House Buying

So by last Thursday or Friday we had chosen the area we liked which was 5 miles from my mom-in-law and 5 miles from my dad's place and 5 miles from church and a few other convenient places we frequent.

By Saturday we had a short list of 5 or 6 properties and I emailed them to our Realtor.

By Sunday we had driven through the areas and really there were only 2 houses of actual mightbuyability. And one of those we toured ourselves because it was under construction and I found an unlocked door.

So Monday we visited the one that remained.

We told the Realtor to prepare an offer. We signed papers about an hour later. We went to dinner.

Strangely enough the excitement I felt changed to an unnerving calm. I was happy but numb. I felt the same way I did when dad died. Numbness kind of describes it but not really. Emotionless might be better. Emotionless isn't really emotionless though because emotionless makes others feel a profound sadness. And try as I might I could not make my emotionless state lift.

Tuesday we waited and waited and waited some more. Judy had a terrible day from other things. She wasn't sure she even wanted it any longer. I was still emotionless.

Finally at 5:30 PM the Realtor called.

The owners are in their late 80's and the man's son helps him. The son wanted to counter our offer but the owners wanted to accept. The owners finally won out and signed the contract just as we wrote it.

Now I feel guilty about that. The man is 86. I suspect they are moving to an assisted place. I could have been that son and my dad could have been that man. The son was right.

But I feel happy about getting the house and my emotionless state has lifted.

Now begins the house buying stage.

(2 month anniversary of Dad's death)

House Hunting

We have an appointment today with a Realtor to tour a home.

House hunting is considerably different now than the last time I did it. We ran our own MLS searches and narrowed to an area of town. Then we narrowed the list of possible homes. Then we took the on line home tours for each property. I even could have gotten a fixed rate mortgage locked in over the Internet. I didn't but I could have. I also looked up the address of the property to see if any liens had ever been filed and found the ownership information. Searched again to find out about the owner.

The last time I searched for a home there was no Internet capability at all.

Brave new world.

Personal Effects

Personal Effects

I've been working on my will. The lawyer wanted to know what I wanted to happen to my personal effects.

I said "I don't really think I have any that amounts to anything. You mean like watches and stuff?"

That's what he meant. I told him I really didn't have anything and really never had. He said "You might buy a Rolex."

I do admire Rolex watches. They really do represent great human achievement in so many areas not the least of which is self-promotion. A business I once managed won a Rolex in a contest because we sold a bunch of stuff. I gave it to the salesman that was most responsible for our success. Seemed right at the time.

I took a look at my watches. I do have 2 original Pulsar watches. Pulsar was the first digital watch back in 1972. Then I have 3 Timex Ironman watches. And a Seiko. And a Mathey Tisot. My son said he wanted my Pulsars. No one has indicated much interest in the others.

I've always thought it would be nice to own a nice fountain pen. I don't own one though because I seem to lose my pens pretty regularly. Besides I don't really like fountain pens that much. I did buy some disposable fountain pens a couple of years ago. They were about $3 each. So every time I think I might want to buy a nice one I just get another disposable.

I have a walking cane collection somewhere. Maybe someone might want it. Of course I need to find it. But, now that I am living with my spouse, I couldn't just bring it in the house even if I found it.

A friend gave me a Native American artifact last Christmas. It's some kind of scraper deal. I like having it because I can imagine someone a long time past actually using it.

I couldn't find much else to list for my personal effects.

This morning after I finished exercising I looked through Dad's dresser drawer. I wondered if he had any personal effects I had overlooked. He used to have a ring but I think it broke a long time back and he never fixed it. I found a Timex watch but he didn't wear it much if any. There are some pipes but he quit smoking at least 40 years ago. I found a little pocket knife and a coin purse. There were several wallets he'd kept. I'd like to have his wings but they were no where to be seen.

My brother said that when he was doing genealogy research on our family that he discovered my great (or maybe great-great) grandfather's anvil is still owned by the family but somewhere out in Texas. I don't know if an anvil is really a personal effect though. And what would I do with an anvil if I had one?

If I get some personal effects I'm supposed to write them down and next to that the name of the person I want to receive them.

When I was 20

Another blog buddy's loved one died on Thursday. Five us now in the short few months I've maintained this blog. I worry that all my friends will lose their loved ones. Yet they were each there for me when my dad died and I want to be there for them. I read their blogs with both anticipation and dread.

Stef's Nonna, her grandmother, is the most recent casualty. Stef introduced me to the Lion King not very long ago.

I was very close to my paternal grandparents. They lived across the driveway from us when I was a child. When you live with someone like that there is a special bond that forms.

