughter and one of mine were close friends in high school. I knew David’s brother when I lived in Washington state, then there was that name thing. We have grown very close.
But the wondering David is my very special friend. In our little group he is David and I am Dave. We lead a study group together, we hike together, camp together and enjoy each other’s company.
We guys don’t do well with close male friends. We tend to miss that part of our lives. This David was in the hospital once, and I took him flowers. “When was the last time a guy brought you flowers?” I asked. “Never.”
Right now, I think of David 3, the rest of are here in Idaho. He is in central america right now. He and his family have lived in Bolivia, Kenya, Belize and the US in their married life. David’s dad was an electrician and david apprenticed as a plumber and he is a certified aircraft mechanic.
The big shots of the world like to think it is their genius that keeps the world going, but reality is that the maintenance people, the ones that fix things, keep it all running. Bad maintenance and the best factory grinds to a stop, good maintenance and the big shots look good.
David has spent a life making others look good.
This fall, there was a project in Nicaragua to put in wells in one of the most backward of the villages. David went to help on that project. He got there in that Jeep I mentioned a bit ago. His travel companion is a concert organist. They are both having a great time, I know.
Before he began this trip, he asked me if I would like to go with him. I answered: “Of course.” I couldn’t for a lot of reasons including my friend Alz, but it was a good thought. We would have had a great time.
Be careful David and make it back safely. I miss you.
Monday, December 3, 2007
late crisis
I went through a mid life crisis that I thought would kill me.
I was in my mid 40's.
It came when a few things dawned on me: 1. I was as good at what I did for a living as I was likely to get, and found the job and the industry boring; 2. My kids had reached the age where they didn’t need me so much, they were in their late teens and were showing signs of independence; and 3. By any measure, my life was on the downhIll side.
Now, a few decades later. I still am bored and a bit frustrated; my daughters are wonderfully independent, and my life is closer than ever to the right hand margin. My plans for my retirement get swallowed in day to day stuff that seems important but is not part of my grand plan.
And to make it all the more frustrating, my dear sweet Miriam, is slowly leaving me.
I guess it is a late life crisis.
As my daughters reach their mid life, they too are adjusting. Our oldest grandson married this summer. Another is almost ready for college. My granddaughters are become beauties, my grandsons handsome. As they grow, I become aware of my aging and acutely aware that I might not get to go to all their weddings or hold all their babies.
Few will admit anything so drastic a thing as a mid life crisis. None of my friends will, in public at least, but I do and did. And, maybe I am repeating.
Questions multiply: Can we live successfully in our house on our small income? How long can I take good care of my Miriam? Will my dear grandkids do well in life? Will they be smart when they really need to be? Will my garden grow well this year? Will gas get so spendy we cannot go to see our grandkids?
After a certain point, all I can do is trust and move on, and be as wise as possible. Move on I can do, but wisdom seems to be in short supply in this old world. So many decisions I would like to make are made by someone else or by this disease that has changed my life.
I seem to have so little real control of things.
And, sometimes I am overcome by the emotion of it all, and I bow my head in sorrow.
I was in my mid 40's.
It came when a few things dawned on me: 1. I was as good at what I did for a living as I was likely to get, and found the job and the industry boring; 2. My kids had reached the age where they didn’t need me so much, they were in their late teens and were showing signs of independence; and 3. By any measure, my life was on the downhIll side.
Now, a few decades later. I still am bored and a bit frustrated; my daughters are wonderfully independent, and my life is closer than ever to the right hand margin. My plans for my retirement get swallowed in day to day stuff that seems important but is not part of my grand plan.
And to make it all the more frustrating, my dear sweet Miriam, is slowly leaving me.
I guess it is a late life crisis.
As my daughters reach their mid life, they too are adjusting. Our oldest grandson married this summer. Another is almost ready for college. My granddaughters are become beauties, my grandsons handsome. As they grow, I become aware of my aging and acutely aware that I might not get to go to all their weddings or hold all their babies.
Few will admit anything so drastic a thing as a mid life crisis. None of my friends will, in public at least, but I do and did. And, maybe I am repeating.
Questions multiply: Can we live successfully in our house on our small income? How long can I take good care of my Miriam? Will my dear grandkids do well in life? Will they be smart when they really need to be? Will my garden grow well this year? Will gas get so spendy we cannot go to see our grandkids?
After a certain point, all I can do is trust and move on, and be as wise as possible. Move on I can do, but wisdom seems to be in short supply in this old world. So many decisions I would like to make are made by someone else or by this disease that has changed my life.
I seem to have so little real control of things.
And, sometimes I am overcome by the emotion of it all, and I bow my head in sorrow.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
my dear grandpa
Dea made a comment on my piece about piano lessons.
Dea is my 3d amazing daughter. She reminds me of a story, and she may well not know the whole story. This is for you Dea!
My father was killed in North Idaho. Idaho is a long state, north to south. Grandpa and Grandma lived in South Idaho near where I live now.
Mom somehow was able to find a phone and called neighbors of Grandpa and Grandma, who relayed the message. I was 4, I don’t actually remember, but I’ll bet it was something like that.
Grandpa did not own a car, but he quickly packed a small case and rode his bicycle to the highway, with my aunt, who was about 11 on the back of the bicycle. Aunt rode the bicycle back home a couple miles away, and grandpa began to hitch hike to north idaho.
Going through Oregon and Washington was the fastest way, but it was close to 450 miles. Up the center of Idaho was shorter, but there was a LOT less traffic. So grandpa began hitch hiking on old US 30 toward my mom, baby sister and I.
Meanwhile, my dad’s brother came into town from California. It is unlikely, I think, that he knew of his brother’s death when he left California, I rather think he came up for some other reason.
When he found out what happened, he put Grandma and my aunt in the car (I vaguely remember something about my Dad's mother going too) and headed for where they hoped to find Grandpa. They found him about 30 miles from home. They drove on to be with my mother during that terrible time.
But the thing I remember about this story, and it is largely a story I have been told by people who are not around any longer, is that grandpa did not sit down and figure how to make the trip. He didn’t call Greyhound. He just got his bicycle and made it to the highway, stuck out his thumb, as a matter of personal faith and devotion to his daughter, who needed him.
Thank you Grandpa for a wonderful example of doing what has to be done for those you love.
You will always be big in my memory.
Dea is my 3d amazing daughter. She reminds me of a story, and she may well not know the whole story. This is for you Dea!
My father was killed in North Idaho. Idaho is a long state, north to south. Grandpa and Grandma lived in South Idaho near where I live now.
Mom somehow was able to find a phone and called neighbors of Grandpa and Grandma, who relayed the message. I was 4, I don’t actually remember, but I’ll bet it was something like that.
Grandpa did not own a car, but he quickly packed a small case and rode his bicycle to the highway, with my aunt, who was about 11 on the back of the bicycle. Aunt rode the bicycle back home a couple miles away, and grandpa began to hitch hike to north idaho.
Going through Oregon and Washington was the fastest way, but it was close to 450 miles. Up the center of Idaho was shorter, but there was a LOT less traffic. So grandpa began hitch hiking on old US 30 toward my mom, baby sister and I.
Meanwhile, my dad’s brother came into town from California. It is unlikely, I think, that he knew of his brother’s death when he left California, I rather think he came up for some other reason.
When he found out what happened, he put Grandma and my aunt in the car (I vaguely remember something about my Dad's mother going too) and headed for where they hoped to find Grandpa. They found him about 30 miles from home. They drove on to be with my mother during that terrible time.
