Springtime skies clouds passing

Yesterday on my hour walk in the sunshine and icy wind, I watched the clouds form, move and pause. Often our skies are clear and cloudless but after an icy, wet, greary (my word for grey+ dreary) weekend the sunshine was welcome.    The waiting is over, Florence passed on Saturday April 13,afternoon about an hour after we left the nursing home.   Relief now because hers was the most miserable death I have ever witnessed although I know others depart worse off.  Jerry, while relieved too, deals with grief in his own way, he, the ever dutiful son  has done above and beyond and yet for some reason that it is finally over with Florence, his mother, circulates through his mind with odd reactions at times. Grief effects everyone differently,  I observe, listen say what I think prudent and let the rest go on by like the clouds in the skies.  

I wrote what I could for her obituary but could not bring myself to add flowery gushy sentiments that would not fit, so it  is simple, as are her arrangements, she will be cremated and ashes shipped to California where she will be buried in Riverside with  her 2nd husband, Lyman, father of the Larsons.  Ironically Lyman asked for cremation and she did not honor his wishes, sticking him in  a box in a grave then  being across the country she ends up cremated.  We could have arranged committal here in the cemetery where her sisters and parents reside, but she had reportedly made her wishes known to her daughter who agreed she would handle it after Jerry reminded her.  That was Florence's way tell someone but not everyone nor the one who had the task.  Make it a bit twisted.  

Jerry now has decided he will fly to California  for the committal service while I choose to not.  I feel a freedom that I have not had for so many years and will not allow disruption of my peace.  If I went to California all I would want to do is visit long time few friends who are there, and would not participate in the charades of fools.    I am done as only I can be done, fully, peacefully and completely.  Words from Joni Mitchell's song, "I've looked at clouds from both sides now......" seem appropriate.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bcrEqIpi6sg

 As a child I'd lay on the ground and watch the clouds in the sky, my granpap Teofil said "clouds don't have to tell you where they are going but sometimes they get loud and shake the skies..."  I memorized The Cloud written in 1820 by Percy Shelley (1792-1822) long  ago, in school days.  Today it fits  as an epitaph for Florence.   I share the first verse and a few lines from Shelley's poetic metaphor for the unending cycle of nature and shudder at the line, "I arise and unbuild it again."   We are released from her unbuilding things including her unbuilding of any semblance of family relationship.  She did not encourage togetherness amongst her children, preferring instead to be the one central hub and thereby  the three remaining are only children.  Everything was her secret to twist or gnaw on as she would, a rather desperate selfishness, no sharing communication, the few mutual celebrations were her 80th and 90th birthday parties that we planned and hosted and her younger son's wedding.  Unable to name her grandchildren and their descendants to the  great greats, because we do not know all their whereabouts nor last names, unwilling to delay this for tenable responses, I chose the adjective "numerous" and considered "scattered" for the obituary describing her survivors.    How different from my considerate relatives who had helped write their own obituaies years before they passed and who explicitly planned and specified their  funerals.  Not so with her, as Jerry said,  "nothing easy about her....."

Here it is  the first verse  from Shelley,  "The Cloud"  available on You tube for listening

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fsRyQQjeVg

" I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under,

And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder."

  And  from the  2nd verse describing  the weather we endured this weekend along with her passing...       I sift the snow on the mountains below,   And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 'tis my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast.......

I slightly ponder how this will perceive back over years.  But for now, forward, onward in life.  Whatever. 

They can turn on a dime

Watching and waiting and clearing things up continues.  How long will this continue , no one knows. I am writing this so that someday when her other relatives want to know something they can read my blog.  That assumes they really will be curious, doubtful, but never know. One niece (her  granddaughter) is in Japan and called to talk with Jerry and say "Thank you Uncle Jerry for all your years taking care of Grandma."  That meant a lot.   

