Thanksgiving Big Family Melee

Well, my whole family showed up, although some members (nieces, nephews, brother in law) headed back to Chicago early because of work. The general consensus is that it was fun.

My family plays games, we sing songs and we drink. We have certain traditions when we get together, like Ping Pong tournaments, Moriarity Are You There?, Capture the Flag or Tag outside in the Woods....we are quite competitive and we did some of the usual games. We often play the dictionary game but this year I borrowed from gmcountrymama's version for the Thanksgiving meal. My younger sister and I, with our kids gave each person a word at dinner time. They had to use the word at least two times an hour. We thought that this game might cut most of the "crap" conversation that goes on, however the words proved hard to use. Then we just said you had to use it in a sentence as to why you were thankful. That was most amusing.

While the last minute touches were being put on dinner we had our annual ping pong tournament. Above is a picture of the team that won, my older sister is the one on the right. I think they are holding a trophy, but I don't think they took the trophy home because it is one of my son's most valued possessions, at least it was when my son was twelve. The young man in the picture is my nephew Matt. It seems that he is always part of a winning team. He has been winning for at least the last three tournaments. He was partnered with my other sister for those. My sisters have no talent, trust me.

We did have a rousing game of Group Tag in the pine trees. The branches touch the ground and the trees are pretty tall so the kids were jumping from tree to tree. The trees are so close together that if you fall you can grab onto another tree. It is kid heaven and we are all kids at heart around here.

For the most part we sat around a talked. Lots of good conversations. Well worth the effort.

I am gearing up for Thanksgiving

My family is coming up this year for the holiday so I am busy cooking. The last thing I want to do when I have my family up here is spend all my time in the kitchen, so I make as much as I can ahead of time. I am also busy washing linens and making beds because I have three families plus extras who stay with us. These are pictures from a few years ago. And when I tell you we make everyone wear orange when they are outside I am not kidding. Its hunting season and the Thanksgiving weekend is big for hunters.

My brother in law and his daughter went out for a morning jog. As you can see they are wearing the requisite orange gear and carrying bats. The bats are for protection. We insisted. There were some rotweillers in the neighborhood. Most people in this area do not kennel their dogs. Those rotweillers were a major problem.

This is my mom and her friend, Mario. Mom relocated to Chicago from a small town in Northeaster Ohio. She now lives smack dab in the middle between two towns and my two sisters, in the Western Chicago suburbs of Naperville and Aurora. Mom and Mario met a number of years ago in what I like to refer to as an "Emphysema awareness" class. It was some type of cardio-exercise program. My mom quit smoking about ten or fifteen years ago after more than twenty five years as a smoker. Now she is suffering from a mild case of emphysema, as is Mario. They are both widowers. In my mother's case, it was her second husband whom she lost. Mario lost his only wife the year before. He had been married to the same woman for more than thirty years. If you think you're too old for love, well your never too old, just ask them.

A blast from the past

When my brother was in middle school- of course we called it Junior High, he and his friends would get together up in his room and play Risk. It is the game where you have little colored pieces that represent armies and you roll the dice to do battle and the highest roll wins. The board is divided by territories and continents and the more territories you conquer, the more land and armies you acquire. After playing this game you see why Europe and Asia were constantly being over run throughout history and so difficult for the
conquering army to hang onto. I would walk by my brother's bedroom and the chatter was deafening. There was so much excitement and shouting. My brother and his friends would spend hours and days playing the game. They loved it..


It is a great game, then and now. I used to play it on the occasional weekend night with my friends in the dorm when I was in college. We would go all evening and finally it would end with someone flipping the board, or throwing pencils. We were very competitive and didn't handle losing well.


We used to play here at home with the kids or just Harry, after a holiday meal or on a cold Saturday evening in the winter. As in, Monopoly, another Moore favourite, in this household, we always try and form alliances or make deals. I loved playing with my husband, because he'll always do these truly sweet things for me exclusively, like in Monopoly, let me land on Boardwalk four times rent free (this is after he's got two and three houses on it, and could bring you to your knees in the game financially), or in Risk he'll give me a country that he would like for us to visit sometime, or the one that I should be Queen of. He was such a gentleman, and there is nothing the kids can do about it.


