A sort of on the ball shrink would observe that I seem to be drawn to photograph old non working things.

"What would you say about that Dave?" She might ask.

I would be speechless!

certain uncertainty

“There seems to be a lot of uncertainty in your life,” my sister observed.

Yea, I guess there is.

AD is an uncertain disease. It might go fast it might go slow it might be ugly it might not, but it is uncertain.

We lived comfortable in the bus last winter, except that that all aluminum bus was cold and in order to get it to comfortable temps (wearing a sweater or two), the power bill was off the charts.

What will we do next summer? Don’t know yet. We might do this and we might do that and we might not, but we won’t “live” in the bus another winter. We might sleep in it, but since we seem to have very different sleep schedules, Miriam and I, that is doubtful too.

We have a house 250 miles from where we “live.” Not a good time to sell a house, and this one has it’s own selling challenges. What is good for the goose may not be good for Bank of America.

Someone said that all that is certain is death and taxes. I would amend that.”What is certain is uncertainty, and death and taxes.”

But we go on, because that is what we do.

I am heading back to Idaho this week.

There is work to do on the house.

The new owner of the garden space does not want the drip system or the raised beds, so I am dismantling all of that and bringing it back with me.

Then next weekend is the 57th anniversary of my graduation from High School, and it is home coming weekend at the school.

Miriam will stay with daughter.

Granddaughter Brianna is going to stay another month in Albania. She is being useful, she is well taken care of and is safe, and why not? Good for her.

I've been showing a lot more old barn wood than I should, I think, but these photographs remind me that some of us are close to this old barn wood than we might think or wish: somewhat decorative, but not too useful.

Why do some of us become so incredibly difficult as we get older and others stay sweet and lovable?

I am just a zillion times thankful that Miriam falls mostly in the last category. I hope I can follow her example.

the end

The inevitable is, ahh inevitable.

Until someone comes up with another way to end this journey (christian or otherwise), we are all going to die one day. Some of us are further on the scale than others, but none of us know when our string is up.

In my family, my birth father died of an accident at 28. My mother of cancer at 65. Mom’s father made it to 98. I am closer to 98 than 28, but that does not mean I’ll live past next week. It’s a cruel calculus.

Yet it seems like there might be some dignity that goes with this death thing.

We have a member of the big family who is pushing the middle 90’s. He has been in good health most of his life, but this is getting near the end. He is demanding and he is ornery. His wife does not want him coming home from the hospital because she is sure she cannot handle him. His string is running out, but he puts up a monstrously spendy fight.

I am not sure how I will handle all of that when my time comes, but thoughts go through my head. Are we who call ourselves Christian really content with the faith and promises we claim to have? Why else would we fight this death thing so vehemently?

My sister sent me a URL for a piece about how Doctors die. They spend their career pretty close to death and their perspective is a bit closer than the rest of us, it seems. The author of this piece talks about several MD’s who were told they had a short time to live. They closed their practice, went home and spent their last days among family and friends and refused many spendy but usually futile therapies.

These people know the odds better than the rest of us perhaps. When a 90 year old is confined to bed and is incontinent it is a wild dream to think they will “heal” someway and "get well," with or without prayer and modern medicine.

One of my favorite uncles was told by his doctor that he needed bypass surgery. Unc was 85 at the time. So he did what the doc ordered. Then he spent the next and last 10 months of his life in hell, mostly living in the hospital often in ICU.

Had he gone home and refused the surgery, he still would have died, maybe he wouldn’t have lived a week longer, or shorter than he did, but he would have been in his house among family who loved and cared and certainly he would have been in less pain.

And, we have not even mentioned the cost to the system for that last 10 months of his life. The number would be totally staggering.

So, don’t break my ribs to resuscitate me. Don’t give me therapies that can be ugly, maybe even as ugly as the disease. Please hold my hand because when that time comes I promise you I will be terrified.