Last week,  on Thursday, April 4th,  Jerry's mother, Florence aka MIL seemed to be rallying.  She was up in her wheelchair, ate a good breakfast, had therapy sessions, and was out in the  dining room, eating somewhat slowly (nothing new for her ) at the noontime meal.  She added an  extra sugar packet  to her strawberries and really poured the salt all over her food eliciting a comment from  Jerry who is another salter (is it genetic?) that  he had already  salted it for her.  She wanted no help eating, fed herself slowly as we sat and waited and watched, helped cut her food a chicken cordon bleu meal. Really everything looked delicious.   She ate nearly all her boiled redskin potatoes, half her roll,  a bit of chicken and all the strawberries, drank all her water and ignored her tea.  She adamantly refused the apple juice  proclaiming that she had read that  it is not good for you.  Her voice was low but she is only recently out of the woods off the Tramadol that had reacted so badly with her.  What's with that but we did not  question her , merely looked at each other, she is likely back to her normal self now or as normal as normal is for her. The aide who pushed her wheel chair into the dining room mentioned she was a bit peevish, he is new so we assured him "that is her normal attitude."  

 I snapped a couple photos from my phone when she was not looking at me, unaware they would become her last photos.  After her meal she returned to her room, and used the call button for assistance going to the bathroom.  This despite her disgust that we insisted on her doing so, "I can go to the bathroom" and Jerry responded that she could not move out of that chair with out help, reminding her she had broken her hip.  She could not retain that information at all.  She was in good spirits and joined the group for afternoon bingo in the hall, that was something she had not  done yet. She was tired and had to return to her room after a short time, but still,  good signs we thought. 

Friday, morning  April 5 she refused to eat breakfast and was hallucinating terribly and trembling just as she had on the  Tramadol causing us to wonder if someone at the SNF had screwed up and  mistakenly given her another dose.   I sent Jerry to ask immediately thinking I should have done so because  I get an immediate sense of  truth or not and the SNF staff pay more attention to me, they know me and word abounds about my prior professional background and connections. . The nurse said  definitely she  was off  it and had not been given any,  well then what is going on now?  She was not the same one day later.  We watched her almost violently  refuse her noontime meal that they brought to her room, waving her arms, shouting almost, "I don't want to eat. I am not hungry."  She was so agitated that we summoned a nurse who attributed the behavior to her  oxygen level  so she immediately inserted the oxygen tubes and called an aide to help get her to bed.  Florence continued to ramble loudly on and on but finally we did get her somewhat calmed, whew  hours later. 

No sooner had we walked out into the hallway to leave  than I spotted another elderly lady, Joann from the church, a friend to Florence although Florence has not remembered her for many months now.  "Oh please,"  I whispered, "not Joann now."  Joann is in her 80's, another shaky elderly, walks with a cane, has dementia and/or Alzheimer's diagnosis and is on Aricept, but still drives and still lives alone.  Long story short, I question her family's lack of  sense perhaps inability to face and argue with an old woman.  Too late as she looked into each room along the way, spotted me and made her way down the hall.  I asked if she was going to see Florence and sure enough she was.  We'd closed the door partially and I explained that Florence  was having a rough day and we had just gotten her settled and sleeping.  "Well I will just say hello,  I won't stay."   "No,  Joann you cannot go in now." "Oh won't she know me." "Joann I'm sorry but she is sleeping"  "Well I won't wake  her I will be quiet."  "No Joann, I am sorry but no".We tried to help escort her back down the hall when she spotted the room of someone else she knew and stopped in.  We left, because it had been an exhausting spell of hours again culminated with further exasperation.  

All weekend MIL continued to decline, refusing to eat, nothing but water as the oxygen dries her out.  Sunday the charge nurse wanted to send her to the hospital but we refused, what for? An ambulance ride for what?  Acute, skilled care no longer working it is time for palliative.  Her vitals remain good, but she is agitated and  moaning.  One very exceptional nurse, Kathy, who is on duty on weekends and who has 34 years SNF experience besides seeing her own father  decline and pass at 92 knows her  stuff and  got Florence to drink some Ensure.  I asked Kathy if she thought it time for hospice and she agreed, "why fight this?"  She noted and said they could request that  Monday along with sub lingual morphine, because  Tylenol was doing naught although MIL maintained she had no pain.   It was a long weekend and Florence remained in bed, moaning and jabbering.  By Monday they no longer got her up and dressed but she was more delirious.  Yes they had  contacted hospice but cautioned  this means she will be back on non covered room and board,  private pay, but we are thinking so what, use up what remains of her $$. And I well know Medicare would have dropped  their few days payment anytime now because she was not progressing in therapy or ADL (activities of daily living). She has been private pay anyway, what's new?  Monday the SNF got orders for Atavan and I was most skeptical of giving her that, I have seen it counter act badly in frail elderly, worst example the mother of a friend in PA.  I cautioned the SNF nurse about it  reminding her that Florence had reacted badly to the Tramadol but she said it was less than a half dosage.  I said we would stay to watch any effect, and luckily we did.  Within 15 minutes she was worse, more agitated, babbling constantly, incoherent,  and then thrashing about in bed.  I went immediately to the nurse and said "come see this."  To which she  said, "well give it time..."  NO  20 minutes more that's all. I was able to calm MIL a bit with cold wash cloths to her forehead which caused her to relax and close her eyes.  After an hour I again grabbed the nurse who was waiting for the orders on morphine.  "Waiting?  Well who must I call?"   Within 5 minutes we had a dose sub-lingual and although the jabbering continued, the thrashing stopped.  Her most common phrase repeated, "I don't know,"  but sometimes the comical "Bingo, bingo"  followed with a low chuckle.   She had complained that her back hurt so Marissa, a young concerned aide,   called another to help change her position.  That evening I returned to be sure all was being done right  and just in time to observe the night nurse give her evening morphine.  I verified that no Atavan was ordered.  

