East of the Mountains by David Guterson
I tortured myself months back trying to read this book which I picked up somewhere, enticed that it was a hardback and even autographed by the author. That's most of the positive in it. It proves that an author who writes one good book may not do so again. I loved his "Snow Falling on Cedars", but this "East of the Mts." does not make the cut.
I struggled through page 230 of its 276 pages before shoving it onto the floor near my night time reading chair months back. I found it yesterday while vacuuming. Maybe it's a man's book written by one for them? The story line sounded interesting. Presented as a narration by Ben Givens, retired heart surgeon, new widower, who learns he has terminal colon cancer. Ben takes off into the Columbia Basin of central Washington state to avoid suffering further from the cancer and end his life. Well it doesn't happen. His trials and encounters on this journey were just bizarre and tortuous. He has flash backs to his military service days as well. I found it boring. Too boring to remember.
Some decent writing in this tale of woe. A reference to the heart...page203, .."in knowing the heart in this cold way, he had lost all innocence about it. It was not that he didn't believe in love, but first he was a scientist, a physician, and a man of reason. He'd manipulated the hearts of human beings and he thought he understood that when we speak of love, we speak of something transitory, something gone when we go. The heart for Ben was tangible, and nothing tangible remains."
This reference to sadness on page 206, "He felt removed from the world. Suffering suffused everything." Well I've felt sadness certainly the past year. But this book was a drag. Disappointment was what I felt reading this first edition, autographed by the author and published in 1999. It will be donated to our library book shelf or sale.
I created this blog to record our RV trips and ;morphed into life in our retirement lane and telling my tales of life. Now my tales of life are on widowhood, my new and probably my last phase of l I have migrated to Facebook where I communicate daily, instantly with family/friends all over. I write here sometimes. COPYWRIGHT NOTICE: All photos, stories, writings on this blog are the property of myself, Patricia Morrison and may not be used, copied, without my permission most often freely given.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Compare the baby pics
 |
| My baby picture |
Received an email last month from my cousin Carol who snapped a photo of the photo that hangs in her home of my dad as a baby with his oldest brother, Eddie, who was her dad.
I just love how cherubic they both look.
If my dad is about 1 year old in this the photo must have been taken about 1923. I just posted it onto Facebook and then the thought came, all my life I've been told that I look like my dad. So here I compare a baby picture of mine (Sepia pink) with his. I am not a year old in my photo, only many months or a few, but the face and the eyes. Oh yes.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Bars in MN
Sometimes I think I am a stranger in a strange land living here in MN. Last night a friend from church called and asked me to make some bars for a funeral service at our church on Friday.
This makes me laugh out loud and she wonders what's funny. Well, I am a great cook and baker, but bars?! I'd never heard of bars until I moved here. When these women, many of whom are tea totalers started taking about bars I could not figure it out. To me "bars" are a place where they serve adult beverages. But no, here it is a type of cookie , baked in a pan, that can be cut and eaten with fingers. I told her that is one thing I have not the slightest clue how to make. I confessed that I never heard of bars anyplace else in my life until arriving here--not in PA and certainly not all my life in CA. I would be happy to make cookies or a cake, but she says no, they requested bars. She being a life long Minnesotan, in her 70's and hardly ever venturing outside the state cannot believe others don't know about bars.
Well, who am I to complain? I got out of a task by explaining I don't know how to make these things. She asks if I never made rice krispy bars and I say, "no, we made those in mounds or balls." I do make lovely scrumptious Vienna Bars, but they have a meringue topping and are not eaten with fingers but are enjoyed on a plate with a fork.
Perhaps I am just totally undomesticated? Throughout my career years I might occasionally bake something, cookies or a cake or even cup cakes, but most often I'd contract through a local bakery. Everyone was just as happy. Especially me when time was more important to me than the minor cost of buying from the bakery.
This causes me to laugh about something else--I don't know when I joined the list of the funeral ladies? That's the women who make things for the funeral lunches at our church. After all, I am hardly part of their in crowd, being a transplant and all. I'm not invited to their ladies long established circle groups and mostly I avoid their coffee cliques after early service. Yet I have been asked to contribute to funerals. I guess one does not have to be lifelong local to do that. Sometimes I haven't a clue who's died. Other times I've not been in town or not reachable when they call to solicit. Since they can't wait to catch up with me to enlist my skills I usually avoid the duty. So once again I have escaped funeral duty. Only this time it's thanks to the bars.