My Pop died when I was 12. At that age I was still enough of a child that the event was soon swallowed up in the death of my own childhood and the birth of my adolescence and the frenetic chaos of that time of life.

My Granny died when I was 40 and struggling with my own midlife problems then as well as the emerging adult lives of my children.

So Stef's loss made me think about how I might have handled the deaths of my own grandparents when I was 20. I was so self certain at that age. I was married at 20. I knew what I wanted my life to look like even before then and by 20 I was busy accomplishing that goal just as a painter might prepare the canvas and sketch the still image and then proceed to paint.

Paintings, as good as they may be, are not alive. We value them though because the good ones, the really good ones, capture a portion, only a portion, of a glimpse of the magnificence of life.

A short while before 20 I still imagined myself as a university professor type doing research in theoretical physics and teaching a few classes and walking around with a tweed coat that had leather patches on the sleeves and smoking a pipe and looking altogether rather intelligent. And whiling away the mornings in the union over coffee and talking about the quantum nature of matter and space and nth degree tensors and stuff like that. And in the afternoons heading to O'Connell's for beer and listening as the conversation turned to girls and politics and whatever. And taking classes that assigned us to watch Juliet of the Spirits.

But that didn't last so long.

I did not know about being then but I was all about doing. Maybe it has to be that way for some of us, or most of us, or even all of us.

I suspect if I had lost my Pop or Granny when I was 20 it might have disrupted that self certainty a little. But probably not enough and maybe none at all. Self deception is not easily displaced. Even now that's true.

I think I know what I would have done. I would have read every book on death and dying and grief that I could find. I would have not stopped until I understood the subjects and what had been thought and written by others. I think that because I have done it more than once.

But knowledge is no more a substitute for emotion than is doing for being.

I no longer think that there are 5 stages of grief with all deference and respect to Dr. Kübler-Ross.

As strange as it is to write it there is a certain beauty to grief. Is it so bad I wonder that we should stop and remember? Not that we stop very long. Is it so bad to feel the sadness or to experience fear or even to question our regret? Not that grief should be welcomed but at least that its arrival is recognized. And what if it did not arrive? Or what if it does not? What does that mean?

Saturday morning musings.

Interesting People

One thing about my new life is that I get to meet more people. Most of them are so interesting.

The other day I met a lady who was looking for a location for her retail operation in our market and was seriously considering our site. She came by both to learn a little about us and let us learn something about her.

I thought to myself when I first saw her that she was a runner. It wasn't long before my hunch was proven correct. She's a marathoner. She had to be at least in her late 40's but she could easily have passed for mid 30's.

A marathon is 26 miles plus! The longest I've ever continuously run (well, jogged) is 3 miles.

But what really impressed me was that she had begun this particular business about 20 years earlier by acquiring three stores from another owner. I asked her if she had experience in this particular industry and she replied that she had not. Her degree is in accounting and finance she said and when she could she hunted around for a business that she could own and run.

Now she has 100 locations!!

But the most important thing from my perspective as a potential landlord is that she still has the original 3 stores she started with and they are still in the same place.

Interesting people.

Friday Night On The Town

We decided to take Judy's Mom out to dinner last Friday night. I knew before asking where it would be. Because it's the place she likes: El Chico on Western.

It's been there a long time but not forever as the younger people in our party think. There are 4 of us in my car and Judy's son will meet us. Judy's son and nephew both are in their late 30's. In their memory I think this El Chico has always been there.

But we older ones remember when the area was pasture land. Judy's mom's memories are older than ours of course. I think she knew the family that farmed it or a relative farmed land adjacent to this one. I've been told but I have forgotten.

In the mid 1960's the farm gave way to a hospital and a strip shopping center. There was a cafeteria in the shopping center that I especially remember. It had ceilings that were popular in that time and always reminded me of caves. There was stuff on the ceiling that looked like it would be soft and maybe spongy if you could touch it. I think it was some kind of sprayed on asbestos stuff for fireproofing and soundproofing.

I didn't like cafeterias then and really they haven't gained on me any. For one thing I never knew what I wanted to eat. And someone to the left of me invariably banged his or her tray into my hand while I was trying to make up my mind. Then I would see some dish that looked positively scrumptious and I'd ask for it. And some lady, or sometimes a man, would hand me the dish and say something. I didn't really know what was said so I would nod my head hoping that would suffice.

And then by the time I got to the end of the line and looked at what I had on my tray all those good dishes made a terrible meal. It is funny how some things can look so good individually but when combined makes an awful whole.