Tuesday, yesterday, she  was babbling less, but still some and recognized us.  We met with the hospice team and I felt like the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders.  Today Wednesday, April 10 she is bed bound but calm.  The hospice chaplain was with her as we came in, he said he had used her hymn book,  one I'd given her to use when she played the organ at the SNF in the back room, and that she had opened her eyes for some choruses.  I told him she knew those hymns by heart.  Sure enough he and I sang "it is well with my soul' and she opened her eyes.  We think she is off somewhere.  Little recognition, some coughing but when we tried to swab her mouth, she is no longer drinking water, she screeched. No one knows how long this will continue.  This is her 6th day without food and second sans water.  Such a slow, miserable way to die.  I am thankful my family went happily, peacefully and some without warning.  The weather turned wintry mix thunder, lightning and hail last night.  Surely the heavens are not pleased either.   

If it's not one thing it's your mother

December 13, Christmas Party
Florence looking at Santa's baby

So goes a pop culture quote that includes books, TV shows, magazine articles, t shirts, even Robin Williams' sayings and some reach back to Freud blaming it on your mother.  But that it has been the mother again here, a siege for us beginning with the phone call Sunday afternoon:  Jerry's 96 year old mother, Florence,  (aka MIL=mother in law) fell  in her room at the  skilled facility where she has resided for two years.  She has been  our responsibility since 1980 when her husband passed away and we acquired the task of looking out for and  putting up with the demands and annoyances of this dependent, manipulative woman as her other two younger children opt out.  Truth, Jerry's full sister, dead since 2004 but who was alive at the time would have stepped up but she had her own siege of medical and financial problems and was not really able to do much.  So it has been that we got the Old Maid.  At 96, you think there is not much  time left but they live long lives in her family and she is the last of the 5 sisters, the youngest, the baby and the less stable  mentally and the nastiest.  All this has been told before, our lives whirling along and finally we have had some degree of freedom with her in the nursing home.  We have been concerned about this potential, she had a walker to use for stability but with her dementia and  bull headedness she often neglects to use it in her room.  The orthopedic surgeon wondered if she had previously fallen.  How does anyone know, her hearing is almost non existant, she does not communicate, she attempts to be secretive, to hide things, much as the hoarding we cleared from her room.  That is another story we filled 4  big trash cans with old  napkins, boxes, paper plates, old newspapers, old church bulletins, envelopes, and the worst used disposable underwear.  The  facility staff try to not  intrude on a resident's privacy but after I discovered the garbage upon garbage, some other protocol must be followed. 

Who knows how it happened, they found her on the floor near her bed, and in pain.  She has a high pain threshold and an ability to ignore aches so when she complained, they knew it was serious.  An ambulance transport to emergency at the Gunderson hospital in La Crosse and ever since  4:00PM Sunday it has been a tilt a whirl; her partial hip replacement surgery at 11:00PM, being up out of bed Monday morning, standing yesterday and declared medically stable and dischargeable back to the SNF today.  Medically stable says nothing about mentally unstable and there's not much to be done about that.  She convinced the hospital attendants to call her son and when she got Jerry on the phone she was belligerent and demanded he come get her.  We requested they not connect a phone, but they try to do what a patient wants or what makes their life easier.  I wish her daughter had interest and would come and sit at the facility, taking care and be pushed to  frustration but that is not going to happen and so we make do.  I watch my own tongue and attitude because I do not want to be mean to an old lady, someday I'll be old too, but what a predicament.  Long discussions with the therapists and nurses at the home this morning about protocols and a new level of care for her. Will she comply, will she attempt to do something she should not and reinjure herself, what next?  All questions to be answered as we look toward Easter.    I'll not be Easter decorating this year, too much else to deal with.  