My son plays Risk. He plays with his friends and he plays when he goes to Chicago to visit his cousins. Or on vacation, he will bring a Risk board and the cousins will spend an evening at it. If you talk to the boys, my son and nephews, they will engage you in a discussion of the game, and their strategy and who was winning, or how the game was won or lost by whom. It makes my eyes roll to the back of my head to listen to them. I appreciate that they get so excited, and it represents drama to them, but frankly it is dull to listen to. But I think back to the excitement I used to witness with my brother and his friends, and I think, well alright, its that kind of thing.


My son just recently went over to his friends and they played a rousing game, or so he says. He was telling me how he won the game with great gusto and excruciating detail; the alliances and deceptions that were occurring. And here is something, they were text messaging each other under the table. As he was negotiating pacts and alliances with one party, he was receiving text messages on his cell phone from another party. Sweet.

Trees and solitude

I pulled this poem from "right hand pointing" http://www.righthandpointing.com/
The poet reminds me of Mark Strand (Eating Poetry, The Marriage).

We have at least fifty acres of trees in various stages of growth. Our trees our like our children. We are sad when we lose one. Over the years we've watched them grow. We've even had trees moved rather than cut them down. We moved about twenty trees once with one of those huge spades. That was an amazing machine. All the trees lived. We haven't always been as successful with other tree planting projects.

Also, we have more wildlife here now than when we first bought the land and it was all just cornfields. I've seen a barr owl and a pileated woodpecker. Pileated woodpeckers need mature forest . The owl needs big old trees for nesting too.

We talk about selling our property and the polite thing to do is ask your neighbors, but some neighbors I just wouldn't sell to because they would till some of the fields coming out of CRP back into crop land. I can just tell. My husband and I have talked about doing a land trust, but not sure how hard it would be to sell if we did leave. And then other days I think that this is absolutely the best place to be, and I love the solitude and privacy. I think I should stay here for as long as I can because I will miss it when I leave. I don't think anybody would understand unless they lived in a place like this and had the room and the freedom we have had living here. Recently I've begun going for a walk every evening before sunset, as long as the weather holds. I walk along the fencelines which go through shared woods and field. I enjoy it very much.

Watching the Pine Fall
by Doug Draime

Am I the one to ask the question
Or the guy across the street
With a chain saw biting deep into a pine tree?
Words very often appear on wood
A highly refined bleached wood
Maybe this paper was once a pine?
Nevermind, no words can compare to a tree
But any idiot can operate a chain saw

No worries

Michelle, the cleaning lady with OCD, did a great job, and, she is very nice. There were a few things that I will probably need to work on. All the sheets for the bed have to match. Consequently, she didn't replace some of the pillow cases because they weren't right. My linen closet is probably as unorganized as they come, and I throw together whatever as long as its the right size for making up the beds. I guess I'll have to re-organize that closet too. It's time.

She confessed that she replaced John's water glass three times because there were bugs in it (fall is always ladybug / elder bug season crazy in the house). If you live in the suburbs you will not understand, or if you are heavy into pesticides, my house would be a problem for you, because I will not even kill spiders. Here in Minnesota we really do not have anything lethal anyway that would come indoors.

My husband keeps a beer mug of water on the table that he uses all week long, and maybe once a week I'll replace it with a clean mug. I don't worry about the possibilities of him swallowing a bug unless I see it happen or there is one in the glass at the time I am passing by. Michelle suggested putting saran wrap over the top, but that would be complicated for John to remove at best.