Then there was the problem of hauling the tray to the table without spilling the drink. The secret, learned years later, is to not watch the glass. If you watch that glass you are nearly guaranteed a spill. Like when you're driving don't watch the curb unless you want to run into it.

Once seated there was the noise and all the bodies that seemed so close around on all sides. And the cornbread that looked so good in line was dry as sand.

Eventually the strip center and its cafeteria gave way to the hospital which is now called a medical center. Inside the hospital there are still photographs and little bits of writing here and there that recall the history of the place for any who might be interested. I wonder if anyone reads them now or even cares.

Back at El Chico's Constance was our waitress. She was a lovely young woman with exquisitely dark skin, nearly to the exotic. Her name should have been Consuela or Constanza or Conecheta but her name tag read Constance. She was very attentive and very pretty and very poised for one so young. She overheard us wondering about when Judy's son would arrive. She kidded us about being ready to order until he came. And when he came she knew his name and what he most likely wanted to drink so she asked him. His surprised look let her know she had been successful in her eavesdropping. And when he sat down we had to tell him how she knew his name and drink.

I wonder if she knows how special she is? I wonder if someone has told her that she has the potential to be anything she wants and do anything she wants? I wonder if she will educate herself? I wonder what will happen to Constance.

I meant to order Fajita Nachos but said Fajita Enchiladas. Maybe it was the memory of the old problems with the cafeteria that had returned to haunt me. Still it was rather a good choice for me in fact and I would order it again.

Later we all sat together on the enclosed back porch of the old house. The house is from 1900 but the porch is much younger. Still I could not help but wonder how many times had others gathered on this very place just as we were all doing now.

There was new Eggnog from Braum's that was offered to all by Judy's mom. I don't like milk or anything made with milk but I accepted the hospitality all the same. And she encouraged a little nutmeg that I also accepted but drew the line at the imitation rum flavoring.

There was conversation about other family members and who was working where and how soon Thanksgiving was upon us. And what are we all doing for Thanksgiving anyway?

Too soon it was time to go and we parted.

This little gathering was nothing at all in the great scheme of things. Ones just like it were happening all over the world in one way or another. And all of those were just as unnoticed and just as overfamilar as this one.

And yet I could not help but wonder in awe at our little gathering. I suppose it is good that we become accustomed to the familiar otherwise I suspect we could not survive the exposure to the unique, wondrous beauty of love and family.

My Friend

I had this friend once.

I thought about him last night.

I don't know why.

Last time I saw him was at an IHOP on South Meridian. He invited me. I was a new caregiver then of about 4 months. I didn't even know I was a caregiver. In fact I still wasn't really planning on staying with mom and dad. It was temporary and when mom was better then I'd leave. Get back to my life and so on.

It was March, 1999. In just a bit more than a month I would be faced with the May 3rd, 1999 tornado that came so very close to dad's and mom's home. But I didn't know that then.

My friend was 15 years my senior. So, let's see, he was 65 and I was 50. I worked with him for a long time and I started there when I was just a kid so we had known each other for more than 30 years. He was in his late 20's or early 30's when I first met him. I thought he was so cool. It was big time hero worship on my part.

He had developed emphysema. He was on oxygen then but he was trying as hard as he could to make the best of his situation. That's they way he was about everything. He lied about his age to get in the army during the Korean war and he served in Korea, too. He endured a lot of hard stuff. He loved the military though and was a Colonel in the guard.

He was already inside by the time I arrived. He had his little portable oxygen tank there and the thing around his head that held the air hose against his nose. He never wanted me to see how much trouble he had walking so he'd arrive early.

The waitresses all flirted with him and he flirted back. He was one of those men who was good looking and trim and athletic. He was self-assured, even with oxygen and a cough. Some women really liked him and he really liked them back. But most everyone, men and women, liked him and wanted to be around him. He was just that kind of man.

They knew what he liked because he came to that restaurant a lot. He had lunch with his daughter there once a week. He had other friends that he met for lunch, too. Different places for different friends. I had been invited to some of those lunches, too.

At this place he got the Belgian waffles with the strawberries. I have no idea what I ate. We talked about my mom and my dad and our families. He and I had prayed together several times. He wasn't a believer but he had known me both ways.

That was a Wednesday. We left together. He had to stop every few feet to get his breath. I stopped with him. We made it to his car and we told each other "I love you" and we hugged. I watched him drive away.

Over the weekend I think he passed out and his wife had to call 911. He died the following Tuesday.

He was a really good friend.

Sometimes I think about him.

Chiggers

I had to crawl in the big bin where the oats are kept the other day. This is an image of my right lower leg. All those little red whelps are Chigger bites. Apparently there was a small Chigger army living in the oat bin and a battalion or two decided to mount an excursion up my leg.