But the thing I remember about this story, and it is largely a story I have been told by people who are not around any longer, is that grandpa did not sit down and figure how to make the trip. He didn’t call Greyhound. He just got his bicycle and made it to the highway, stuck out his thumb, as a matter of personal faith and devotion to his daughter, who needed him.
Thank you Grandpa for a wonderful example of doing what has to be done for those you love.
You will always be big in my memory.
goldie
When we lived in Texas in the 80’s we met Goldie.
Her husband had died not too long before we met her. He left her with a big double cab Chevy pickup that was larger than she wanted to drive, so often she would ask to be taken to church, or shopping occasionally.
She had the most wonderful disposition. She smiled a lot and was contagiously happy. I never asked her how old she was, but I guessed she was somewhere near 70.
Before we left Texas, Goldie moved to be close to a grand child in Arkansas, and we moved back to the north west. We have not seen her since.
But, every year, right after Thanksgiving, we get this card and hand written note from Goldie.
She is not doing well this year. But she does not really complain. She stated very matter of factly, that she has an open sore on her leg that requires a home health nurse to change the dressing on.
She talks about her grandchildren that we have never met, but that Goldie loves very much.
This time, her handwriting was particularly scratchy and uneven. She always had such wonderful penmanship.
I’ll write back a letter to her of course, and I won’t ask her age, but she has to be in her 90’s now, and as good a friend as ever. Each year we wonder if this is the last time we hear from her, this year is no exception.
We love you Goldie, thanks for being an inspiration to us!
Her husband had died not too long before we met her. He left her with a big double cab Chevy pickup that was larger than she wanted to drive, so often she would ask to be taken to church, or shopping occasionally.
She had the most wonderful disposition. She smiled a lot and was contagiously happy. I never asked her how old she was, but I guessed she was somewhere near 70.
Before we left Texas, Goldie moved to be close to a grand child in Arkansas, and we moved back to the north west. We have not seen her since.
But, every year, right after Thanksgiving, we get this card and hand written note from Goldie.
She is not doing well this year. But she does not really complain. She stated very matter of factly, that she has an open sore on her leg that requires a home health nurse to change the dressing on.
She talks about her grandchildren that we have never met, but that Goldie loves very much.
This time, her handwriting was particularly scratchy and uneven. She always had such wonderful penmanship.
I’ll write back a letter to her of course, and I won’t ask her age, but she has to be in her 90’s now, and as good a friend as ever. Each year we wonder if this is the last time we hear from her, this year is no exception.
We love you Goldie, thanks for being an inspiration to us!
end of season
Thursday I emptied the teardrop trailer.
For as small as it is, I am always amazed at how much it holds. Bedding, clothes, thick mattress, food all came inside the house. I left the cooking gear, I’ll empty those cabinets later, if I need to..
The tear goes into the shop in early spring for a bit of remodel and change making. When someone asks when a project like this will be finished, the only really honest answer is: maybe never. I’ll always be making changes and modifications
The log book says we slept in her 30 nights this season. Half of that was with the trailer parked at a daughter’s house. That leaves 15 nights camping, not any where enough.
That does not seem like much but that is a weekend a month for the entire season, which is pretty good actually.
Still, my first new years resolution (this is December, so I can) will be to camp more next season.
Miriam enjoyed our travels, I hope next year is no exception.
For as small as it is, I am always amazed at how much it holds. Bedding, clothes, thick mattress, food all came inside the house. I left the cooking gear, I’ll empty those cabinets later, if I need to..
The tear goes into the shop in early spring for a bit of remodel and change making. When someone asks when a project like this will be finished, the only really honest answer is: maybe never. I’ll always be making changes and modifications
The log book says we slept in her 30 nights this season. Half of that was with the trailer parked at a daughter’s house. That leaves 15 nights camping, not any where enough.
That does not seem like much but that is a weekend a month for the entire season, which is pretty good actually.
Still, my first new years resolution (this is December, so I can) will be to camp more next season.
Miriam enjoyed our travels, I hope next year is no exception.
Friday, November 30, 2007
jim again
I have been to see Jim a few times since we returned.
He is not stronger, nor a lot weaker. That is the good news. This morning he was as cranky as I have ever seen him.
“Dot,” (Dot is Jim’s wife) “If you loved me you would shoot me like an old dog.”
“I am not going to jail for you.”
“If I was going to shoot you, I’d have done it a long time ago,” she chuckled.
“Dave,” he said, “I just want to die.’
Today was his 67th birthday as well, and his family had planned a small party for him Saturday afternoon, and Jim was sure too many people would come and he would be tired, and he was unhappy about the whole thing.
“Jim,” I said “There are a lot of people who love you and want to wish you a happy birthday.” That seemed to calm him down.
Tonight when I went over, with a fresh baked loaf of bread and a jar of still warm home made apple sauce, he was in a better mood.
He won’t go easy nor soon. He has misery to go yet, which makes me very sad.
But, he didn't die while I was gone. That would have been awful. Dot told him he had to hang on till I got back. Now she tells him that he has to be there for their 47th wedding anniversary in early January.
I wish him the best, but a life of misery is not the best, durn it all.
He is not stronger, nor a lot weaker. That is the good news. This morning he was as cranky as I have ever seen him.
“Dot,” (Dot is Jim’s wife) “If you loved me you would shoot me like an old dog.”
“I am not going to jail for you.”
“If I was going to shoot you, I’d have done it a long time ago,” she chuckled.
“Dave,” he said, “I just want to die.’
Today was his 67th birthday as well, and his family had planned a small party for him Saturday afternoon, and Jim was sure too many people would come and he would be tired, and he was unhappy about the whole thing.
“Jim,” I said “There are a lot of people who love you and want to wish you a happy birthday.” That seemed to calm him down.
Tonight when I went over, with a fresh baked loaf of bread and a jar of still warm home made apple sauce, he was in a better mood.
He won’t go easy nor soon. He has misery to go yet, which makes me very sad.
But, he didn't die while I was gone. That would have been awful. Dot told him he had to hang on till I got back. Now she tells him that he has to be there for their 47th wedding anniversary in early January.
I wish him the best, but a life of misery is not the best, durn it all.
longer?
If I held
Her tighter
Could I keep
Her longer?
If I wrapped
My gorilla arms
Around her tiny frame
Could I hold her right here?
Where she is?
When I was
A tiny sick baby
My dear mother
Would press me to her
Bosom for nourishment
Then hold me
In her rocking chair
Through the night
So I could sleep
And stay alive
Another day.
She was twenty
Young years.
She went away
Twenty five years ago
I still miss her
Every day.......
If I held my
Sweetheart as
Tight as I can, could
I keep her alive
Longer
Longer?
Her tighter
Could I keep
Her longer?
If I wrapped
My gorilla arms
Around her tiny frame
Could I hold her right here?
Where she is?
When I was
A tiny sick baby
My dear mother
Would press me to her
Bosom for nourishment
Then hold me
In her rocking chair
Through the night
So I could sleep
And stay alive
Another day.
She was twenty
Young years.
She went away
Twenty five years ago
I still miss her
Every day.......
If I held my
Sweetheart as
Tight as I can, could
I keep her alive
Longer
Longer?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
home. . .
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
Google tells me that line is 150 years old. Wow.
Still it is so true. We’ve been on the road much of the last month, visiting each of our daughters families. It has been good.
