Month: September 2022

The next level of elder care has all of us adjusting to change again. Having decided to do home care for as long as possible is a decision we made long ago, but the implementation is quite the wake-up call.

My 95-year-old dad, a really brilliant man, and in excellent health for so long, declines.

This is hard.

What can I write about? Hard things.

To start out, I can state that I am weary. Lack of sleep takes it’s toll. As someone turning 60 in a few months I can say I feel it. Late middle age is definitely here, even waning. Old age looms.

It makes me think of the millennium daily, that place where we’re all about 30 and in perfect health, prime-time existence, loving Jesus, privileged and blessed.

This life is so short, so transient. These long weary days will be nothing but like grass blowing in the wind.

Sometimes I wonder how long I will be around on this earth. Will I live to be 95 like my dad? Longevity is a real factor in my family. We’ve all been rapture watchers and God has granted us long life. Still, 35 years is significant.

This is why I am re-treading.

Even as I care for my dad I am learning Chinese, mentally accepting sea-change in my own life. I hate doing life by myself. My kids have their own lives, and I rejoice that they are all productive, smart, and generally happy.

Cherie announced that she is ready to finish her Bachelor’s degree. There was much rejoicing—in my heart.

As a home-schooling mom I always had the standard that my kids would graduate with a four-year degree. Cherie has her Associate of Arts, so she’s no slouch, but she wanted to prudently choose a major, and that takes time.

She is a Tolkien expert, an online pro, who can answer anything about his works. She can write and read Elvish. She has learned enough Korean to understand passing conversation. Her artistic skills are impressive, her drawings have only improved over time. She loves to draw and write. Hmmm. Where did that come from? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

She wants to major in history for now, my second child to do that.

She is hardworking, bright, and beautiful. I couldn’t do life without her easily right now. I’m blessed by her. With all the sorrow and mess that I’ve experienced over the past three years I am grateful beyond words for her steady presence and personality. She is a treasure and a joy.

As Captain Wentworth described Anne in “Persuasion,” —“There is no one so capable as—–” —Cherie.

Brian used to quote that. Smiles.

I still hear his voice, and that makes me smile.

The days are beautiful. My brother and sister-in-law were here to give relief for a week. We all celebrated my niece’s birthday yesterday eating outside at place on Nicollet and 50th in Minneapolis. What a nice moment of early autumn to recall. I dropped them off at the airport afterwards.

Forging ahead for the next few weeks with my dad.

My mom had tested positive for Covid-19 a few weeks ago. Her recovery has been steady. She’s back to being part of the care-giving equation.

People survived the Bubonic plague, and they are surviving Covid-19 pandemic. We are surviving. Our days are numbered by God, and that means tomorrow could be the day we see Jesus.

Always keep that in mind. As life grows long, or is shortened in a unexpected manner we can know that God ordained it.

In acceptance lies peace.

Another Feast of Trumpets has passed. No Rapture. Perhaps today?

Maranatha!

Always watch. There is a special crown for keeping watch.

I Thessalonians 4:17

I work at a hotel every other weekend. Believe me, I’ve run into almost everything there, all walks of life, international visitors, weddings, events, and even some human trafficking. I’ve gotten to know the county sheriffs.

I have seen people needing “welfare checks” and people too drunk to lift themselves off of the pavement. It’s humanity.

Generally the people I serve are well-heeled and courteous. We aren’t a cheap hotel. I like meeting people and I make small talk with almost everyone who shows interest. I like talking with older couples from out-state Minnesota. They are usually the “salt of the earth,” small town stalwarts and farmers.

Mistakes are made once in awhile, and people show their true colors—vibrant, coarse, or subtle. I admit that as a person who has had an inordinate amount of sadness these past years I tend to have little patience for complainers.

Sorry.

The petty irritates me.

But there IS value in serving petty people. They are the quality control of life. I need to listen to them respectfully and try my best to appease their desires. Something is missing in their lives, and we hospitality experts must jump to the expectation!

When people ask for the moon I must humbly apologize. I can’t deliver. I can make an attempt to be nice, though. (It’s hard sometimes. I’ve had people scream at me!) They forget that I am limited by the standards of the business I work for. I simply cannot give them what they want, served on a silver platter.

Are you a petty person? Do you make demands of those who try to serve you? Do your expectations belittle reality? I hope that the one you belittle can appreciate your criticism and your “helpful” ideas about what should be instead of what is.