That's a good thing now because I can barely keep up with my gardening, blog, facebook and readings and don't need to master the making of bars. :)
PS: Sunday's paper, June 14 had a page of bar recipes. How coincidental?
This makes me laugh out loud and she wonders what's funny. Well, I am a great cook and baker, but bars?! I'd never heard of bars until I moved here. When these women, many of whom are tea totalers started taking about bars I could not figure it out. To me "bars" are a place where they serve adult beverages. But no, here it is a type of cookie , baked in a pan, that can be cut and eaten with fingers. I told her that is one thing I have not the slightest clue how to make. I confessed that I never heard of bars anyplace else in my life until arriving here--not in PA and certainly not all my life in CA. I would be happy to make cookies or a cake, but she says no, they requested bars. She being a life long Minnesotan, in her 70's and hardly ever venturing outside the state cannot believe others don't know about bars.
Well, who am I to complain? I got out of a task by explaining I don't know how to make these things. She asks if I never made rice krispy bars and I say, "no, we made those in mounds or balls." I do make lovely scrumptious Vienna Bars, but they have a meringue topping and are not eaten with fingers but are enjoyed on a plate with a fork.
Perhaps I am just totally undomesticated? Throughout my career years I might occasionally bake something, cookies or a cake or even cup cakes, but most often I'd contract through a local bakery. Everyone was just as happy. Especially me when time was more important to me than the minor cost of buying from the bakery.
This causes me to laugh about something else--I don't know when I joined the list of the funeral ladies? That's the women who make things for the funeral lunches at our church. After all, I am hardly part of their in crowd, being a transplant and all. I'm not invited to their ladies long established circle groups and mostly I avoid their coffee cliques after early service. Yet I have been asked to contribute to funerals. I guess one does not have to be lifelong local to do that. Sometimes I haven't a clue who's died. Other times I've not been in town or not reachable when they call to solicit. Since they can't wait to catch up with me to enlist my skills I usually avoid the duty. So once again I have escaped funeral duty. Only this time it's thanks to the bars.
That's a good thing now because I can barely keep up with my gardening, blog, facebook and readings and don't need to master the making of bars. :)
PS: Sunday's paper, June 14 had a page of bar recipes. How coincidental?
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Two more reads
Growing Up With Clemente by Richard Peterson. Published by Kent State University Press.
I am not a baseball fan but growing up in PA I was a fan of the Pirates; we went to games occasionally and back then they were not the best team in the league. But when they won the pennant that was a big deal. And everyone knows Roberto Clemente! I had this book with me at the Legion's Blood drive in April and the nurse taking my blood commented, "oh Clemente! Are you a baseball fan?" To which I replied, "no but this book is a memoir of a time and place in Pittsburgh, PA." I was surprised the young man knew Roberto Clemente!
Last year, I read an articles by Richard Peterson in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, nostalgia about the days of 'yore in Da' Burgh! I wrote a follow up letter of my own memories of growing up there and what I try to hold onto. This is a memoir of his boyhood in the south Side of Pittsburgh in the late 50's; then his journey as a gas station boy at Hoders; a big time move up to stock boy at Gimbels Department store; and finally his realization that he would need education. Where he ends up is professor emeritus of English at southern Illinois University. Though New Kensington, PA is outside of 'da Burgh, there are some similarities to the times of the steel mills, the industrial waste, and the ethnic communities. I especially enjoyed his reference to his mother who always wanted him to come back home to Pittsburgh to live; he never did.
Some descriptions of his sandlot days were not really interesting reading to me. But I did enjoy the book over all and recommend it to my PA friends, especially the guys. He tells how he read in literature how one can't go home again but how his father's death brought him an emotional shock that made him realize what he'd left behind. I can relate to what he felt when he did return to Pittsburgh to visit. He quotes Norman Mailer, "To return to an old neighborhood and discover that it has disappeared is a minor woe for some but it is close to a physical catastrophe for others.." So because I share with Peterson fond memories of a better time in the good old days of thriving New Kensington, I enjoyed his memoir.
