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.

Joshua 15

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?

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.

Griffy found a chair

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.

dave & linda (#4) c1969

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.