No, they didn't stop at the leg. I pretty much have them all over my body that same way. The bites really itch.

I had kind of forgotten about Chiggers which is amazing because I recall knowing them pretty well from my childhood.

The bites will more or less be gone in a couple of weeks.

I hope the horses enjoyed the oats that I rescued from the opposing horde of Chiggers. Does make me wonder what else is in there. I was told to watch out for snakes but I didn't see any of them.

We used to have some gold fish in the horses' water tank. I was going to try to get a picture of them. They do a great job of keeping the tank clean. And they will come up to the surface when a horse drinks and try to eat stuff off the horse's mouth. Usually there is plenty, too. But these white birds (I've heard them called egrets or sea gulls or pelicans) found out about the gold fish and ate them.

Remembering

My mom died 6 years ago today. I remembered.

If anyone else remembered it was silently because no one said anything to me. Not that I really wanted anyone to say anything. It isn't as though I think we should celebrate it or something.

I wrote about her death and the events leading up to it just now in this blog. I had a whole bunch of words typed out. But I erased everyone one of them.

Erasing. That's what it feels like to me. I mean death feels like erasing. I think I may well be the only person that remembered my mom's death today. A few weeks ago was her birthday and a few of us remembered and mentioned it to each other. I will remember all the dates for a while, maybe a long while. But others will gradually forget.

Back when mom died I used to take dad to the cemetery every day. That's when I realized that I didn't know when my grandparents and my aunts and uncles had died. I didn't remember when my friends died. I had an entire calendar of deaths for a while. Morose I know.

Cemeteries are interesting places. I spent so much time out there with dad. Some graves are visited but most aren't. The older ones are visited less and the newer ones are visited more. There are some exceptions but even then it is because of one or two people who visit and I always wondered if someone else would take over when they quit coming.

Dad would stand and talk to mom. I would move away so he could be alone there with her. I would walk among the others and read their names and dates. I would imagine their stories. And oftentimes there would be other alive people out there and I would watch them but from afar. Or I would watch the funeral graveside services.

Even then I knew that someday we would stop coming. And we did finally. One day dad just said no he didn't want to go out there anymore. And that was that.

Dad and mom visited the cemetery a few times a year. Mom would get flowers and they would decorate the graves of their parents and dad's sister and her husband. And sometimes they would visit other cemeteries where other family members were buried and they'd do the same things.

I never wanted to go. I didn't find it very interesting or important. And after all those people were dead and what difference did it make if there were flowers there or whatever. It wasn't like they'd know.

And now it is my time to visit the graves. There are more of them. I realize it isn't about decorations at all. It is about remembering.

Someday I will follow my parents in death. Maybe my son or daughter will take up the task when that happens. Or maybe not.

I realized something else though during the cemetery period. Finally it occurred to me that there weren't many of us in my family actually alive. Most of us are already on the other side. I know a very few of them. I know the names of a few more. But I feel connected to all of them just the same.

Someday I will see them all. I don't know what they are all doing over there but I am pretty certain they are busy and happy. I always imagine it will be kind of like the big family reunions that I remember as a child except the bathrooms will be nicer.

Anyway my mom died 6 years ago today and I remembered.

Little Family

I registered for the Alzheimer's forum on June 11, 2007. I started posting on this blog on July 9, 2007. It was not my first blog effort but has been my most consistent. My greatest stress was about that time and I posted about it on July 15th.

I remember that time so well. I felt as though my head were being squeezed in a vise and that I might not survive it myself.

I had not allowed comments on my blog entries before July 14th but on that day I forgot to check the box for "Don't allow." It seemed too much trouble. Nothing bad happened so I didn't check it anymore after that.

Lori posted a comment on July 18th. She began her blog on June 30, 2007.

Betsy posted a comment on July 20th. She began her blog in September, 2006.

Nancy posted a comment on July 21st. She began her blog on July 10, 2007.

Monday, September 17, 2007, Lori's Helen died.
Thursday, September 20, 2007, Nancy's Russ died.
Friday, September 21, 2007, my dad died.
Friday, November 2, 2007, Betsy's mom died.

Another friend, chris, lost both parents during this time.

I purposely did not include the others' names who posted comments. But I know who they are and I know when they posted. I did not want to include their names in this post. But they are dear to me. They are just as dear to me and beloved as Lori and Nancy and Betsy. I know that I do not really protect them by omitting their names but I have to try.