Still, coming into town last night, this little town where I was born and have lived much of my life, it was home. Even Leo the italian greyhound raised his head and started looking around. He knows too.
This house was designed and built for a family with teen age daughters, now those daughters have teen children of their own, so we have a little extra space. Miriam likes to remind me that by any measure it is still a small house. None of my daughters houses is large, but for the most part those with the large families have the larger homes. Our SF daughter could use a bit more space, but in her market that is only a concept. Interestingly, my sister who lives alone owns our parents house, which is the largest in this sampling.
I turned off the switch for the water heater before we left, so it was a while after we got home before we could take that hot shower, but even that was worth it.
So, having driven 2500 miles in the last month, we are ready to stay home and play like real home bodies. I just put a pot of beans on to slow cook. I pulled a loaf of frozen home made bread from the freezer, to go with the beans. Before weekend I’ll make a batch of good bread.
None of that is terribly newsy, or even amusing, or perhaps even of interest, but I have to feel so blessed to have a place I can call home, and a wonderful wife to share it with. Each day when I say grace I thank God for this wonderful woman who is my wife. I know she is wonderful, and God for sure knows, but I want her to hear it out loud -- again, and again.
Yep, there is no place like home.
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
Google tells me that line is 150 years old. Wow.
Still it is so true. We’ve been on the road much of the last month, visiting each of our daughters families. It has been good.
Still, coming into town last night, this little town where I was born and have lived much of my life, it was home. Even Leo the italian greyhound raised his head and started looking around. He knows too.
This house was designed and built for a family with teen age daughters, now those daughters have teen children of their own, so we have a little extra space. Miriam likes to remind me that by any measure it is still a small house. None of my daughters houses is large, but for the most part those with the large families have the larger homes. Our SF daughter could use a bit more space, but in her market that is only a concept. Interestingly, my sister who lives alone owns our parents house, which is the largest in this sampling.
I turned off the switch for the water heater before we left, so it was a while after we got home before we could take that hot shower, but even that was worth it.
So, having driven 2500 miles in the last month, we are ready to stay home and play like real home bodies. I just put a pot of beans on to slow cook. I pulled a loaf of frozen home made bread from the freezer, to go with the beans. Before weekend I’ll make a batch of good bread.
None of that is terribly newsy, or even amusing, or perhaps even of interest, but I have to feel so blessed to have a place I can call home, and a wonderful wife to share it with. Each day when I say grace I thank God for this wonderful woman who is my wife. I know she is wonderful, and God for sure knows, but I want her to hear it out loud -- again, and again.
Yep, there is no place like home.
Monday, November 26, 2007
pier 39, san francisco
Yesterday we went to one of those famous tourist places.
I was taught by some one, to call them tourist traps, and that is not always a bad name. I do try to avoid them, even going camping in national parks during the off season.
But this was Pier 39 in San-Francisco. I was here as a boy, but SF in 1949 was totally different (and smaller) than it is now. We went to the wharfs and saw people actually fishing, and catching fish. My memory is the fishiness of the whole place.
This time Pier 39 was a place to buy clothes, jewelry, nick nacks, food and food and food and food. Didn’t see any MacDonalds, but I may have missed that one. There sure was no lack of places to eat.
We had a light lunch at a outdoor cafe that featured bird scavengers. We dropped a couple french fries and a minute later we looked down and they were gone. They were faster than a good server, and more stealthy too.
This time I took my camera, with fresh charged batteries, and took a bunch of pictures.
What struck me as much as anything was the mixing pot SF has become. As we walked along we became part of a lot of conversations, and fewer were in english than you might think.
There was one very elegant family I noticed. Mother, two daughters and a husband, tall handsome women with features we would expect to see in old time San Francisco. But they were beautiful and very self assured, elegant is a good word to use again.
There were a few women in head scarves, but mostly the image was that everyone was wearing pretty much the same costume, while they talked all over the place.
It was also a big enough crowd (by no means overflow) but you wanted to keep track of each other. My two grandsons kept an eye on Miriam, as I did photographs.
We had a great time the 6 of us.
I was taught by some one, to call them tourist traps, and that is not always a bad name. I do try to avoid them, even going camping in national parks during the off season.
But this was Pier 39 in San-Francisco. I was here as a boy, but SF in 1949 was totally different (and smaller) than it is now. We went to the wharfs and saw people actually fishing, and catching fish. My memory is the fishiness of the whole place.
This time Pier 39 was a place to buy clothes, jewelry, nick nacks, food and food and food and food. Didn’t see any MacDonalds, but I may have missed that one. There sure was no lack of places to eat.
We had a light lunch at a outdoor cafe that featured bird scavengers. We dropped a couple french fries and a minute later we looked down and they were gone. They were faster than a good server, and more stealthy too.
This time I took my camera, with fresh charged batteries, and took a bunch of pictures.
What struck me as much as anything was the mixing pot SF has become. As we walked along we became part of a lot of conversations, and fewer were in english than you might think.
There was one very elegant family I noticed. Mother, two daughters and a husband, tall handsome women with features we would expect to see in old time San Francisco. But they were beautiful and very self assured, elegant is a good word to use again.
There were a few women in head scarves, but mostly the image was that everyone was wearing pretty much the same costume, while they talked all over the place.
It was also a big enough crowd (by no means overflow) but you wanted to keep track of each other. My two grandsons kept an eye on Miriam, as I did photographs.
We had a great time the 6 of us.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
piano continued
Since I brought up my musician daughters, I’ll continue,
We have two daughters who are 10 ½ months apart, meaning that for all intents and purposes, they were twins. They were good friends, but very different. The older sister was careful and cautious, the younger adventurous and eager.
So we purposely didn’t start them to school at the same time, and we suggested different instruments. When she was the right age, we began Lora, our 2nd daughter on Organ.
The two sisters played together a lot during those years, and I was (and am) their biggest fan. I even enjoyed hearing them practice. Some tunes are rivited in my mind.
Today Lora lives with her husband and 4 children on an 11 acre farm that is on an indian reservation. She and her family attend a little church on the reservation.
And that is what I want to talk about here.
Lora is an RN, works nights delivering babies. From what I hear, she is very good at what she does. Being a nurse makes you very organized and Lora is that, most of the rest of our family are artists, not known for their organizational skils, but Lora is the organized one.
Early on she began giving piano lessons to her children. Their skill level now is pretty much in line with their age. Alan, the oldest at 17 now plays the piano for their church service. He wants to play the organ, and will I am sure.
The other three (another boy and two girls) also take lessons from mom and are doing well. Once in a while, in their living room, we are treated to a concert from all of them. Grandpa smiles and enjoys.
I never actually figured what it cost for their music education, but here it is going into another generation. My grandfather had a degree in piano performance, graduating in 1909.
Granddad would be proud of his great great grandkids!
We have two daughters who are 10 ½ months apart, meaning that for all intents and purposes, they were twins. They were good friends, but very different. The older sister was careful and cautious, the younger adventurous and eager.
So we purposely didn’t start them to school at the same time, and we suggested different instruments. When she was the right age, we began Lora, our 2nd daughter on Organ.
The two sisters played together a lot during those years, and I was (and am) their biggest fan. I even enjoyed hearing them practice. Some tunes are rivited in my mind.
Today Lora lives with her husband and 4 children on an 11 acre farm that is on an indian reservation. She and her family attend a little church on the reservation.
And that is what I want to talk about here.