The only incident was, very early on I recieved a call from Michelle, because John was asking for her help to find a disk that contained his phone numbers. Well, he hasn't used a diskette in a pc for ten years, and he was thinking of when we lived in Maryland and he used to carry his phone numbers on a diskette that he would take between his home office and work. So I walked Michelle through re-booting the pc, and bypassing the hard drive scanning program. John is using a 486 processor pc with windows 98 because his talking program, Jaws, is old and has been out of service for years. It would cost $900.00 to upgrade, and another $135.00 for software maintenance agreements, so I am keeping this pc alive for as long as I possibly can. John has a phone number file on his desktop, and I showed Michelle how to access this. I explained the situation to her, that as a result of the stroke, he confuses past and present and sometimes he will have moments of clarity so she will just have to ask Harry or I to explain what John is referring to. Brain damage is an interesting thing. It can turn life into a crossword puzzle. I guess I would prefer to work them at my leisure, but it is what it is and we can rise to the occasion.

Was this a good idea..

A few weeks ago the woman who was cleaning my house quit. She got a job in a nursing home. She had four kids and it is second shift with benefits. It is a good thing and I was very happy for her and I like her a lot. I decided that since I had plenty of vacation time till the end of the year that I would just clean the house myself and that would be refreshing. I could take half days every other Friday.

But then I saw an add in the local paper. A woman was advertising some openings and I called her. Thanksgiving is coming up and I have to do some travel for business and perhaps it would keep me saner if I got someone to help.

So then she came over. She has OCD which stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
She used to work in the medical industry but then decided that she should use her gift that God
has given her and cleaning just made sense.

I am wondering what I have gotten myself into. She wanted to know where all my cleaning supplies were, and materials. I showed her everything that was in my closets and cabinets so that she would know where everything went. She says she has to put things away and nothing can be on countertops (when I suggested that she just leave the cleaning supplies on the counter etc.) The beds all have to be made. Everything has got to be perfect. When she saw the cupboard where I keep rags and brushes and vacuum filters she asked if I would mind if she reorganized that. Well, sure. I do myself sometimes. And, my cupboards and pantry do look pretty disheveled at this moment in time. I usually ignore those kinds of projects till the weather turns bad.


As we walked around the house and talked she picked up paper scraps and bits off the floor. She has given me a list of special cleaning supplies and tools that she will need. I am a vinnegar and water, bleach and ammonia sort of person depending on the job. I use an old fashioned rag mop to do the floor. I like things simple and basic and without the filler (all those chemicals whose names cannot be pronounced). So now I have a list of supplies that I have to get before she starts next week. I am not sure I will be able to handle this. I really am not interested in perfection.

Today I am reorganizing my pantry and the place I keep all my cleaning supplies. I would hate to send her into a tailspin on her first visit.

Sisters' Cow Fever

I have a younger sister whom I mostly refer to as my "little sister". Its a private joke. We're only about a year and a half difference in age and for a long time I thought we were twins, because she was always the same size as me. She eventually overtook me in size when we got older. I am five foot four inches and she's probably close to 5'11" (she always said she was 5'8" growing up and I believed her! Pah!). Anyway, when we were little, adults would ask me that question, "Are you girls twins?", in grocery stores and other places, and I always said yes, and then my "little" sister would correct me. It wasn't till I started grade school, ahead of her, that I realized that I was different and also, possibly had an advantage. We were raised Catholics and my little sister and I went to a Catholic school. I was indoctrinated at a very young age on the cult of Jesus, and he was great for suffering. As it happened, my sister suffered a lot. This was when she was five and we were new in the neighborhood. She used to get picked on by some of the neighbor kids, well one in particular. I remember her coming home crying from some incident where the girl who was supposed to be her best friend, had pushed her into the bushes or pulled her hair. I remember ( and she remembers this too) telling her that Jesus loved her (when I was seven!) and that i would protect her. I also remember hugging her and all that, and trying to stop her crying. There is a lot to be said about birth order and behavior. My dad, who is almost 80, and having some problems with memory loss and old age in general, tells us now how his older brother always took care of him, and still is: taking him to the doctor, making sure he has all his prescriptions, keeping us kids informed. This is a good thing about family. I feel like my older sister is similar and frankly, sometimes she acts more like my mother than my own mother!