"The Truth about Hillary" by Edward Klein. I read this last year and did not get it posted to my reads on this blog. This trip to PA I found it still stored under the bed, in our motor home, so I retrieved it and include it here. Well I found this interesting about Hillary Clinton and yet I did not learn anything really new about her. This was something I thought I'd read during the campaigns. Just in case she made it and we know now she did not. A comical passage is the young Hillary about 11years old who punches a boy in the nose and flattens him. Does this mean I have a wild streak? I don't know I just laughed. The author uses that as an early example of how she will not take anything from anyone. This book includes many stories of her as a real bully, cheat and manipulator. Later with Bill's philanderings I wonder if she ever tried to bloody his nose? This book as many others shows that Hillary is usually right in the midst calling the shots and not an innocent blind sided person. The book also speaks repeatedly of her cursing and very less than lady like language. Again not a surprise to anyone who has paid any attention to the Clintons. It is a mystery to me that the Obama camp bested her and Bill last election. This is an interesting take on Hillary. Not a book I'll keep on my shelf even though it was a first edition.
I am not a baseball fan but growing up in PA I was a fan of the Pirates; we went to games occasionally and back then they were not the best team in the league. But when they won the pennant that was a big deal. And everyone knows Roberto Clemente! I had this book with me at the Legion's Blood drive in April and the nurse taking my blood commented, "oh Clemente! Are you a baseball fan?" To which I replied, "no but this book is a memoir of a time and place in Pittsburgh, PA." I was surprised the young man knew Roberto Clemente!
Last year, I read an articles by Richard Peterson in the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, nostalgia about the days of 'yore in Da' Burgh! I wrote a follow up letter of my own memories of growing up there and what I try to hold onto. This is a memoir of his boyhood in the south Side of Pittsburgh in the late 50's; then his journey as a gas station boy at Hoders; a big time move up to stock boy at Gimbels Department store; and finally his realization that he would need education. Where he ends up is professor emeritus of English at southern Illinois University. Though New Kensington, PA is outside of 'da Burgh, there are some similarities to the times of the steel mills, the industrial waste, and the ethnic communities. I especially enjoyed his reference to his mother who always wanted him to come back home to Pittsburgh to live; he never did.
Some descriptions of his sandlot days were not really interesting reading to me. But I did enjoy the book over all and recommend it to my PA friends, especially the guys. He tells how he read in literature how one can't go home again but how his father's death brought him an emotional shock that made him realize what he'd left behind. I can relate to what he felt when he did return to Pittsburgh to visit. He quotes Norman Mailer, "To return to an old neighborhood and discover that it has disappeared is a minor woe for some but it is close to a physical catastrophe for others.." So because I share with Peterson fond memories of a better time in the good old days of thriving New Kensington, I enjoyed his memoir.
"The Truth about Hillary" by Edward Klein. I read this last year and did not get it posted to my reads on this blog. This trip to PA I found it still stored under the bed, in our motor home, so I retrieved it and include it here. Well I found this interesting about Hillary Clinton and yet I did not learn anything really new about her. This was something I thought I'd read during the campaigns. Just in case she made it and we know now she did not. A comical passage is the young Hillary about 11years old who punches a boy in the nose and flattens him. Does this mean I have a wild streak? I don't know I just laughed. The author uses that as an early example of how she will not take anything from anyone. This book includes many stories of her as a real bully, cheat and manipulator. Later with Bill's philanderings I wonder if she ever tried to bloody his nose? This book as many others shows that Hillary is usually right in the midst calling the shots and not an innocent blind sided person. The book also speaks repeatedly of her cursing and very less than lady like language. Again not a surprise to anyone who has paid any attention to the Clintons. It is a mystery to me that the Obama camp bested her and Bill last election. This is an interesting take on Hillary. Not a book I'll keep on my shelf even though it was a first edition.
Latest photo of my dad
I love this photo of my dad with the P-38 fighter. Those are the planes that he really wanted to fly but ended up as a B-24 pilot as they needed those in WWII and the Army Air Corp did not offer planes or career of choice. Things were different. My cousin, Carol, retrieved this and some others of nose art from her mother's home in PA and sent them to me so it was like a wonderful Christmas present. I looked through his pilot logs and can surmise that this was taken at Dorr Field, FL, approximately July 1943. You know the story of my dad, flight disappeared en route from Bahamas to Charleston SC, June 20, 1944 about five months before I would enter this planet.