All of us hold in common the role of caregiving for loved ones suffering from Alzheimer's disease. We shared and continue to share our lives and love and work and joys and frustration and grief. We tried and still try to help one another. We never criticized and we never judged and we supported each other the best we could. I personally found the words of these friends to be amazingly comforting. I was deeply surprised. We shared the last days of our loved ones and we shared our own feelings and emotions and thoughts and dreams and nightmares.

Alzheimer's is one of those diseases, and unfortunately not the only one, that often takes enormous effort from everyone and which frequently kills the patient slowly and cruelly. It takes so long sometimes and the caregiving is so intense that we forget that the end still is death.

But death does arrive. He is sometimes late and sometimes early but he always comes. He is not altogether unwelcome in the case of Alzheimer's patients. I know that myself from first hand experience.

And yet I am sad that he came and took my dad away. I am even sadder that he took Helen and Russ and Betsy's mom.

He will come again to touch others that I love. I find that heartbreaking.

Learning You Tube and Other Stuff

We learned to use You Tube the other night.

I'm pretty disappointed in the user interface. I figured since the thing was so popular it would be pretty good.

I uploaded a video first. There's a form you have to complete. Almost every field is required but it doesn't say so. That is until you have tried to submit and then it tells you the first field you missed. So I fixed that field and lo and behold the form had lost my other entries. That's very rude. And then repeated for every field until I figured out all of them were required.

Finally I got the little video clip uploaded but next you have to wait for the processing to occur which took a really long time. I expected it to take about as long as Blogger because that's the only other experience I had to compare. But it took forever.

Well finally it processed but I didn't want everyone in the world seeing the clip so I restricted it. But I didn't have any contacts so I had to add some.

Adding contacts is not as easily done as I had hoped. I won't go into the details but finally I managed to have 2 contacts. So I went to share my video with them only to find they didn't show up in my security list. Finally figured out you have to assign the contacts to a group before you could share something.

I won't even start to describe the trouble Judy had which was not really all You Tube's fault but mostly.

But she got a friend before I did. And it was a guy. But I am not the jealous type.

Speaking of Judy, she knows the name (first and middle and last) of most every person in my family. She knows my grandkid's birthdays and what they like and dislike. She makes these amazing gift bags for the girls and the younger boys. The older boys she says are harder. I have 8 grandchildren. And she knows my kids and their spouses and all their birthdays. And even a lot of my cousins and a few of their kids. And my dad's birthday and my mom's and when mom died and mom's and dad's anniversary. Stuff like that including all sorts of stuff about me that I don't even know myself. Like my eye color. I hadn't really thought about my eye color and don't really examine my eyes that much. And all this knowledge is collected and absorbed from the briefest of conversations and associations and visits. Really I don't understand how it happens.

Now I, on the other hand, am a book of different cover, a horse of a different color, a person of a different stripe, or some other idiosyncratic phrasal idiom. I can't keep track of the names of her aunts and uncles and brother and sister and respective spouses (past and present) and their children and their children much less birthdays and anniversaries. I do pretty well remembering her mom's name though. And I am pretty good with her children and their children. Now the birthdays that I track I must admit I owe it all to my Treo's calendar.

I just bring this up because this will be my first Thanksgiving and probably Christmas and whatever other holidays there are with her family. Should be interesting.

The Bobcat or Cougar or whatever hasn't been back to my son's so no news on that front.

The opossum that I chased away returned and proceeded to die behind the washer. Yours truly had to carry it way out into the pasture. Something, however, carried the carcass back up in the yard today though. The disposal quit working but I got someone to come fix it. The water heater pilot light went out and I had to light it.

Nothing much else going on except for decisions that will have long term and far reaching consequences for our families' future generations and perhaps the existence of life on the planet.

But nothing much more than that.

Interesting Visitors

My son sent this to me by email on Saturday.
He was going to let his dog out in the backyard.
Changed his mind though after seeing the visitor.
Grabbed his camera and took several photos.
Later she was up a tree with 2 young'ns.

My Trip to Hobby Lobby

I've been sick with a cold the last several days. So Friday night I took Zicam Nighttime and went to bed. I remember getting in bed but not much else until Saturday morning's sun began gently drifting through the blinds.

We headed over to dad's house to get a few winter things out of the closet for Judy. We stopped by the cemetery and I visited mom and dad for a bit. We visited some of Judy's family, too. It was such a beautiful day here. It has been 5 weeks and one day since dad died. His marker has the date of death on it now.

I miss dad. I don't miss the Alzheimer's but I miss dad.

Then later we were driving down Western and Judy said "Can we go to Hobby Lobby?" Well, of course we could and we did.