When we were in our early twenties, my little sister was visiting me at college, and I had a friend whose parents were farmers. My friend took us over to his parents place, so we could see the woods and go for a walk. We had to cut through this pasture to get to the woods and so we had to walk through this field that had a couple of cows resident. The cows tried to stampede us, well sort of. My sister has brought this up a number of times recently. I asked her why this had such an impact and she said because cows aren't supposed to behave this way. They are supposed to be gentle and quiet and sweet, but I think she has been watching too many movies. I guess this must have been one of those traumatic, life changing experiences for her.


Now I have had some experiences with cows. This wasn't the first field I had been chased out of by a bovine. From my view, they appear rather slow and thoughtful (er stupid is probably closer to the truth), but it is possible for them to sometimes get anxious or feel threatened. Fortunately though, it has been my experience that thoughts do not come very quickly to a cow, and they usually chew on it for quite a few minutes, which gives you sometime to realize their intentions. On this particular occasion, we were in this pasture, headed to the woods: my sister, myself and my friend. My friend was distracted by the gate and had turned around. All of a sudden these two cows lunged toward us. Well they did not move that fast, but it totally startled my sister and I. The thing that got me, was not the cows coming at us, but our response to them. For my sister, I think the adrenaline kicked in and she went into survival mode. I tried to get in front of her and I swear to God, she, on the other hand, was pushing me out of the way and knocked me face first on the ground, (I'm exaggerating because i never actually fell) so she could have a clear shot at a run in the other direction. Fortunately, my friend noticed the whole thing, before the two of us trampled each other in our panic to do something. He shouted a couple of WHOA WHOA and waved his hands. This was enough to make the cows stop in their tracks and run the other direction.


My sister and I have a lot of shared experiences. We don't talk about any of this too often, and it is surprising to hear, sometimes, her perception and memory of various incident that we experienced together. For her this incident was some kind of traumatic experience, for me it was just something new I learned about my sister, and now that I think of it, the way we responded probably had more to do with the roles we had within our family.
For a long time, one of my measures of human worth based on behavior, is whether I would want to be stranded on a desert island with a person. Since this incident, I had decided that my sister was not a good candidate. I've changed my mind about that. Actually, both my sisters have been there for me recently, providing me with much needed emotional support, and just a little bit of good advice to get me through some very tough times. I have decided that I am very lucky, and very glad that they are here helping me.

They need a dog

Say hello to Pufkin. This is the one family member's picture that my niece Megan has sitting in a frame on her desk at work.

My sister's family lost their dog Tucker to old age about 6 months ago. He was part of the family for many years, and well loved by all. Recently, my niece bought this little hamster and named it Pufkin.

At night, Megan will block the top of the stairs with pillows and put Pufkin in a hamster ball, so it can roam unrestricted around the second floor. The other night, at bedtime, Pufkin, in the hamster ball, was in my sister's bedroom. "Mike, will you get that hamster out of here?" And her husband did. It followed behind him as he led it, in its hamster ball, out to the hallway.

This family needs a real pet.

In memorium

This is my friend Doreen, standing with my husband. The story behind the picture is this: she needed a car for awhile. I drive used cars. My current vehicle of choice are station wagons, and for some silly reasons, we had two. She borrowed one for about a month and then when she gave it back, she gave us a gift certificate to a restaurant. So then, when John and I used the certificate, we invited Doreen out to dinner with us, our treat. It was fun.

Doreen died this weekend. She was recovering from treatments for MDS, a precurser to Leukemia. She had a blood cord transplant three years ago, and just never got better. Before she contracted this disease, she was so lively and so much fun. There were many things I wanted to do with her, and things we had planned. I will miss her alot.

Beep Baseball

When I first met John, my husband, who is blind, he was very active and athletic. He was looking for things to do, so he joined a Beep Baseball team through the AT&T Pioneers association. I got involved in the sport with John, as his driver and his friend, and I ended up being a spotter for the team.

Everyone on the team was blind, or had partial vision and wore a blindfold, except the pitcher. The pitcher could see, and had to use syncopation in his voice and throw a ball that was even and true. He would say “Ready, Set, Swing”. We played softball, but I have to say the team was a rowdy bunch of brave souls, not some girly girl outfit. (I come from a very sportscentric town so hardball vs. softball is a discussion.)