Full healing may take 6 months.  This is a time of instability when anything can happen.  A cousin reminded me that Aunt Berniece died of complications from a broken hip, but Florence has a strong heart and  body in ways unbelievable for a 96 year old.  Many  nurses marveled at how good she looks for 96 and then they marveled at how nasty she could be,  how she could be foul in disposition and demeaning, I am not surprised.  We hope progress continues.  Such is life.  

Friends are the family we choose

A good blog  friend sent us the most lovely Christmas card, Bea,  yes you did, with a wonderful photo of a cardinal on a snowy branch. with handwritten lines, "friends are the family we choose."  So very true.   Here we are two empty nesters anticipating  more of the care free life and at a time when we  should be free of responsibilities tying us down.     I miss my old folks, or maybe it's that now I am the oldest survivor,  the family historian.  For whoever cares.  That's the point, hardly anyone does care. We have been thinking more and more about things in general this year and how to begin to really live our lives as we choose, not by obligations dictated by the needs of others.   Tomorrow is promised to no one. Good friends recently reminded us of that; another good friend  has suffered strokes and is now debilitated.  We have been blessed with good health.    



December  2012 Florence right seated, blue and gray
 in the SNF with Santa, the annual Christmas party.
For someone who will be 96 in January, not bad.  

 Our retirement move here from CA was to provide a better quality of  life for ourselves. However we had another problem, that remains with us, MIL,  who continues going rather strong physically just as she continues further along the dementia road at almost 96 .  Wherever we moved we had to bring her along and  at the time she still had a sister, aunt Marie living here so she was amenable to return  home to MN.

Florence in the middle uprooting  Jerry and his sister,  Dianne
from MN  for CA 1950

Jerry is a saint he deals with everything without any assistance only from me,  although he has two siblings, neither of whom are involved and neither of whom would be even if they lived closer.  In 1950, shortly after the sudden death of her mother and despite advice and pleadings to not do so, MIL  left MN with Jerry and his sister for CA , to  marry Lyman.   Jerry left CA  returning  to MN alone to live with his grandfather and then enlisted in the Air force at 17, stretching his age to enlist. After Lyman died in 1990, MIL became Jerry's responsibility. She has been one of those women having to be cared for, looked after by someone else all her life and it has worked for her.

Florence and Lyman their 25th anniversary in CA

My career in long term care along with my family gave me an abundance of expertise and experience yet it is tiresome.  Jerry's  full sister has been dead for several years but the other two, his halves, the  younger Larson children,  roll along merrily without any responsibility for their mother. I suspect if they think of anything, could be that they will not inherit the $$ they thought they would; it is being paid to the SNF which has enhanced our lives. Still it is the  overseeing, frequent check in visits, follow ups with medical issues, appointments, my doing laundry, keeping her in clothes, buying, and on it goes.  We have more freedom to travel today yet hesitated to plan too far ahead, the back of our minds nag,  "what if...."   It makes me laugh out loud when some of the "family" say that they would like to come to see her, but then they never give up any part of their lives or plans and so they merely chatter along.  So many excuses.

But slowly we are working through this trial just as  we have others in our lives. Today we booked a 20 day land tour and cruise package to Alaska for August 2013 John Hall's Alaska, the Klondike, the works.  It is expensive, but we are also looking forward to spending our  hard saved money while we can.  Here is the link to the tour package by a local MN company out of Lake City.  They will even babysit our car and take us to and from Minneapolis for the  connecting flight.  http://www.kissalaska.com/   Destined to become good friends,  that's what happens when you lack family, you choose friends. 

Our own plans are going to take first place, if we do not do this for ourselves,  there is no one else who will.  Besides all that, we deserve it in spades. It's a new attitude.  Make way for us.  This is our time of life,  our friends have assured us of this repeatedly.