Lora is an RN, works nights delivering babies. From what I hear, she is very good at what she does. Being a nurse makes you very organized and Lora is that, most of the rest of our family are artists, not known for their organizational skils, but Lora is the organized one.
Early on she began giving piano lessons to her children. Their skill level now is pretty much in line with their age. Alan, the oldest at 17 now plays the piano for their church service. He wants to play the organ, and will I am sure.
The other three (another boy and two girls) also take lessons from mom and are doing well. Once in a while, in their living room, we are treated to a concert from all of them. Grandpa smiles and enjoys.
I never actually figured what it cost for their music education, but here it is going into another generation. My grandfather had a degree in piano performance, graduating in 1909.
Granddad would be proud of his great great grandkids!
Saturday, November 24, 2007
dea's piano
Each of my daughters was exposed to music.
Each took piano or flute or cello lessons at one point or other. Then two of them stopped, other skills that were more to their liking.
Our two middle girls used to play for church often, one on the organ, the other the piano. One day in church, one of my dear friends leaned over and whispered: “The girls sound real good today. Must have cost you a fortune.”
We were too poor to have a fortune, but the lessons continued some way.
Today I am sitting with my MacBook on my knees in this tiny house in the Bay Area, and my wonderful daughter Dea is playing the piano, not just for me, but for her.
She has a piano here that belongs to a friend who didn’t have room for it. Dea was glad to “store” it. Her friends are unimpressed that she plays the piano quite well. Her family are equally unimpressed -- except for her father.
When she got the piano she called her sister who had their music and had it all sent down. Now as I hear her play, I remember pieces from when she was living at home, years ago.
Dea’s skills are not on the level of public performance (she devoted her life to other skills), and other than her adoring old dad, almost no one else really enjoys hearing her play.
But that is not the point. She plays the piano each day just for the joy of it. She does music because she loves it.
I wish we all could do what we do, not because it has insurance, or because it will provide retirement income, but just because of the joy of it all, because we love it.
Most of my life was spent at work that I was fairly skilled at, but I rarely found that real joy that would have made my work my real passion.
Play away, my child, I love to listen.
Each took piano or flute or cello lessons at one point or other. Then two of them stopped, other skills that were more to their liking.
Our two middle girls used to play for church often, one on the organ, the other the piano. One day in church, one of my dear friends leaned over and whispered: “The girls sound real good today. Must have cost you a fortune.”
We were too poor to have a fortune, but the lessons continued some way.
Today I am sitting with my MacBook on my knees in this tiny house in the Bay Area, and my wonderful daughter Dea is playing the piano, not just for me, but for her.
She has a piano here that belongs to a friend who didn’t have room for it. Dea was glad to “store” it. Her friends are unimpressed that she plays the piano quite well. Her family are equally unimpressed -- except for her father.
When she got the piano she called her sister who had their music and had it all sent down. Now as I hear her play, I remember pieces from when she was living at home, years ago.
Dea’s skills are not on the level of public performance (she devoted her life to other skills), and other than her adoring old dad, almost no one else really enjoys hearing her play.
But that is not the point. She plays the piano each day just for the joy of it. She does music because she loves it.
I wish we all could do what we do, not because it has insurance, or because it will provide retirement income, but just because of the joy of it all, because we love it.
Most of my life was spent at work that I was fairly skilled at, but I rarely found that real joy that would have made my work my real passion.
Play away, my child, I love to listen.
Friday, November 23, 2007
giving thanks
Thanksgiving was yesterday, I know.
It was a busy day with out a lot of time for reflection, and besides, I wanted to write about it after it was over.
Of course, we ate to excess, though I have overeaten with more vigor at other times. We went for a nice walk. My two grandsons that live here, were wonderful. I went out to my tear in the late morning, and took a much longer nap than I ever do, but it was one of those days.
The neighborhood was fairly quiet, except for the guy a couple houses down who was using a gas powered concrete saw, or at least that is what I guessed it to be. Sounded like a chain saw, but unless he was sawing huge logs, it just took too long.
Then we sat down to eat.
Since it was Thanksgiving day, we made the round telling of our thanks this special day.
We were thankful, pretty much, for the standard stuff of life: Family, spouses, friends. Grand kids were mentioned, as well they should.
I didn’t say anything about our boarder Alz, it did not seem the right place. But, in the back of my mind I had to thank the old goat. We had another good thanksgiving.
Miriam took part in the conversation, even if she repeated herself. She cleaned up afterward (you cannot under state the value of someone who cleans up without complaint or even being asked. In fact, if you tell her to stop and sit down she will ignore your request).
Son in law and Miriam walked together, on our walk. Curtis is supremely patient and kind (he is a high school teacher, after all), and they enjoyed each other’s company.
Alz, you old goat, thanks for giving us another good day, and if there is a place for a wish, could we have a few more? Please? With sugar and spice?
It was a busy day with out a lot of time for reflection, and besides, I wanted to write about it after it was over.
Of course, we ate to excess, though I have overeaten with more vigor at other times. We went for a nice walk. My two grandsons that live here, were wonderful. I went out to my tear in the late morning, and took a much longer nap than I ever do, but it was one of those days.
The neighborhood was fairly quiet, except for the guy a couple houses down who was using a gas powered concrete saw, or at least that is what I guessed it to be. Sounded like a chain saw, but unless he was sawing huge logs, it just took too long.
Then we sat down to eat.
Since it was Thanksgiving day, we made the round telling of our thanks this special day.
We were thankful, pretty much, for the standard stuff of life: Family, spouses, friends. Grand kids were mentioned, as well they should.
I didn’t say anything about our boarder Alz, it did not seem the right place. But, in the back of my mind I had to thank the old goat. We had another good thanksgiving.
Miriam took part in the conversation, even if she repeated herself. She cleaned up afterward (you cannot under state the value of someone who cleans up without complaint or even being asked. In fact, if you tell her to stop and sit down she will ignore your request).
Son in law and Miriam walked together, on our walk. Curtis is supremely patient and kind (he is a high school teacher, after all), and they enjoyed each other’s company.
Alz, you old goat, thanks for giving us another good day, and if there is a place for a wish, could we have a few more? Please? With sugar and spice?
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
shopping
Yesterday was grocery shopping day.
My system is to go to a store I like and buy what I need. Daughter Deanna is much more sophisticated!
We went to the Mexican produce store first. The aisles are narrow and the shelves filled with all sorts of very Mexican food but lots and lots of good produce.
The next store was Trader Joe’s. They seem to have every kind of ethnic, organic, healthy food around. Very yuppie. Good service, good “stuff”.
Then we went to a regular big box grocery store for the rest.
Shopping with Dea is easy. I don’t have to make any decisions, I just follow like a wide eyed kid. I get to watch and listen to the people. The bay area is a big melting pot and you can hear all sorts of languages and accents in a grocery store (or Home Depot).
I noticed a well dressed young woman that I guessed was from India. She concentrated as she made her choices. And in a grocery store, you see the same people again and again as you wonder the aisles, so our paths crossed several times.
Near the end of our shopping, I stood by the cart while Dea went looking for some frozen vegetables. The lady was there too and they began to visit, I could see that.
It seems this was the first Thanksgiving dinner she had prepared, and she asked, in perfect english, how to prepare frozen green beans. She spoke in perfect english, by the way.
At the check out, we met again and I visited with her a bit.
But imagine going into a new country and adapting to a holiday that belonged to the new tradition. We take frozen vegetables pretty much for granted, but what if you hadn’t seen them before.