With the recent commemorations about D-Day and the celebrations of 65 years, I think about my dad. Here he was a young pilot and knew from a briefing that soon he and his combat crew 193 would depart Charleston, SC for England. The Air support was needed. I wonder how much they were briefed stateside about the D-Day operations. He knew for sure that something big was up and this is when he began to feel the fear.
Recently on our AWON website I was struck by something a friend shared which her father had written to his parents. How similar to what my dad told his "baby brother." How different it was in WWII with sincere faith, devoutness to country and God and patriotism. I shared with Brenda that my father said nearly the same thing in a post card I have which he'd not mailed to his mother shortly after he had enlisted against her wishes. In 1942 my father wrote to his mother, "Mom, it will all be God's will and we trust for the best no matter what." His faith was that strong.
I have clung onto similar thoughts through out my life at many times when things looked the most dismal. I still hold onto these words today remembering that I had a father with very deep faith. I would not want to disappoint his spirit by losing mine, no matter what!
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Resilience
It's been a grey dreary day with a nice drizzling, soaking rain. what made the day warmer was a nice afternoon visit by Jerry's cousin, Don and wife Eileen, from Iowa. They called last week and said they would be in town for a surprise birthday party for a long time friend of Don's. We said, come on over and good to see you. I made some fresh cookies and blueberry muffins and we spent the afternoon sipping wine and just yakking. We enjoyed the visit today and had Jerry's mother here as well. Though she mostly sat there and said little. That's a good thing because what she has to say makes little sense and or is usually out of focus with what's being discussed--at 92 she doesn't hear, has not worn her hearing aids for years and lives in her own little world.
Later after they all left we took Jerry's other cousin and friend out for dinner at a local supper club in the drizzly rain. After a nice dinner and a warm car coming home, blankie in the back seat, I fell asleep until we arrived in the driveway. I felt like a child lulled to sleep.
Just yesterday I was relieved at my annual checkup when the doctor said I was in great shape, all A OK and to keep doing whatever I was doing. Slight arthritis beginning stages in my right knee which is what may bother me some nights when I get to bed. But nothing to worry about he said after taking an x-ray. I told my doctor about our May on the geriatric merry go round in PA and he was amazed too that I am showing no signs of stress. Blood pressure, cholesterol, pulse, etc all good. Never mind the extra wrinkles I have noticed creeping along my jaws! He said, "Your body seems to deal quite well with stress." That is good news and I have to wonder if that is from my 34 year career of conditioning in the state governmental bureaucracy? Somehow I cope better than I think? Or do I really blow it off? I am truly amazed because I did not work out in PA and that is my stress reliever. The most I did was walk and trot mile laps around the RV park campground in the evenings. At times, I think, glug, glug, glug, going under for the 3rd dip (aka drowning) but it seems not so. I am thankful for my resilience. By the way since Dr. Franta said, keep doing whatever you are doing, I said, "I'm going home and having two glasses of wine!" He smiled because he does encourage the use of wine and in fact is a wine producer of limited varietals himself. "Just don't over do it" he says as he leaves the exam room.
My aunt still lingers in the nursing home and at 67 pounds how long can she last? But her heart keeps beating. I hate waiitng for death to come but that is the answer in her case. And no one can predict it, the doctors say only a couple months? Really? And my 91 year old uncle Carl is on a rip at his home.
Yesterday involved a series of phone calls with him, his neighbors, his nephew who is to check in on him. Cell phone minutes are burnign up! My nephew sent a crew to mow his grass so maybe that will suspend his insistence on "I need to buy a new lawn mower." That's his latest fantasy of the past few days. And now he does not recall that I brought his checkbook home with me to MN so that I can pay his bills from here. Reportedly he got a late water bill and claims he wrote a check out for it and gave it to the personal care aide who helps bathe him to mail at the post office. The frustration rises with me as we speak, "Uncle Carl you are supposed to set the bills aside and when Lowell comes over he will mail them to me!" "Uh huh " he replies to me and then goes merrily along to say, "Why pay double postage." To which I raise my voice and reexplain that "Uncle Carl you do not remember things and this was the agreement. This is how you are going to be able to stay in your own home--With help from the nurses and aides and letting me watch your finances." "Uh huh" he replies and then in the next breath, ""I can take care of myself you know, Patty!" "Uncle Carl, you are having trouble remembering things, you are 91 and this is the agreement!" I shout in desperation. This is truly talking to the wall.