Sepia Saturday 93 sleepers

I've been really attempting to get the extra room uncluttered from all the stacks of photos and memorabilia this week and what I happened on fits right in with the theme--I love it when a theme comes together!  Actually if I  spent more time rummaging photos I am sure I could have found even more Sleepers. And this has also distracted me from another task paper work on financials, but I am willingly ignoring that.  Not a pleasant task these days.  

First I begin  January 1, 1943, Springfield IL, my father, Lt. Lewis S Ball,  pilot, sound asleep on his US Army cot, sleeping bag  pulled snug, with Mom's photo on top;  one of the guys grabbed his camera and took this.  I still have that 8 x 10  photo of her today, it survived through the years and is a beautiful Sepia itself.  I also have the gold and amethyst necklace that she is wearing in the photo, a gift from him to her, her birthstone and just as beautiful today as it was then, so many years later.  This photo is   in his scrapbook but I scanned it for this post. This is my oldest sleeper photo.


Next forward to 1969 and my uncle John Irwin, asleep on the couch, in exile from the bedroom,  in Pennsylvania.  I don't know the particulars but my aunt Virginia likely snapped this Polaroid of her  wayward husband to preserve the memory. On the back side she wrote, "John  being punished." He doesn't appear to be bothered by much here.  Perhaps he'd imbibed a few too many,  perhaps there were too many words exchanged, never the less it does not appear to be interrupting his sleep. 

Now to the right is a 1980 pose captured by my Uncle Carl of "Joe" one of his friends on one of their many hunting trips, where the men gathered in a cabin at the end of the day.  I don't know  who this fellow is, but Uncle Carl was quite the photographer of their events and so he is in the cyber world for all to see.  I was sorting photos this week and found this and when Alan put the Sleepers as the theme for the week, I knew I was in business.   Was this the end of a long day in the woods?  Too much to eat at the evening meal?  You can speculate with me.  

1984, to the left here are my in laws about whom I have recently blogged--that is Lyman to the left and Florence to the right.  They have made themselves  at home and comfortable in our living room in Newcastle, CA.  As I have mentioned before,  our home was their vacation site.  I suppose it was a compliment that they felt so "at home there" but I often wondered why they did not stay with their daughter, Barbara who lived 30 minutes away.  As I recall this particular day, I arrived  home from work  and there they were, awaiting when I would prepare the meal for everyone.  The newspaper on the table has a headline, something about "retirement." 

Well the photo to the right is 1986, Jerry's cousin, Milo (actually  his cousin's husband) who was catching up on some rest after a rough day at the work for the city on its maintenance  crew.  We were back in  La Crescent on  a trip we took across the country from  California to Minnesota, to Pennsylvania and then swinging back westward through the south.  So we stopped at Milo and Jeanette's.  We had come in from visiting, camera in hand and got this pose. These days, Milo does sleep a lot in his recliner, he has aged and tends to nap away the afternoons.  It is not the same as Jeanette passed away years ago, and although he has a live in companion, he misses her as do we.

1989 another one to the left,  from Uncle Carl's photos.  This man is Fred Hemming and he was in the Army, 809th Tank Destroyers in WWII with Uncle Carl.  Each year the men and families gathered to reminisce and usually to tour some site.  This time they were in Altoona, PA, I believe which meant that Uncle Carl and Aunt Marge had likely made arrangements for the group.  As we have seen, no one was safe when Carl, the photographer was around.  



For my finale I could not resist this one, also from Uncle Carl's collection.  This is Punkin, his last pet and beloved "pal."  After Aunt Marge passed in 1997 Punkin and Carl went everywhere together.  He  had many photos of Punkin.  I have to say, I have shared an array of sleepers and to end this post, let sleeping dogs lie.  (Groan.....)

1988 Punkin

As usual, click on the title to get to the Sepia host site and see what others are sharing this week.

Applefest Parade 2011 more MIL saga

This was the 65th year for the local Apple Fest in La Crescent, a tradition established way back when there were  apple orchards all over the hillsides and this tiny town of 5000 was even smaller, without any thought of expanding. In it's early years there was always a prgram with recipes and information about La Crescent.  Today most of the information is sponsored about town by the Chamber of Commerce and a group of local volunteers, The Applefest Board, so designated by themselves.   Here is a page from the 1954 program:

1961 Program cover

These days there is no published program.  The carnival comes to town, there is a craft  show of sorts and a flea market of sorts, and old cars come out on display, and the finale on Sunday is a parade.  Despite our visits here when we lived in California and being citizens of the town for the past six years, (Six, OMG,how time flies...) I had never gone to the Sunday Applefest parade.  Sometimes the rain kept me away, sometimes we were traveling, and there are any other myriad excuses or lack of interest, not being a native Crescenite.  It became part of my mystique to state, "I've never been to an Applefest parade." Rather odd because when we travel around the country if there is a local parade, we generally attend. More so odd because I do love a parade!