I admired her spunk. There were eleven on her guest list. I have no doubt that she will prepare a great meal. They will be well fed.
Good for her.
My system is to go to a store I like and buy what I need. Daughter Deanna is much more sophisticated!
We went to the Mexican produce store first. The aisles are narrow and the shelves filled with all sorts of very Mexican food but lots and lots of good produce.
The next store was Trader Joe’s. They seem to have every kind of ethnic, organic, healthy food around. Very yuppie. Good service, good “stuff”.
Then we went to a regular big box grocery store for the rest.
Shopping with Dea is easy. I don’t have to make any decisions, I just follow like a wide eyed kid. I get to watch and listen to the people. The bay area is a big melting pot and you can hear all sorts of languages and accents in a grocery store (or Home Depot).
I noticed a well dressed young woman that I guessed was from India. She concentrated as she made her choices. And in a grocery store, you see the same people again and again as you wonder the aisles, so our paths crossed several times.
Near the end of our shopping, I stood by the cart while Dea went looking for some frozen vegetables. The lady was there too and they began to visit, I could see that.
It seems this was the first Thanksgiving dinner she had prepared, and she asked, in perfect english, how to prepare frozen green beans. She spoke in perfect english, by the way.
At the check out, we met again and I visited with her a bit.
But imagine going into a new country and adapting to a holiday that belonged to the new tradition. We take frozen vegetables pretty much for granted, but what if you hadn’t seen them before.
I admired her spunk. There were eleven on her guest list. I have no doubt that she will prepare a great meal. They will be well fed.
Good for her.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
we made it
We made it to San Francisco without any problems.
Miriam and I, Leo the size challenged greyhound, and our part of Thanksgiving dinner, all in our now ancient little car. Little Blue also pulled TinyOne, our teardrop trailer.
Little Blue has taken us where we asked for 15 years now. It’s been a faithful friend.
The grandsons are still at school, and son-in-law is a high school teacher, so he is not home yet either, so we have a few minutes of reflection time.
Last night we slept near Winnemucca Nevada. It was about 20 this morning, nice and cold, but super comfortable in the teardrop. Then we drove over Donner Pass at 6000 feet plus, and down to sea level. That is a lot of changes.
We parked the trailer at a truck stop last night. That is a noisy place to be. Lots of tuckers leave their truck running all night and you get 40 or 50 of them going, and it can be noisy.
It was good sleeping. Miriam slept the whole night without waking up at all.
When we camp, our Italian Greyhound always sleeps in the tow rig, either my pickup or the little blue car. It was cold last night, so he slept with us in the tear.
He was one happy dog.
Miriam and I, Leo the size challenged greyhound, and our part of Thanksgiving dinner, all in our now ancient little car. Little Blue also pulled TinyOne, our teardrop trailer.
Little Blue has taken us where we asked for 15 years now. It’s been a faithful friend.
The grandsons are still at school, and son-in-law is a high school teacher, so he is not home yet either, so we have a few minutes of reflection time.
Last night we slept near Winnemucca Nevada. It was about 20 this morning, nice and cold, but super comfortable in the teardrop. Then we drove over Donner Pass at 6000 feet plus, and down to sea level. That is a lot of changes.
We parked the trailer at a truck stop last night. That is a noisy place to be. Lots of tuckers leave their truck running all night and you get 40 or 50 of them going, and it can be noisy.
It was good sleeping. Miriam slept the whole night without waking up at all.
When we camp, our Italian Greyhound always sleeps in the tow rig, either my pickup or the little blue car. It was cold last night, so he slept with us in the tear.
He was one happy dog.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Jim again
I went to see Jim again this morning.
His son came over to take more of Jim’s tools to other locations. They gave me a pile of things, and offered more, but my space is limited too.
When he was inside I told his wife that he surely didn’t look good today. No, she answered and he is talking about ending his life. If we were in Oregon that might be arranged in a dignified legal way, but this is Idaho.
As I left, he called me aside. He thanked me for my love and friendship, and he did it with all of the sincerity of a man who is very uncertain about the length of his time here. I hugged his bony frame and repeated that I loved him.
God, don’t let him continue to suffer. It is too much for any of us.
I am leaving tomorrow for a ten or eleven day trip. Will Jim survive until I return?
His son came over to take more of Jim’s tools to other locations. They gave me a pile of things, and offered more, but my space is limited too.
When he was inside I told his wife that he surely didn’t look good today. No, she answered and he is talking about ending his life. If we were in Oregon that might be arranged in a dignified legal way, but this is Idaho.
As I left, he called me aside. He thanked me for my love and friendship, and he did it with all of the sincerity of a man who is very uncertain about the length of his time here. I hugged his bony frame and repeated that I loved him.
God, don’t let him continue to suffer. It is too much for any of us.
I am leaving tomorrow for a ten or eleven day trip. Will Jim survive until I return?
travel again
This is travel week again.
You might think we don’t stay at home at all. My own father, who was killed at 28 and my step father who died of old age when he was just 71, both were truckers. It is possible that a bit of that rubbed off on me.
Our 3rd daughter lives in the Bay Area. We have spent several Thanksgivings with her and her family and this year we are doing it again.
We will drive, leaving here on Monday, but it is a 10 hour drive, one I would make before lunch a few years ago, but one I’d just as soon do on two days now.
We will take the teardrop trailer, the one I showed earlier. This is not really a camping trip, but we need to take the trailer so we can have our own bedroom. Dea’s house is somewhere between quite small and tiny, and there really isn’t comfortable room for more bodies.
So we take the tear, park it in her drive way, and it is pretty well hidden from view. Last year one of her neighbors commented to another neighbor that she guessed that Dea’s parents didn’t come, since she did not see their trailer.
The Bay Area will be mild temps, with highs in the 50’s and 60’s. But we go through Nevada, and the area where I want to stop will be cold. When we came through there last time, it was 6 degrees cold.
We went to bed in our clothes. Every part of that bed was cold, but we got it warmed up and we were fine. The tear is insulated and is wonderfully comfortable, once you get it warmed up. This time I’ll fire up the camp stove for a bit, heat some water for an old fashioned Hot Water Bottle.
That will be luxury. We will sleep well.
You might think we don’t stay at home at all. My own father, who was killed at 28 and my step father who died of old age when he was just 71, both were truckers. It is possible that a bit of that rubbed off on me.
Our 3rd daughter lives in the Bay Area. We have spent several Thanksgivings with her and her family and this year we are doing it again.
We will drive, leaving here on Monday, but it is a 10 hour drive, one I would make before lunch a few years ago, but one I’d just as soon do on two days now.
We will take the teardrop trailer, the one I showed earlier. This is not really a camping trip, but we need to take the trailer so we can have our own bedroom. Dea’s house is somewhere between quite small and tiny, and there really isn’t comfortable room for more bodies.
So we take the tear, park it in her drive way, and it is pretty well hidden from view. Last year one of her neighbors commented to another neighbor that she guessed that Dea’s parents didn’t come, since she did not see their trailer.
The Bay Area will be mild temps, with highs in the 50’s and 60’s. But we go through Nevada, and the area where I want to stop will be cold. When we came through there last time, it was 6 degrees cold.
We went to bed in our clothes. Every part of that bed was cold, but we got it warmed up and we were fine. The tear is insulated and is wonderfully comfortable, once you get it warmed up. This time I’ll fire up the camp stove for a bit, heat some water for an old fashioned Hot Water Bottle.