The fellow that started Hobby Lobby lives out in Judy's general area somewhere. His name is David Green. I think he is about 5 or 6 years my senior. I read his biography not too long ago. It is titled More Than a Hobby: How a $600 Startup Became America's Home and Craft Superstore. He started out working in a local T G & Y Store. T G & Y was kind of the Wal-Mart of stores of my youth for those who may not know. At any rate Green and his wife, Barbara, started out with a little miniature frame business in about 1972 or so. And that eventually grew into Hobby Lobby Creative Centers which number some 386 stores at last count.

Our store was in a large strip shopping center and we had to park quite a little ways from the main entrance. When we entered I got one of the remaining few carts. Judy likes to have a cart to hold her purse. I like to have a cart to give me something to lean on and push and make me feel like I am of some use during the excursion.

There were a lot of people in this store. But the people were vastly outnumbered by the stuff. This store is really large. I think it might approach the size of a Wal-Mart - maybe 80% or 85% as big. And everywhere you look there are rows and rows of shelves. And on the shelves is all this stuff.

I think a lot of the stuff is from China. And a lot of it is painted. I wondered if any of it had been tested for lead. Wondered if I should get a mask or something. But then I had this fleeting vision of me putting on a mask and people panicking inside the store and the shelves all starting to fall against each other and things falling and breaking here and there. Hobby Lobby is not a good place for a panicked crowd.

I had no idea why we were in the Hobby Lobby. It is not the kind of store I would ever enter by myself, willingly at least. I had been in this one another time, also with Judy. I will pretty much go anywhere she asks me.

I dutifully pushed my cart in front of me as Judy led us up and down the aisles. She stopped a woman who was wearing an apron and had some kind of tag. I learned we were hunting some kind of figurine for a grave ornament. The saleslady knew where some were and took us to them. But they decided that a laughing horse wasn't really the right kind of figurine.

There were so many things inside the Hobby Lobby that it kind of made me feel a little out of balance - like losing your balance in the shower sometimes - or maybe it was my illness. And then it started feeling kind of tight and closed in - a little claustrophobic. I felt light headed.

I watched others in the store while I was following. There was a group of women that had found a large metal cross of some kind. They were very happy and one lady was clutching it tightly to her body. I cannot imagine feeling such happiness over such an object. I wondered what in the world was so special about that cross.

Then there were others here and there - mostly ladies - but a few men. All of them seemed intent on hunting something. I could not tell if they were having any success or not. Frequently they would pick up something and examine it in close detail and then return it among the others of its kind. I don't know if that's good or bad.

I could not help but think of the Chinese workers who had made these things. I wondered if they were made one at a time in a cottage type industry or if they were made on some kind of line with division of labor by task. I wondered if they knew about the Santa Claus figures they made or the religious images or even the laughing horses. They were pretty good craftspeople.

I asked Judy what was down at the other end of the building. She said it was fabrics and craft items and so on. She asked if I wanted to go down there. I didn't.

We left empty handed after about an hour.

1950 Chevy Truck - Before

Of course we had a Collie!
She is in this photo on the left dad is petting her.
Her name was Lady. All of our girl dogs were named Lady.
We had one other Collie named Sandy when I was much smaller.
Sandy was killed in a traffic accident. Our neighbor felt really
awful about it. I just talked to him the other day.
He and his wife just built a new house.
I am not in this photo. April 1959.
That's our little house in the background.
Lady, Dad, Mom, my Unky holding his youngest,
my cousin Pam, My Aunty, and my brother.
We're standing about where the old truck
is sitting in the next photos - not exactly - close.

Don't you just hate it when a tree grows up in your truck?

Yes, that's me cutting down the tree so we can begin reconstruction
Even I can use a limb cutter.

Engine compartment wasn't so good either.

Inside the cab had seen better times.

The bed was rotted. More vegetation to be removed.
We had the original sideboards in the old granary building
(to the right in this photo - barely)

A little Red Neck piece of heaven I guess.

1950 Chevy Truck

My brother and I both learned to drive on this truck.

I put a dent in one of the doors - maybe both doors - a few times actually. I was really young when I would go out and feed the cattle myself. It made me so proud. I wasn't really supposed to. Usually I could push the bales of hay (they were small then) over onto the bed of the truck. I wasn't supposed to lift a bale to the truck bed but I didn't obey very well so had a hernia repair when I was about 10. Got a new catcher's mitt though.

My brother and I both started driving out in the pasture before we were tall enough to reach the floor. But it had a really low gear called "compound" and once you had it going in that gear you didn't need to do anything but steer. Brakes never did work anyway. I've heard people call "compound" a granny gear but they obviously hadn't met my granny.