You know that  Jerry's mother is 94 and  for the past year has resided in the Golden Living Center (skilled facility) here in town.  You also likely know that life has not been easy having to look out for the old lady, to put it nicely.  Her other  two living "children" her daughter  in Colorado and son in California and have not visited her, but what else is new?  In 1990, twenty one years ago now, after the death of Lyman, her second husband and  father of the other two siblings, we became the "chosen" or drew the short straw to look over and after her. This is a twist of life in itself as she did limited to naught in raising or mothering Jerry, her eldest and first born.  He and his deceased sister, Diane, were from  her first husband, Diz; that marriage lasted briefly, through the birth of Dianne following which Florence moved back to the family  farm with Mom and Dad who  raised the two kids while she "worked" and played. Part of the time was interrupted by her commitment into a state  mental institution by  her sister.  I can't help but believe she should have been medicated most of her life and not let loose. 




1950 Dianne, Florence, Jerry leaving La Crescent

  Immediately following her mother's death in 1950 she departed La Crescent to the consternation of the family and against all sound advice, dragging her two kids along to Las Vegas, where Lyman who would become her second husband and father of the other two would come from California to  meet them and they would be married.  On a desert highway, she nearly killed herself and the kids enroute and turned the wheel over  to Jerry, age 13,  to drive the rest of the way into Las Vegas while she fretted her misjudgement.  All this so  she would  have a man (Lyman)  to take care of her, the two kids be damned.  It is quite a tale of a person who did what she wanted without regard for others; it is a tale comparable to that told in  "Prince of Tides" and would consume pages of words to lightly  describe, some of which I've shared.  

But here we are today still responsible for her although the burden is decreased with her being in 24 hour care. Taking a look at her today people might think, "what a sweet old woman."  Those people would be very wrong.  So we go along with our lives and try not to be drawn into her cantankerousness and nonsense.  Jerry says, "she does not get to rule nor ruin us."

Jerry and I have said, "If she could be 1/4th as agreeable, and content as Carl was" in reference to my 93 year old uncle who passed in May in PA.  But Florence is not Carl, neither is she content,.  I am  convinced, personalities really do not change later in life, that as an elderly friend told me years ago, "People just become more of who they are."  So today with her enhanced dementia she is more Florence, although she is still quite mobile with use of a walker, and has no  chronic illnesses, she is more miserable and more unhappy and bound to maintain her family at ends with each other.  She has been most successful at the latter, which has been  something I have never understood.  But she always wanted to be the center, the manipulator, the one in control though in truth she led a life of being controlled. Lyman actually maintained her in a delayed state of adolescence taking her here and there, to the grocery store, telling her what she could and could not do, and so on, their life suited them, I suppose.  Right before his death  on one of their visits to our home, where they felt free to come unannounced, Lyman apologized to Jerry and warned him that he would have his hands full with his mother in years to come, that the others would not participate and that it would fall to us.  Over our married years, everytime I think we have made in roads in building a semblance of cordial family with these people, I am proven wrong. I no longer try.


Florence never drove again after the 1950 escape.  But today, her legacy there is little of  sibling relationship between Jerry and the other two; Diane died in  2004.   Barbara, the sister in Colorado,  is the spitting image of Florence in facial features and in personality, given to self centeredness, secrets and moodiness, two failed marriages and now in a relationship, busy with her own life.  Rodney, the little brother in California, has managed to escape the tentacles of  Florence and her mental legacy and is about living a decent life with his family.  He recognizes his mother's mental short comings and expects naught and is master at ignoring and avoiding. Actually both sons, Jerry and Rodney,  have adapted the tactics of  ignoring or letting it not phase them.  We keep in touch at times by email and the like.