That will be luxury. We will sleep well.
my friend don
I want you to meet a few of my friends.
If you have followed this blog at all, you know that I am an original character, a one off piece of work. Not evil, just a wee bit unusual.
So let me tell you a bit about my friend Don.
I’ve known Don for maybe 30 years. He is a good guy, who might drive you nuts on a bad day. Once I was visiting with his wife and I said that I have wanted to choke Don more than a few times since I met him.
“Get in line,” she replied. And we both laughed.
Don has not had good health for a long time. His ticker is suffering and he is showing the signs of a bit of bad genetics. He is in his mid 70’s, which also takes a toll.
When I meet Don, usually it is at church, I’ll shake his hand and ask: “Don, how are you?” And, do you know what, he will always give me the exact same answer: “Still room for improvement.”
“Don, I knew that, I want to know how you are!”
He is one of those lucky people that look pretty good even when he isn’t, and it is hard to really know how things are with him, so if I really want to know I ask his wife. Her name (honest injun here) is Donna. She will tell me all the details, even if he is standing right there.
Love them both. And yes, I suppose that goes for the rest of us: “Still room for improvement.”
It’s a good answer, actually.
If you have followed this blog at all, you know that I am an original character, a one off piece of work. Not evil, just a wee bit unusual.
So let me tell you a bit about my friend Don.
I’ve known Don for maybe 30 years. He is a good guy, who might drive you nuts on a bad day. Once I was visiting with his wife and I said that I have wanted to choke Don more than a few times since I met him.
“Get in line,” she replied. And we both laughed.
Don has not had good health for a long time. His ticker is suffering and he is showing the signs of a bit of bad genetics. He is in his mid 70’s, which also takes a toll.
When I meet Don, usually it is at church, I’ll shake his hand and ask: “Don, how are you?” And, do you know what, he will always give me the exact same answer: “Still room for improvement.”
“Don, I knew that, I want to know how you are!”
He is one of those lucky people that look pretty good even when he isn’t, and it is hard to really know how things are with him, so if I really want to know I ask his wife. Her name (honest injun here) is Donna. She will tell me all the details, even if he is standing right there.
Love them both. And yes, I suppose that goes for the rest of us: “Still room for improvement.”
It’s a good answer, actually.
Friday, November 16, 2007
diary
My mom was a world class diarist.
My father gave her one of these 5 year diaries, the kind that have a space about ¾” by 5” for each day. He gave it to her when she graduated from high school. She wrote in those diaries until the week she died 47 years later. She rarely missed a day.
You can’t write too much in that kind of space with a fountain pen. But she covered the important things in her life.
The day my dad goes to work in the morning and is killed before the end of the work day she covers the event carefully -- in one sentence.
She didn’t mean it was not important to her, or that she did not love my dad. There wasn’t room in the assigned space for a long discourse.
A week later she pours out her grief: “I am lonesome.”
I would have written a book of “woe is me” prose, but mom in her grieving covered it all in a few words.
As I look at it from this age, it seems so natural. She couldn't call her mom. Neither of them had phones. She couldn’t talk to me, I was 4. She had no neighbors in north Idaho, and few friends, none who were close.
Those gals were tough, my mom and her ilk. They put their lives back together and made the best of it.
Thanks mom. Even if you didn’t write as much as I might have liked, what you did write is so insightful.
Dad died in the fall of 1941, 66 years ago. I was 4, mom 24 and my sister a few months old. Dad was 28 when he died.
My father gave her one of these 5 year diaries, the kind that have a space about ¾” by 5” for each day. He gave it to her when she graduated from high school. She wrote in those diaries until the week she died 47 years later. She rarely missed a day.
You can’t write too much in that kind of space with a fountain pen. But she covered the important things in her life.
The day my dad goes to work in the morning and is killed before the end of the work day she covers the event carefully -- in one sentence.
She didn’t mean it was not important to her, or that she did not love my dad. There wasn’t room in the assigned space for a long discourse.
A week later she pours out her grief: “I am lonesome.”
I would have written a book of “woe is me” prose, but mom in her grieving covered it all in a few words.
As I look at it from this age, it seems so natural. She couldn't call her mom. Neither of them had phones. She couldn’t talk to me, I was 4. She had no neighbors in north Idaho, and few friends, none who were close.
Those gals were tough, my mom and her ilk. They put their lives back together and made the best of it.
Thanks mom. Even if you didn’t write as much as I might have liked, what you did write is so insightful.
Dad died in the fall of 1941, 66 years ago. I was 4, mom 24 and my sister a few months old. Dad was 28 when he died.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
to Stefania
Today was a sad day for all of us who love Stef (ilovenonna).
Her beloved Nonna passed on early this morning.
They were a doting grandmother and a beloved grand child. One of those long, superbly deep relationships. Naturally Stef is grieving.
To Stef: You are a great granddaughter, and a good friend. Nonna had every reason to be proud of you. We grieve with you. You have touched our lives in so many wonderful ways. Thank you and God bless you.
Her beloved Nonna passed on early this morning.
They were a doting grandmother and a beloved grand child. One of those long, superbly deep relationships. Naturally Stef is grieving.
To Stef: You are a great granddaughter, and a good friend. Nonna had every reason to be proud of you. We grieve with you. You have touched our lives in so many wonderful ways. Thank you and God bless you.
lawyer day
Today was lawyer day.
My daughters are sure that I need to have all the paper work in place, so in the wild case that I go first they would be able to seamlessly take over Miriam’s care. Not a bad idea, in the abstract.
So we contacted my favorite elder law lawyer. Two daughters came down and the three of met with lawyer Michelle. It went good. We decided I should go for custodianship of Miriam, as there were some advantages later.
So we did paper work. Miriam’s doctor Jocele did paper work, and today two lawyers, Michelle and another came and interviewed Miriam.
Frankly I was frightened by all of this. Miriam is very bright and the fact that she has Alzheimer's does not maker her a dolt. If she caught on what was going on, I was sure she would be furious.
So, I told her earlier that the meeting was about life insurance, which is pretty much right. This morning I told her to dress a bit better than every day, so she put her 2nd best pant suit on and looked good.
The lawyers arrived (in a very fine looking Audi coupe -- part of the fee, I guess), I primed them of my story and they came in the house. Miriam was talkative as ever. She repeated herself often enough so they were not going to question the doctor or me.
Finally, they ask her if it was OK with her if I (dave) took care of her legal matters for her. “I trust Dave. He will do the best for me.”
Wow, was all I could say (to myself). I will take good care of her, that is what you do for your favorite person, but it is so good to hear her agree that I can and should.
Thank you God.
My daughters are sure that I need to have all the paper work in place, so in the wild case that I go first they would be able to seamlessly take over Miriam’s care. Not a bad idea, in the abstract.
So we contacted my favorite elder law lawyer. Two daughters came down and the three of met with lawyer Michelle. It went good. We decided I should go for custodianship of Miriam, as there were some advantages later.
So we did paper work. Miriam’s doctor Jocele did paper work, and today two lawyers, Michelle and another came and interviewed Miriam.
Frankly I was frightened by all of this. Miriam is very bright and the fact that she has Alzheimer's does not maker her a dolt. If she caught on what was going on, I was sure she would be furious.
So, I told her earlier that the meeting was about life insurance, which is pretty much right. This morning I told her to dress a bit better than every day, so she put her 2nd best pant suit on and looked good.