Later that evening Lowell says Carl told him he has a checkbook which he has hidden and will not tell anyone where it is. So on Monday I'll be calling the water company to learn if indeed he did write a check or if he merely mailed their bill back to them, which he has done in the past. And I thought I had this system all figured out, stop gaps in place and life would be semi normal! Well I thought too much. We have only been back home a week and the fun continues! Yet I know I have done my utmost and somehow this old guy is not going to get the best of me. I know too that the social workers are correct that I will have to wait for a crisis to get him into a personal care home which he does not want. I only hope that crisis is not too terrible. Lowell says, "You know Uncle Carl always has been very stubborn and hard headed." Oh yes, I know. The entire family--a bunch of hard headed Polacks! But I'm one too and surely I have the edge at being younger and well, more informed. We will see.
I reflect back to what my friend said in Pa, "Choose your battles with him." And Jerry says, "You can only do so much." Ahh those two glasses of wine!
Today I got a great gift in the mail of postcards from and to my father and some air plane photos my cousin had found at her mother's home. all remnants from 1942 and beyond. What treasures to brighten the dreary day. At least I had positive experiences in PA too. I must refocus and look for the best--keeping my eyes toward the sunshine. This too shall pass! (won't it?)
Later after they all left we took Jerry's other cousin and friend out for dinner at a local supper club in the drizzly rain. After a nice dinner and a warm car coming home, blankie in the back seat, I fell asleep until we arrived in the driveway. I felt like a child lulled to sleep.
Just yesterday I was relieved at my annual checkup when the doctor said I was in great shape, all A OK and to keep doing whatever I was doing. Slight arthritis beginning stages in my right knee which is what may bother me some nights when I get to bed. But nothing to worry about he said after taking an x-ray. I told my doctor about our May on the geriatric merry go round in PA and he was amazed too that I am showing no signs of stress. Blood pressure, cholesterol, pulse, etc all good. Never mind the extra wrinkles I have noticed creeping along my jaws! He said, "Your body seems to deal quite well with stress." That is good news and I have to wonder if that is from my 34 year career of conditioning in the state governmental bureaucracy? Somehow I cope better than I think? Or do I really blow it off? I am truly amazed because I did not work out in PA and that is my stress reliever. The most I did was walk and trot mile laps around the RV park campground in the evenings. At times, I think, glug, glug, glug, going under for the 3rd dip (aka drowning) but it seems not so. I am thankful for my resilience. By the way since Dr. Franta said, keep doing whatever you are doing, I said, "I'm going home and having two glasses of wine!" He smiled because he does encourage the use of wine and in fact is a wine producer of limited varietals himself. "Just don't over do it" he says as he leaves the exam room.
My aunt still lingers in the nursing home and at 67 pounds how long can she last? But her heart keeps beating. I hate waiitng for death to come but that is the answer in her case. And no one can predict it, the doctors say only a couple months? Really? And my 91 year old uncle Carl is on a rip at his home.
Yesterday involved a series of phone calls with him, his neighbors, his nephew who is to check in on him. Cell phone minutes are burnign up! My nephew sent a crew to mow his grass so maybe that will suspend his insistence on "I need to buy a new lawn mower." That's his latest fantasy of the past few days. And now he does not recall that I brought his checkbook home with me to MN so that I can pay his bills from here. Reportedly he got a late water bill and claims he wrote a check out for it and gave it to the personal care aide who helps bathe him to mail at the post office. The frustration rises with me as we speak, "Uncle Carl you are supposed to set the bills aside and when Lowell comes over he will mail them to me!" "Uh huh " he replies to me and then goes merrily along to say, "Why pay double postage." To which I raise my voice and reexplain that "Uncle Carl you do not remember things and this was the agreement. This is how you are going to be able to stay in your own home--With help from the nurses and aides and letting me watch your finances." "Uh huh" he replies and then in the next breath, ""I can take care of myself you know, Patty!" "Uncle Carl, you are having trouble remembering things, you are 91 and this is the agreement!" I shout in desperation. This is truly talking to the wall.