But back to Applefest 2011. Each year, staff  at the Golden Living Center pick two residents to  be their royalty in the parade and to be honored at the senior luncheon.  Bingo, you guessed it, Florence was chosen as a Golden Apple.  Well meaning  intentions were that she would be pleased, which she was off and on, but being herself she had to complain to elicit more attention and to be constantly assuaged. She would complain how she is not social, like her sisters were, and that is true, partly because she cannot hear in  normal conversations and partly because she lives inside her own thoughts and  years back from the present.  She and Frank, a male resident who is a long timer from the area were chosen to ride in the horse drawn carriage and to attend the senior luncheon donning royal capes.  to the right is the newspaper photo, which she collected  from everyone who had a paper to send  to all Diane's survivors in Southern California.  That's a side of the family we have no contact with and that is just fine.       Somewhere in her demented head she has assumed herself as the mother figure to Diane's prodigy, most of whom have lived the drugged life and on  the ragged side, in and out of prisons, you name it they have done it.  

End of long post, this year we were both compelled as duty called to go to the parade and take some photos of the Golden Apples.  These photos  we have shared online with our side--Allen, Angel and grand kids, and with Rodney.  Barbara who has not spoken with us in over a year now  either has chosen to keep her email a secret or only uses her work computer. I do not develop photos so anyone not online loses.  The rains came but the carriage for the two  Golden Apples was early on in the parade following the young  queen and her court and others, so they did not get wet, as at the end of the parade they were whisked back to the facility.

Frank and Florence, the two Golden Apples

The pesky autumn gnats that arrive here were out in full force Sunday and I spent a great deal of time swatting them away from my face.  They seem to be drawn to me like a magnet.

Golden Apple Carriage.  The boy along the side was
refilling  his candy bucket to throw to spectator children along the route.

Following the carriage, the Lancers, our
High School Marching band



More of our Lancer's High School Marchng Band



The young royalty escorted by Applefest Board

Apple Annies, local singing group

Last but not least, in case you think I exaggerate to have a tale to tell, how about this 

There were about 70 more entries, and community people who participate in the parade, but we took few more pictures and did not stay as the rains began and we departed for home.  MIL just called on the phone and despite claiming to not be interested, was angry that no photo showed of her in today's newspaper, after the Applefest.  I tried to tell her it is for the young people, who were featured at the carnival and around town.  She replied, "It's a big joke!  That's what I think."  Now she is convinced in her mind that they did this just to ignore and slight her, ahh go figure.    It's all supposed to be  about her!

Sepia Saturday 91 Hidden stories in photos (Click here to go to the Sepia site)

While my photo this week may appear to be one of folks merely enjoying travel, standing or admiring scenery, there is a story  behind the faces, an unsuspected tale of secrets, jealousies, pettiness and revenge amidst the  unsuspecting.  These two photos are not that old, certainly not Sepia quality, taken in  June,1980 the year we drove to Minnesota from California to attend an aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary.  With  the three of us, we took Jerry's mother (MIL) Florence and her husband, Jerry's  stepfather and (FIL), Lyman Larson.  It was her eldest sister's Golden anniversary and they could not have gone otherwise; so as a dutiful son, Jerry with my agreement, he says at my urging, invited them to come along.

It amazes me to look back to those years when we 5  grown people Jerry, Steve who was 16, myself and the two inlaws all traveled in our  cab over camper truck the entire  approximately 1800 miles, one way.  Today, Jerry & I have another new  luxurious 40  foot motor coach, with slide outs for travels, our retirement house on wheels.  But back in 1980 we thought we were right uptown with the camper.  There is no way I would squeeze into any such accommodations today to travel and certainly  not with four others, but back then we did.  Steve rode mostly in the back except when he shared in the driving.  We had  4 drivers, Jerry, Lyman who drove bus in Los Angeles, myself and Steve, so  we planned to  drive right along through the night, alternating drivers, stopping only for gas and making the  journey in two days. 
 


Arrival in  Minnesota, left to right
Lyman, Jerry and Florence

 By the time we arrived in Minnesotta about 70 miles from our destination, Jerry, Steve and I  knew we were  down to three drivers, but we kept that secret.  Lyman, though well intended had started to doze off on his driving shift, which Steve and Jerry both noticed from their seats in the cab; the agreement was that at night  another person would stay awake with the driver, so while Jerry tried to merely rest his eyes, Steve was wide awake.   I was snoozing in the back of the camper with  MIL.  Steve made Grandpa pull over at the next stopping place and took a shift, while Grandpa Lyman was shifted to the back to bed, and I staggered to the front cab to snooze.   This photo shows Jerry with coffee cup in hand after pulling the longest shifts driving, insisting that he was not in the least tired so that Lyman would not feel it necessary to  help drive.   If Lyman ever realized that he had been permanently relieved of driving, we never knew.  Jerry just said, he could drive and did so with infrequent help from us two.  