The lawyers arrived (in a very fine looking Audi coupe -- part of the fee, I guess), I primed them of my story and they came in the house. Miriam was talkative as ever. She repeated herself often enough so they were not going to question the doctor or me.
Finally, they ask her if it was OK with her if I (dave) took care of her legal matters for her. “I trust Dave. He will do the best for me.”
Wow, was all I could say (to myself). I will take good care of her, that is what you do for your favorite person, but it is so good to hear her agree that I can and should.
Thank you God.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
home. . .
We are home.
Three daughters; 2 sons in law; 4 grandsons and 4 granddaughters, plus assorted cats and a big dog.
We drove almost a thousand miles in Miriam’s little blue car.
I know that area pretty well. We have driven that route many times, beginning when we were just married and Ike was the president. It is always beautiful, and we are always in a hurry, it seems.
Some parts more scenic than others. We took time to stop along the Columbia gorge, something we don’t often do. Usually we hurry right along with the big trucks from Texas and Florida.
Miriam keep chatting about Lewis and Clark and how wonderful the freeways are. She is right of course, they are great for getting from a to b, but you miss most of the really good stuff.
Once in a while, we all need to get out of the fast lane and take the back roads. It would be good for us. Miriam had a good time, no dust ups, just a good time for all. I am thankful.
And still, it is so good to be “home”. This is where I have lived for a very long time, so it is really imbedded in my brain.
Of course, I forgot to pay the water bill before we left, so the first trip was to city hall to make peace. Oh well.
It’s on now, the wood burning stove is doing it’s job and it is time for a shower before supper.
Three daughters; 2 sons in law; 4 grandsons and 4 granddaughters, plus assorted cats and a big dog.
We drove almost a thousand miles in Miriam’s little blue car.
I know that area pretty well. We have driven that route many times, beginning when we were just married and Ike was the president. It is always beautiful, and we are always in a hurry, it seems.
Some parts more scenic than others. We took time to stop along the Columbia gorge, something we don’t often do. Usually we hurry right along with the big trucks from Texas and Florida.
Miriam keep chatting about Lewis and Clark and how wonderful the freeways are. She is right of course, they are great for getting from a to b, but you miss most of the really good stuff.
Once in a while, we all need to get out of the fast lane and take the back roads. It would be good for us. Miriam had a good time, no dust ups, just a good time for all. I am thankful.
And still, it is so good to be “home”. This is where I have lived for a very long time, so it is really imbedded in my brain.
Of course, I forgot to pay the water bill before we left, so the first trip was to city hall to make peace. Oh well.
It’s on now, the wood burning stove is doing it’s job and it is time for a shower before supper.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Grrr
We traveled again today. Up the Columbia river, through the gorge. Some of the most beautiful scenery around.
We took the old road, he really scenic one for a long time stopping to take pictures here and there. And therein lies the conflict of the day.
When I was paid to do photographs I would change batteries each year, on the first day of the year. My trusty Leica’s didn’t use batteries except in the exposure meter.
My current camera, which carries a big time American name with an equal big time German name on the lens, but is all made in China, has two batteries.
The old one I had that was stolen had 4 batteries. Fine, but the new one has more bells, more monitors and more stuff, and half as many batteries.
So as I was merrily taking pictures, the lens retracted and it all shuts down. Just like that. I let it set a while and got another half dozen frames, but that was all. And, the gift shop at the fancy water falls, was “out” of double a batteries.
Of course they were.
We took the old road, he really scenic one for a long time stopping to take pictures here and there. And therein lies the conflict of the day.
When I was paid to do photographs I would change batteries each year, on the first day of the year. My trusty Leica’s didn’t use batteries except in the exposure meter.
My current camera, which carries a big time American name with an equal big time German name on the lens, but is all made in China, has two batteries.
The old one I had that was stolen had 4 batteries. Fine, but the new one has more bells, more monitors and more stuff, and half as many batteries.
So as I was merrily taking pictures, the lens retracted and it all shuts down. Just like that. I let it set a while and got another half dozen frames, but that was all. And, the gift shop at the fancy water falls, was “out” of double a batteries.
Of course they were.
Monday, November 12, 2007
red
Our first three daughters were blessed with wonderful red hair, even a bit brighter red than their mother.
The last was a brunette.
People would ask if she was ours!
She really and truly was ours and we have loved her (and her sisters) always.
The last was a brunette.
People would ask if she was ours!
She really and truly was ours and we have loved her (and her sisters) always.
still. . .
In the last while there has been a lot of talk on various forums about intimate relations between couples, one of which has AD. Most postings have been pretty negative.
In these posts men are often put down, sometimes quite badly
We have had a close marriage for a lot of years. We are close in every way you may choose to use that word. We hug, we cuddle, we hold hands and kiss a lot, even now. I want that part, all of those parts, to go as long as possible, including the most intimate ones.
That is some of the glue that has held us together for all these years. It is important for us keep bonded, in spite of this horrible disease.
I haven’t forced her, and I won’t, but I will love and hold and cuddle her as long as is possible.
She is my little red head, and I love her, still.
In these posts men are often put down, sometimes quite badly
We have had a close marriage for a lot of years. We are close in every way you may choose to use that word. We hug, we cuddle, we hold hands and kiss a lot, even now. I want that part, all of those parts, to go as long as possible, including the most intimate ones.
That is some of the glue that has held us together for all these years. It is important for us keep bonded, in spite of this horrible disease.
I haven’t forced her, and I won’t, but I will love and hold and cuddle her as long as is possible.
She is my little red head, and I love her, still.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
tired head
As this disease progresses, I am often slapped in the face by reality.
We have been watching a movie this after noon. It is a fairly complex movie, and one of my favorites in a dark somewhat evil way.
My dear Miriam has an increasingly difficult time following a simple movie or TV program. I spent a great deal of time explaining.
It is hard on my tired old head and heart.
We have been watching a movie this after noon. It is a fairly complex movie, and one of my favorites in a dark somewhat evil way.
My dear Miriam has an increasingly difficult time following a simple movie or TV program. I spent a great deal of time explaining.
It is hard on my tired old head and heart.
traveling
I like Oregon.
It is a good place, full of good people.
My home town is only 30 miles from the east side of Oregon. We breathe the same air, after all.
Miriam was born here in Oregon, about ½ way from here to home. The area where she was born has changed so much I have trouble knowing where I am when I visit.
Oregon is wonderfully progressive, Portland, where are now, is said to be the “greenest” city in America. We took our granddaughter to a teen party last night and, after dark, the streets were full of bicycle riders, going quietly on their way.
Today I bought gasoline for my little car, and was reminded of one of the wonderfully crazy parts of life in Oregon. Oregonians are not allowed to pump their own gas for their cars, it must be properly “installed” by qualified personnel.
It’s kind of crazy, but it works for them.
It is a good place, full of good people.
My home town is only 30 miles from the east side of Oregon. We breathe the same air, after all.
Miriam was born here in Oregon, about ½ way from here to home. The area where she was born has changed so much I have trouble knowing where I am when I visit.
Oregon is wonderfully progressive, Portland, where are now, is said to be the “greenest” city in America. We took our granddaughter to a teen party last night and, after dark, the streets were full of bicycle riders, going quietly on their way.
Today I bought gasoline for my little car, and was reminded of one of the wonderfully crazy parts of life in Oregon. Oregonians are not allowed to pump their own gas for their cars, it must be properly “installed” by qualified personnel.
It’s kind of crazy, but it works for them.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
"I . . . "
My step father had a hard time saying “I love you.”