My kids both got to drive it in the pasture, too. My son lived an entire year with my parents once and helped work the cattle and do other things on the farm. He still fondly recalls that experience.

The 1950 Chevy wasn't the first truck we had. The one before this one was bigger and older. I think it might have been a 1946 Chevy 2 ton. It made this 1950 Chevy 3/4 ton seem like the most modern vehicle in the world. This isn't it but is kind of what I remember it looking like.

We, along with most of the families we knew, only had one car and dad drove it to work. But we had this truck for use on the farm. Dad had some taller sideboards for it that we used to haul a few head of steers to market on occasion. Looking at the size of the thing now it hardly seems worth it but I clearly remember us doing it.

I loved going to the stockyards in Oklahoma City. It was just a busy and complex place. Sometimes dad would take us to eat in Cattlemen's which is still there. I remember the murals on the walls and the red upholstered booths. I thought that was about as uptown as you could get.

Right inside the door was this old rocking chair and the owner sometimes sat there. On the floor by the chair was a spittoon. And it wasn't just for looks then either.

Mr. Wade owned Cattlemen's during my time and he had won it in a dice game. But that was like in 1945 or something and the restaurant dates from 1910. It is still there today in the stockyards area of Oklahoma City. I used to eat lunch there several times a month.

At one time supposedly the "oldest waitress" worked there and she was in her late 80's. I can't remember her name now. I don't know if she really was the oldest but she had to be a definite contender.

But the image that sticks out in my mind is my mother driving the old 1950 Chevy to the nearest shopping area which was quite a ways off. Everyone dressed up then when they went out and mom dressed up as nice or nicer than most. She sewed all of her own clothes and was really a good tailor. So she'd put her nice clothes on and dress me up as well and we'd climb in the cab of this old truck with the cattle sideboards dripping manure here and there and off we'd go. We wouldn't be the only truck with stock sideboards though.

Once I remember becoming lost inside a department store on one of our trips. The sheer terror and panic I felt at not being able to find my mother amidst the sea of legs and bodies still is fresh in memory. Someone found me though and our reunion was wonderfully sweet.

I tell you though when you climb in the cab of this old truck you really get a sense of how much larger people we have become than we were 50 years ago. That seat doesn't adjust very much and the steering wheel does not move at all. I know quite a few people that would not be able to drive this thing.

I left the vacuum windshield wipers on the truck. The guy that restored it for me wanted to replace them with electric ones. But I wanted it to be as close to the way it was as I could make it. You've really never lived until you've driven a truck with vacuum wipers in a bad rain storm.


I hired the guy to restore the truck the year my mother died. I had this idea of me and dad driving the thing around with our grandkids in the back. But it took a really long time to restore the truck. Dad wasn't able to really go anywhere by the time I got it back. And it wouldn't have made any difference to him by then anyway.

The old truck isn't of much importance historically or to anyone but me and a few others in my family. But it makes me kind of happy and I guess that's not so bad.

Evil

After I was old enough to effectively defy my parents I stopped attending church with them. I think I was 13. It wasn't a complete loss to them because I stayed home and had lunch ready for them when they returned. It was good for me because I did learn a lot about cooking. But it was distressing to my parents all the same and, looking back, it was not one of my shining moments.

I rejected all religion then and embraced science. I became convinced that the evolution of species was an adequate and sufficient explanation for the existence of life. I found no persuasive argument to support the idea of any necessary existence outside the physical. That a good many others, who were older and more experienced in life, agreed with me was gratifying to my 13 year old mind. Paradoxically I thought of myself as being independent and rebellious. I did not understand then that my own rebellion was being joined by what would become some 80 million or so of my contemporaries.

My favorite poem was Design by Robert Frost:

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth-
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witch's broth-
A snow-drop spider, a flower like froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth hither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?-
If design govern in a thing so small.

The coincidence of the small white creatures on a plant that normally is blue but in this case is white still fascinates me today so many years after first I read it. Frost died in 1963. I turned 15 that year. I don't know when I read the poem.

We humans are so good at speculating on the meaning of coincidence. I still do it today, too.

Frost forces the reader to choose one of two metaphysical possibilities: there is order and design to the universe but it is dark and evil or there is no order at all, at least in small things.

The third option to my mind was not metaphysical but natural and orderly and even beautiful. Unless you were the moth of course.

And so in my mind evil died along with God.

When I was 13.

Husband Test

Last night the washer overflowed in the garage. While I was inspecting the machine we noticed an opossum behind the washer. They, along with raccoons and a few other animals, like to come into the garage to eat the cat's food. The cat doesn't really enjoy them being in there.