Our return trip involved sightseeing stops and overnight rests at motels; we were not in such a hurry to return home and Lyman had wanted to see some of Yellowstone and other sights.  He was enjoying not having to drive for once in his life and maybe a rare if not the only trip where he could just sight see.  We returned through  the Black Hills of South Dakota, the badlands, and Yellowstone.  We have many pictures of this trip, but the following photo is one that sticks out for Jerry and me after something I  read early this year, 31 years later.  Lyman died in 1990 but Jerry's mother, Florence is still alive at 95, in the local nursing home with dementia but physically pretty good. 

1980 at Yellowstone   Lyman, Jerry, Florence

You can see in this photo that Lyman is enjoying the sights; this was just one of our stops in Yellowstone.  I recall when I took this photo that Lyman had mentioned to be sure to get copies of the pictures for him when we developed these because he had lost his camera somewhere on our trip, or so we all thought; we had even back tracked when he discovered it missing.  It was filled with memories and photos he had taken on the trip, relatives, the family gatherings and now the sights, well the sights until the camera disappeared. It was kind of unusual for him to take so many photos but this was a different trip for him and one he wanted to remember.  Generally all the trips to Minnesota were he and Florence and while they were younger their daughter and son.  Lyman was so very upset but said at least he was seeing the sights and that was worth it and if we shared photos it would be all the same to him.  Florence standing there with her coat collar covering her mouth to shield the smell of the sulfur from the hot spring behind, Dragon's Mouth. Later when Lyman saw this photo he teased about having the Dragon Mouth out there with us, referring to Florence.

Here is where appearances are most deceiving and most unrevealing.  Florence had been in some sort of snit after we left Minnesota, none of us knew why, but she made it her mission to make sure everyone became miserable.  When her misery was not shared by the rest of us,  she declared herself ill and demanded that we get her home to California  quickly.  Jerry vehemently told her that we were going to see some things as planned and that we could stop at a local emergency room to determine what was wrong with her.  Suddenly she was no longer ill.  We never knew what had set her off, but went along our way and did tour Yellowstone, enjoying its wonderful sights. 

Flash forward to 2011, when early in the year I was browsing through some of Florence's writings in the calendar/journals she kept, before we tossed them. There it was 1980, June and so I thought maybe she had some reflections about the trip.  She had written very little about  her sister's Golden wedding anniversary and other visits.  But, she bitterly wrote how she did not want to leave Minnesota to just drive and see sights as Lyman and Jerry planned.  This was not a surprising statement because she is a very self centered person, quite selfish at times, has been all through her life.  Jerry recalled many bad decisions she made, over the years always thinking of herself and her needs.  But then, reading the remarks she made along the journey home, came the revelation of how twisted and evil this woman could be.  

It was in the South Dakota Badlands when Jerry, Steve, Lyman and I left the camper to walk along an area and just observe the vultures circling.  Florence intended to suffer and had been saying very little, but said she did not want to see the dirty birds or the hills.  So we all left her in the camper at  the parking lot.  And she wrote...."..Well I tossed his damn camera in the trash and I covered it up so they could not see it.  While they walked along I saw to it that he would not have any pictures......"  Although nothing really surprises me about MIL at this point, I was astonished and called Jerry to read it himself.  He too was astonished and commented something like, "Well that old witch did it, that's what happened to Lyman's camera!" 

She never said a word when the four of us searched and backtracked several miles looking in vain for that camera.  Yet she very well knew what she had done.  Why?  Who knows?  Jerry said, that explained her "tantrum" along the trip, not getting things her way.  And yet, he admitted over a lifetime now he can look back and see how she was manipulative and vengeful. I consider it downright mean.  So today when people may think, what a sweet old lady, we know differently for many reasons, one being the missing camera.  While we wondered if she ever told Lyman what she did, we think not.  That is the story hidden behind this photo.  We will never look at it the same way again.

As always, click on the title to this post to go over to the Sepia site and see others' photos and tales.