Once, in his last days, Miriam sort of forced him to say: “Dave I love you.”
He was one of those “I tell you I love you by feeding you” kind of guys, You know the kind.
So, I suppose it was inevitable that I would either learn from him or take a whole different tack on life.
I choose the different direction. As a teen I decided no one around me would ever wonder if I loved them, if I did. In fact, I figured that if anything I might be accused of being too verbal with those three words.
So my daughters hear those words directed at them every time we meet or talk or do email. My sons in law have to put up with it too. “I love you Sid.” “I love you Curtis.” and being a modern family, we have had more sons-in-law than daughters!
My dear Miriam is the one who is lavished with “I love you.” I tell her at night when we roll over in bed, I hug her and tell her when we wake up and every chance I get all day.
“I am so glad I married you.” “You sure look nice today.”
With Alz living with us now the latter one gets a bit more tricky, as grooming skills deteriorate. I say it anyway. She will always be beautiful to me.
My motives are not totally selfless, I suppose. I know the time is coming when she will be harder to love, when, if we were starting over, it would not work, this romance thing. So I am working on my head in a tiny way.
When she looks good she deserves to hear it, and I need to have that idea soldered into my head a tiny bit more.
But, that is future stuff. For now it is easy to say it, and mean it.
“I love you, Miriam. I am so glad you are my wife and friend.”
Once, in his last days, Miriam sort of forced him to say: “Dave I love you.”
He was one of those “I tell you I love you by feeding you” kind of guys, You know the kind.
So, I suppose it was inevitable that I would either learn from him or take a whole different tack on life.
I choose the different direction. As a teen I decided no one around me would ever wonder if I loved them, if I did. In fact, I figured that if anything I might be accused of being too verbal with those three words.
So my daughters hear those words directed at them every time we meet or talk or do email. My sons in law have to put up with it too. “I love you Sid.” “I love you Curtis.” and being a modern family, we have had more sons-in-law than daughters!
My dear Miriam is the one who is lavished with “I love you.” I tell her at night when we roll over in bed, I hug her and tell her when we wake up and every chance I get all day.
“I am so glad I married you.” “You sure look nice today.”
With Alz living with us now the latter one gets a bit more tricky, as grooming skills deteriorate. I say it anyway. She will always be beautiful to me.
My motives are not totally selfless, I suppose. I know the time is coming when she will be harder to love, when, if we were starting over, it would not work, this romance thing. So I am working on my head in a tiny way.
When she looks good she deserves to hear it, and I need to have that idea soldered into my head a tiny bit more.
But, that is future stuff. For now it is easy to say it, and mean it.
“I love you, Miriam. I am so glad you are my wife and friend.”
who?
My mind is feverish with random orbital thoughts.
There may be a pattern, but. . . where?
We will adjust to what lies ahead.
That is the cowboy way.
Says who?
I don’t even know a real cowboy
There may be a pattern, but. . . where?
We will adjust to what lies ahead.
That is the cowboy way.
Says who?
I don’t even know a real cowboy
Friday, November 9, 2007
what if?
When we travel Miriam worries a lot about Lewis and Clark. Our trip along the Columbia was the same route they took a couple hundred years ago.
“What would they think about . . .” she asks.
It is my job to come up with the proper rejoinder.
And since we are traveling with our old friend Alz, the questions keep coming.
Still, she has a point.
What would my grandpa’s grandpa say as he traveled from Iowa to Walla Walla behind a team of horses, and later a team of oxen? We don’t have any idea of what he said, if there is a surviving journal, it didn’t make to my part of the family.
Miriam worries about that too: “What would your grandpa think if he showed up now and saw these roads,” or whatever.
It is a good question.
Grandpa made the trip from Iowa in 2 years, wintering over in Salt Lake City. There he traded his lame horses for a pair of slow oxen. On a good day he might make 15 or 20 miles, we do that much a few times an hour.
Distance is relevant. When we were 40 we did some long distance bicycle touring. We would travel in a day what you can do in a car in an hour. Still we went faster than grandpa’s oxen.
Miriam is right: “What would they think?
“What would they think about . . .” she asks.
It is my job to come up with the proper rejoinder.
And since we are traveling with our old friend Alz, the questions keep coming.
Still, she has a point.
What would my grandpa’s grandpa say as he traveled from Iowa to Walla Walla behind a team of horses, and later a team of oxen? We don’t have any idea of what he said, if there is a surviving journal, it didn’t make to my part of the family.
Miriam worries about that too: “What would your grandpa think if he showed up now and saw these roads,” or whatever.
It is a good question.
Grandpa made the trip from Iowa in 2 years, wintering over in Salt Lake City. There he traded his lame horses for a pair of slow oxen. On a good day he might make 15 or 20 miles, we do that much a few times an hour.
Distance is relevant. When we were 40 we did some long distance bicycle touring. We would travel in a day what you can do in a car in an hour. Still we went faster than grandpa’s oxen.
Miriam is right: “What would they think?
Yesterday we drove 210 miles from Walla Walla to Portland.
I’ve been making that run since the late 50’s. I’d fill my VW with gas for about $3 and drive. Shucks, a new VW sold for $1600 and change back then.
Louden, Touchet, Umatilla, Irrigon, Boardman. About Wallula Junction the mighty Columbia river shows to the right, not too far down from where it is joined by the Snake. The rest of the way to Portland the Columbia is there, with Washington State on the other shore. Both sides have busy railroad tracks and highways.
The interstate system was being built when I first started this trek. The new roads are faster, but the old road was a lot more interesting.
A few things are nearly the same, most are hugely different. There is a LOT more trucks on the road now, and more farms where there used to be desert, and the price of gas...
We had a good drive. Miriam enjoyed herself, so did Leo the italian Greyhound.
My friends who have experience with AD tell me to travel all we can (and can afford) and enjoy it as much as possible, for the time is coming when travel is not in the cards.
Every time she goes into the restroom at a rest area, I am a bit nervous, but so far she has done just fine.
But what will I do when she cannot be trusted alone? When she needs help one way or the other, will I stop traveling? In Oregon the sign says that I can take a handicapped person into a restroom of the opposite gender.
Hmm. There sure is no way that I am going in the women’s room!
I’ve been making that run since the late 50’s. I’d fill my VW with gas for about $3 and drive. Shucks, a new VW sold for $1600 and change back then.
Louden, Touchet, Umatilla, Irrigon, Boardman. About Wallula Junction the mighty Columbia river shows to the right, not too far down from where it is joined by the Snake. The rest of the way to Portland the Columbia is there, with Washington State on the other shore. Both sides have busy railroad tracks and highways.
The interstate system was being built when I first started this trek. The new roads are faster, but the old road was a lot more interesting.
A few things are nearly the same, most are hugely different. There is a LOT more trucks on the road now, and more farms where there used to be desert, and the price of gas...
We had a good drive. Miriam enjoyed herself, so did Leo the italian Greyhound.
My friends who have experience with AD tell me to travel all we can (and can afford) and enjoy it as much as possible, for the time is coming when travel is not in the cards.
Every time she goes into the restroom at a rest area, I am a bit nervous, but so far she has done just fine.
But what will I do when she cannot be trusted alone? When she needs help one way or the other, will I stop traveling? In Oregon the sign says that I can take a handicapped person into a restroom of the opposite gender.
Hmm. There sure is no way that I am going in the women’s room!
Thursday, November 8, 2007
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