The opossum did not enjoy being wet however and so moved on his (or her) own to a place near the open garage door. I yelled at him and wielded a nearby broom which had just been in service sweeping water out of the garage. Usually opossums curl up in a little ball and play opossum when you yell at them but this one was apparently traumatized enough to flee when the opportunity presented itself.

Then I figured out the drain pipe was clogged. By running more water of course if you were wondering. Have to be quick on the knob. Judy's washer is labeled "Silver Anniversary" and is a Maytag brand. I think that means it was produced in 1973 which makes it 34 years old. Pretty good service I'd say.

I poured an entire gallon or so of Drain-o down the pipe and it began draining.

I think this was my first test of husbandility.

I passed but not because of any skill or knowledge.

But I've always thought being lucky was as good or better than being competent.

Instructions To The Captives

Yesterday the sermon text was from Jeremiah 29.

It is a letter from the prophet, Jeremiah, to the Israelis who were taken into Babylon. Historically it is called the "exile" or "diaspora" and refers to the event in 586 B.C. when the Babylonians under the leadership of Nebuchadnezzar hauled off a rather large group of Israelis.

The captives, as one might expect, wanted to return home. They had some seers and prophets who were quite happy to tell them what they wanted to hear: that a return would come sooner rather than later. But Jeremiah told them that return was not imminent and, indeed, would last 70 years and they best get about the process of living in this new reality.

5"Build houses and live in them; and plant gardens and eat their produce.

6'Take wives and become the fathers of sons and daughters, and take wives for your sons and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters; and multiply there and do not decrease.

7'Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf; for in its welfare you will have welfare.'

8"For thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, 'Do not let your prophets who are in your midst and your diviners deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams which they dream.

9'For they prophesy falsely to you in My name; I have not sent them,' declares the LORD.

This didn't have anything really to do with the message but I found it interesting.

When I began caregiving I remember feeling a lot like a captive. I struggled with how to balance my own life against my parents' needs. The hardest decision I made was when I decided to ask Judy to marry me. I knew full well that it was going to be very difficult. I also knew that I was not going to be able to give her the first priority in my life as long as I was caregiving. She knew all this, too, of course. But knowing and then experiencing it is different. It was really hard.

In some way we are all captives. Now I am free of the 24/7 confinement and responsibilities of caregiving but I have other constraints that are different but nonetheless real.

I think the application of this passage is to get on with your life and make of the best of it you possibly can. Make a place for yourself and enjoy it. Pay attention to your family. Pay attention to your community, too. I like that last part of that verse: "in its welfare you will have welfare."

Then I really like verses 8 and 9. In the NIV the end of verse 8 is "Do not listen to the dreams you encourage them to have." It is true in my experience that I can usually find some expert that will tell me what I want to hear. Either way though it is best to be skeptical of advice especially when the advice is something we long to hear.

Then, too, these captives were told that this was not to be a short experience. It was going to last 70 years. That means most of those who heard the letter read were going to die before the promised deliverance.

I thought about this part and my own family and the families of so many others I know. My earliest known ancestor that came to the United States arrived on a ship in 1738. He and his son survived the voyage. We surmise that others of his family likely perished. Upon arrival he sold himself and his son into indentured servitude. His would have been at least 3 years and probably more nearly 7 or longer. His son's would have been 14 years. That was how he paid for the cost of the passage.

Surely he wanted a better life for himself but I have to imagine that it was also as much for future generations of his family that he braved such terrible hardships. And that's been true in my family ever since that the parents sacrificed so that their children could live better.

There are some things worth great sacrifice and not everything happens immediately.

Forward

The sermon in church this morning was on moving forward.

Part of moving forward the speaker said is not allowing the past to hold you back.

I am certain he wasn't talking about a particular caregiver whose father and patient just recently died. But it made me think a lot about the similarities between my life and the message.

It is a valid point that I know well from experience. I've done it myself before for one thing. And I've seen a lot of other people make the same mistake.

That's not to say one should ever forget the past or certainly the lessons learned from previous experience. I am convinced that history does not have to be repeated when it comes to mistakes.

Reminded me of a Mary Chapin Carpenter song: Not Too Much To Ask

To hear you say my name, to see you search my eyes
To feel you touch my hand, it more than satisfies.
If I was not the first, just say I'll be the last
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask.

Now I can only dream of being all you need
And I can only try to be the reason why
You think about today and forget about the past
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask.

Now I can only dream of being all you need
And I can only try to be the reason why
You think about today 'cause the past is just the past
It's too much to expect, but it doesn't hurt to ask
It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask.

Feeding the horses