Later that evening Lowell says Carl told him he has a checkbook which he has hidden and will not tell anyone where it is. So on Monday I'll be calling the water company to learn if indeed he did write a check or if he merely mailed their bill back to them, which he has done in the past. And I thought I had this system all figured out, stop gaps in place and life would be semi normal! Well I thought too much. We have only been back home a week and the fun continues! Yet I know I have done my utmost and somehow this old guy is not going to get the best of me. I know too that the social workers are correct that I will have to wait for a crisis to get him into a personal care home which he does not want. I only hope that crisis is not too terrible. Lowell says, "You know Uncle Carl always has been very stubborn and hard headed." Oh yes, I know. The entire family--a bunch of hard headed Polacks! But I'm one too and surely I have the edge at being younger and well, more informed. We will see.
I reflect back to what my friend said in Pa, "Choose your battles with him." And Jerry says, "You can only do so much." Ahh those two glasses of wine!
Today I got a great gift in the mail of postcards from and to my father and some air plane photos my cousin had found at her mother's home. all remnants from 1942 and beyond. What treasures to brighten the dreary day. At least I had positive experiences in PA too. I must refocus and look for the best--keeping my eyes toward the sunshine. This too shall pass! (won't it?)
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Home again home again jiggedy jig
We arrived home yesterday about 5:00PM after a successful two day drive. Jerry was feeling exceptionally brave and steered the RV home towing the truck through the Chicago loop. We always avoid that part of the country and prefer to go another 60 miles or so out of our way. But after 5 years he decided to give it a try. Likely it will be many more years before we even consider that loop again. Even if it did give me a view of the Chicago Polish Museum, reportedly something that entices those of us of that special ethnicity. The loop cost us about $48 in tolls. I guess we now own a piece of Chicago. At one toll booth, the toll taker-man asked, "Are you towing the truck?" To which Jerry said, "No it's pushing me!" The tollman laughed and commented that was a good one but that he had no discounts for wise guys. I guess not many jokes are shared along the Chicago loop toll way!
We saw many of those tiny cars of the future--the Obsama prototypes, you know the kind that people wear! I think anyone who drives one of those sewing machine sized excuses for a vehicle in heavy traffic is either very brave or nuts!
The pilot did better than the navigator through the loop. She would have begun to chew her fingernails, something she's never done in her life, but she assuaged herself by fondling her blackberry brick breaker game!
But here we are in beautiful homeland. And the roses have not yet bloomed nor have the peonies. Saved their blooms for me to see and I so appreciate that. Tomorrow will bring a ton of mail which has been held at the post office.
I am so happy to be back home again! Jerry is too and looking forward to riding his mower around the grass. Kentucky fried chicken never tasted as good as it did last night. Jerry's cousin and friend called and offered to get it and bring to the house. That was the best idea we'd heard all day! We four huddled around our tiny kitchen table and finished off the bucket. Last night I slept wonderfully in our own bed. And this evening after dinner I pedaled around on my bike. Tomorrow will see this body back at Curves. I missed my work out routine and am sure my body will protest a bit as it reacquaints itself with fitness.
There are the daily phone calls I will make to my Uncle. By the way, I figured it out--he is 91 not 90. When anyone asks him he claims to be in his 80's but readily gives his correct birthday--March 21, 1918! To which I said one day, "Well Uncle Carl you are 91! Not 90!" He replied, "well you're the one who kept saying I'm 90 I knew I wasn't 90." He still has not said he's 91 but he knows he's not 90. Well he is quite the character when he has his clarity and wits about him.
I pray that my aunt will pass along peacefully as she would prefer. To say she is not in good health is an understatement. She's 87, in a SNF, stage 4 lung cancer, metastasized from colon cancer five years ago, so they say, is somewhat alert, cannot get out of bed alone, weighs only 67 pounds, must wear diapers, and at times coughs up blood! Not the life she deserves and not the death she deserves. She's ready to be "taken home" and who knows why she still is here in this valley of tears we call life.
More later on the good things that happened while we were in PA. But I could not wait to get my fingers back flying across the keys at the computer. I suppose one could say I have keyboard addiction. Withdrawal is hell! Blackberry is my on the road pal, but thumb texting on it's teeny keys goes only so far.
We saw many of those tiny cars of the future--the Obsama prototypes, you know the kind that people wear! I think anyone who drives one of those sewing machine sized excuses for a vehicle in heavy traffic is either very brave or nuts!