Next time you check into a hotel or order food at a restaurant I hope you imagine that the person behind the counter or tray is possibly someone working on a master’s degree, has five children, is a widow or widower, has experienced cancer, is taking care of aged parents, is a full-time teacher moonlighting for extra cash. You may be surprised at the life experiences of these “petty people!” Just because someone folds stacks of laundry and cleans up (disgusting) messes in your rooms doesn’t mean you should belittle or berate.

Be nice. Be kind. We are trying our best to learn from what you want and need. It’s okay to be petty, because there is value in producing quality, but it isn’t pleasant.

I like it when you are thoughtful.

Those are my thoughts.

It’s apple season.

My prayer partner, and good friend, shared a quick idea for a baked apple. Your mouth will water at this—

Pick a good apple: First Kiss, or Rave (they are the same thing) Cortland, Haralson, or Honeycrisp. The tarter the apple the more brown sugar —

Wash it and core it, slice it. I have an apple corer/wedge slicer. It works well for this. The apple peeler, corer, slicer is not necessary.

Stick it in a microwaveable dish, add a packet of maple/brown sugar instant oatmeal, some butter, and a bit more cinnamon and brown sugar.

Microwave two minutes on high, covered.

Enjoy. So simple!

The orchard near us, Apple Jacks, has apple donuts on the weekends. I think they are baked in St. Cloud (where my university is.) A sack of a dozen donuts is a great deal and there is nothing so tasty as apple donuts.

IMHO.

My mouth is watering. I think I’ll pick up some Haralson apples for a pie or two, too.

Firesides aren’t ready yet, nor are they at Apple Jacks. Sad face. I need to track them down, because the orchard that had them (Dumas) has closed. I seriously pondered a hike into their property to fetch some Firesides. They are literally rotting these days. Sad face.

Anyone know which orchard around here still has these delectable apples?

I want to know!

My little world continues to micro-evolve. Day to day there are changes that we must encounter, decide upon, and adapt to. Some things cease to happen, others begin.

When people leave this sphere there are so many adjustments to make.

Birth and marriage are huge adjustments, but I think death is the biggest one. Things are so final, so unchangeable. It seems like it is a new existence entirely, a whole new world, as the Disney song proclaims.

For my 95-year-old dad right now, decline is the name of the game. I have no idea how long this “game” lasts. It is unchartable territory. Someone with his strength and long-lasting good health can see incremental decline limited to certain aspects of his overall health.

For the time being my life is completely encompassed with his care.

This is a new experience for me, and one that I am reluctant with. I admit it. I love my dad! I hate seeing this slow progression.

It isn’t easy for any of us.

I’ve already gotten several calls to substitute teach, this week, even. (Shock!) but am declining for the time being. We are searching for good help, and that is a real challenge.

Times they are a-changing.

I cannot swim in the afternoons because the YMCA cannot find lifeguards to work. Our society is in need of laborers in a huge way. It’s uncanny.

Where have all the people gone? Covid?

I can almost imagine a world where two people are left after a prolonged battle with aliens. A thriller. It’s really a nightmare.

There’s a book the kids were reading for school called “Alas, Babylon” a few years back. That story comes to mind as people re-set after pandemic.

Life is hard. I know it.

I learned that one of Corgi Hollows’ top fans passed away recently. Heart failure. I’m sad. We all think about Covid and its related effects. Because I believe it may have affected my husband’s heart I think about this from time to time, and note how many other men in their fifties have passed away suddenly like him. It’s a thought to ponder.

This person was only one month younger than my husband, so same age group.

Meanwhile I will try to sleep, swim, do CrossFit, and manage life as it happens. Challenges. Limiting life’s activities to the bare minimum is survival.

I’m learning this. Simplify, simplify, simplify.

It’s true.

Come, Lord Jesus!

Maranatha!

When Brian died two years ago I received dozens of cards and memorial gifts. I opened them up, read them, and put them in a big box to re-read carefully at a later date.

I gave the money to a ministry that both of us cherished.

Yesterday I went through some photos that were chosen to remember Brian. As I placed them in an album I was overcome with waves of sadness.

I know why I haven’t been able to look at the big box of memorial cards. I’m not ready yet.

Sudden and unexpected death is very different from any other kind. Brian was healthy, young, strong, and happy. His death was a total shock. Heart failure.

I was shocked for months.

I guess I’m still in the recovery period.

I know where he is. That hasn’t changed.

I still struggle with thinking about his death.

Perhaps I’m abnormal. I don’t know.

I don’t really care if I’m normal or not. I’m coping.

Thank you, all of you who remembered us and wrote to us at that time.

I do cherish your interest and thoughts.

Please know that I have been retreating, restarting, reevaluating. I haven’t forgotten you. I’m still “dealing.”

Thank you.