The pilot did better than the navigator through the loop. She would have begun to chew her fingernails, something she's never done in her life, but she assuaged herself by fondling her blackberry brick breaker game!
But here we are in beautiful homeland. And the roses have not yet bloomed nor have the peonies. Saved their blooms for me to see and I so appreciate that. Tomorrow will bring a ton of mail which has been held at the post office.
I am so happy to be back home again! Jerry is too and looking forward to riding his mower around the grass. Kentucky fried chicken never tasted as good as it did last night. Jerry's cousin and friend called and offered to get it and bring to the house. That was the best idea we'd heard all day! We four huddled around our tiny kitchen table and finished off the bucket. Last night I slept wonderfully in our own bed. And this evening after dinner I pedaled around on my bike. Tomorrow will see this body back at Curves. I missed my work out routine and am sure my body will protest a bit as it reacquaints itself with fitness.
There are the daily phone calls I will make to my Uncle. By the way, I figured it out--he is 91 not 90. When anyone asks him he claims to be in his 80's but readily gives his correct birthday--March 21, 1918! To which I said one day, "Well Uncle Carl you are 91! Not 90!" He replied, "well you're the one who kept saying I'm 90 I knew I wasn't 90." He still has not said he's 91 but he knows he's not 90. Well he is quite the character when he has his clarity and wits about him.
I pray that my aunt will pass along peacefully as she would prefer. To say she is not in good health is an understatement. She's 87, in a SNF, stage 4 lung cancer, metastasized from colon cancer five years ago, so they say, is somewhat alert, cannot get out of bed alone, weighs only 67 pounds, must wear diapers, and at times coughs up blood! Not the life she deserves and not the death she deserves. She's ready to be "taken home" and who knows why she still is here in this valley of tears we call life.
More later on the good things that happened while we were in PA. But I could not wait to get my fingers back flying across the keys at the computer. I suppose one could say I have keyboard addiction. Withdrawal is hell! Blackberry is my on the road pal, but thumb texting on it's teeny keys goes only so far.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Why me--Well why not You!
Here we be in PA on a geriatric, whistle stop-merry-go-round. Monday, I had both "kids" 87 year old aunt, and 90 year old uncle to the doctor. One look at her and the doctor said, "to the hospital!" OK so now I have one to deal with getting social services, meals on wheels, things fixed, etc...my 90 year old Uncle Carl. He's amenable to many things but not to being told what to do when by women, let alone a "bunch of women" as happened yesterday at this home! Me, social worker, personal care assistant--all women we three. Fortunately they did send a male physical therapist; I'd alerted them that he really really prefers male companionship! But at least we are on a roll. One day at a time. Looks like we will not make it to the Carolinas again this year. Darn and double darn!
This is my first computer access. Local library. So here goes, a funny tale from yesterday. I am ascribing to the old saying, if it will be funny some day it has to be funny today. Uncle Carl (90 yrs. old) is very amenable to most things. And frankly he had been staying over at his sisters--my aunt (87 year old.)who could barely care for herself let alone him too. What a joke that was. So he's happy to be back in his own home where he can pull weeds, putter, etc. But yesterday while talking with the physical therapist, I noticed a brown animal about big as a beaver in his front yard. "What's that?" Uncle Carl raises up quickly to see and says a wood chuck, good old PA ground hog! Then he and the PT begin to discuss ground hogs. And Carl adds, "we used to eat them" I guess so because he explained that he and my grandfather would dig them out of their burrows, haunts or whatever things the ground hogs descend into. Grandpap was a coal miner so I guess h3 knew how to un-ground the ground hogs. I had not heard this tale of eating woodchuck before so I asked in innocence, which Carl thought strange, "Well what do they taste like?" "Taste like Ground hog!" he replies looking at me like I'm a brick short of a load. (Like who really is partially demented here?) I said, "no, I mean do they taste like chicken or what?" With that he has reached the end of the afternoon tolerance for this niece whom he tells, "I already told you they taste like ground hog why are you talking about chickens?" Hearing this the PT almost falls down laughing. You had to be there to hear and see it.
Here I am doing all the legal things, etc. and here's Carl just tolerating me. The other day clearing piles and stacks of junk, papers, old boxes from tea bags he'd accumulated on his tables & shelves ,he looked at me and said, "well I just don't have time to do this." To which I replied, "well that's why we are getting help for you." A few more words exchanged and he is at the puzzled stage with me again, "when did you say you are going back to MN?" I think he's thinking he won't be so bothered once I leave town. I looked at him in the midst of a clearing and sorting frenzy and he was laughing at me. He thinks too everything is funny and cautions me,"Don't get old! It's a bitch!" To which I say, "we get older or deader."
At least he has a sense of humor. My aunt has become very down, worn out and nothing is funny. So we await further diagnosis and hope for the best.
As I said on Facebook, "Why me Lord?" And the God I know so well, has responded "Well why not you!"
Mother's Day was a bit tough for me--first year without Steve. Not that he fussed much about it, but there's a big gap left when you lose your adult son. Had a lovely email and text from granddaughter and daughter in law. That was lovely. Still, missed, that "Hi mom, just checking in." Ah well. I attended Sunday service at a small country type Methodist church here, Millerstown. A lovely service where those who lost their mothers got to stand and be remembered with white roses and those who still have a mother received red roses. Then the minister had all who had lost a child stand to have a yellow rose. I got those tears for a bit.
Well I must sign off and get back to the laundry and then we must get over to Carl's. By the way we had the best pizza last night--from Capris (sp?) here in Natrona Hts. Yummy real Italian. No speeka much Inglish there. The best.
This is my first computer access. Local library. So here goes, a funny tale from yesterday. I am ascribing to the old saying, if it will be funny some day it has to be funny today. Uncle Carl (90 yrs. old) is very amenable to most things. And frankly he had been staying over at his sisters--my aunt (87 year old.)who could barely care for herself let alone him too. What a joke that was. So he's happy to be back in his own home where he can pull weeds, putter, etc. But yesterday while talking with the physical therapist, I noticed a brown animal about big as a beaver in his front yard. "What's that?" Uncle Carl raises up quickly to see and says a wood chuck, good old PA ground hog! Then he and the PT begin to discuss ground hogs. And Carl adds, "we used to eat them" I guess so because he explained that he and my grandfather would dig them out of their burrows, haunts or whatever things the ground hogs descend into. Grandpap was a coal miner so I guess h3 knew how to un-ground the ground hogs. I had not heard this tale of eating woodchuck before so I asked in innocence, which Carl thought strange, "Well what do they taste like?" "Taste like Ground hog!" he replies looking at me like I'm a brick short of a load. (Like who really is partially demented here?) I said, "no, I mean do they taste like chicken or what?" With that he has reached the end of the afternoon tolerance for this niece whom he tells, "I already told you they taste like ground hog why are you talking about chickens?" Hearing this the PT almost falls down laughing. You had to be there to hear and see it.
Here I am doing all the legal things, etc. and here's Carl just tolerating me. The other day clearing piles and stacks of junk, papers, old boxes from tea bags he'd accumulated on his tables & shelves ,he looked at me and said, "well I just don't have time to do this." To which I replied, "well that's why we are getting help for you." A few more words exchanged and he is at the puzzled stage with me again, "when did you say you are going back to MN?" I think he's thinking he won't be so bothered once I leave town. I looked at him in the midst of a clearing and sorting frenzy and he was laughing at me. He thinks too everything is funny and cautions me,"Don't get old! It's a bitch!" To which I say, "we get older or deader."
At least he has a sense of humor. My aunt has become very down, worn out and nothing is funny. So we await further diagnosis and hope for the best.
As I said on Facebook, "Why me Lord?" And the God I know so well, has responded "Well why not you!"
Mother's Day was a bit tough for me--first year without Steve. Not that he fussed much about it, but there's a big gap left when you lose your adult son. Had a lovely email and text from granddaughter and daughter in law. That was lovely. Still, missed, that "Hi mom, just checking in." Ah well. I attended Sunday service at a small country type Methodist church here, Millerstown. A lovely service where those who lost their mothers got to stand and be remembered with white roses and those who still have a mother received red roses. Then the minister had all who had lost a child stand to have a yellow rose. I got those tears for a bit.
Well I must sign off and get back to the laundry and then we must get over to Carl's. By the way we had the best pizza last night--from Capris (sp?) here in Natrona Hts. Yummy real Italian. No speeka much Inglish there. The best.
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