What the spotter does depends on the strategy that the team puts together; and ours was a pie shape where the baseball field was fractioned from one to five as if you had triangular wedges. My job was to call out which area the ball landed in. So I would shout a number one through five if the batter hit the ball and it went somewhere. I would name the area that it fell. And then the person in that area would scramble to get the ball, and there were rules as to whether you could run back or forward, to avoid other players.

Generally, the best teams were the ones who had team members who could hit the ball. There were always discussions whether a player who had vision at some point in his life, and knew the batter posture, was better at hitting than say someone like Stevie Wonder, who I don’t think ever had any vision. Well clearly he wasn’t an athlete. Anyway, there is definitely a difference, but no decision as to which makes a better batter and more contact with the ball.

So, about the game; we had two spotters in the field, one on the left and the other on the right side of the field. I shared the spotter position with another fellow who had a son on the team, so the other spotter was maybe in his sixties.. One time he got hit by his son, wouldn’t you know, who was young and reckless, and did not follow the rules or the plan. For Christ sake, all these guys out in the field have to handle the ball in less than seven seconds and none of them can see. I say seven seconds because that is how fast a runner can run to the base. We used to time it. The fact that everybody listens to the rules and pays attention is very important. Actually, that is why John eventually quit. This same individual wasn’t listening and went the wrong way and hit John dead on with at least 180 lbs of force and John was concerned about his face and his smile and good things like that. Ok.

Well sometime I’ll tell you about the tournaments or the day they played in the wind. The players could not find the bases. The bases are tall soft bags that emit a tone, based on the umpires decision, because the umpire flicks a switch for first or third when the batter makes contact. The batter has to run toward the noise. Sometime I'll tell you about the time we got drunk with a couple of the team members, and I gave them a lift to the train station. Two drunk blind guys trying to find their way through the train station was hilarious. I was a little worried about them when I dropped them off, but they made it.

The whole thing, my hanging out with a blind guy, and hanging out with many blind guys, was an adventure for sure. My husband is amazing. By the way, guess which one is my husband? Guess which ones in this picture can see? There are four.

Over the wall (more about hunting)

I work in an office with mostly men and they are all software engineer types. These two guys sitting next to me were working on something programming and it wasn't going well and the one guy says, "Have you ever been squirrel hunting and your frustrated and you just hang it all and start shooting into the nest? Well thats how I feel right now."

Boy, that's what I would have said if I were having a bad day.

Hunting Season is around the corner

Since Zero Tolerance policies were implemented in our high school a couple of years ago, the principal has been making the following announcement in the school’s Daily News program:

“Now that hunting season is open: Just a reminder that possession of bows or guns on school grounds is a violation of school policy. Please do not bring them to school. I realize that many students may head directly out to their stands or the field after school; make time to stop and get your hunting gear at home or a friends after school. Thank you and good luck hunting!”

An essential part of growing up in these parts, more important than Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, or attending Church, at least as far as I can tell, is going through gun training and getting your Firearm Safety Number. The kids in this area, both boys and girls, at the age of about 10 years old and forward, pile into the gun training class put on by the local gun club each fall. I used to teach religious education. During three weeks in September, my class would be practically empty because all the kids were in gun training, and that was much more important than their spiritual development. One time I called the instructor, when my son was in the class, to see if it was possible for him to miss the class, or make up the work; so that he could attend Religious Education (Catholics call it CCD). The instructor proceeded to lecture me on the importance of understanding firearm safety (including cleaning and maintaining a firearm) and then which would I rather choose, and so on and so forth. At the end of the conversation I realized the Harry would have to miss his CCD because the instructor had a major point.

There are more than several hunting seasons for firearms: fish, water fowl, pheasants, turkey, and buck only, buck and doe season. Buck season starts first, and then towards Thanksgiving it opens for buck and does. I am not exactly sure of all of them, or the exact rules and regulations, but I have observed that on the first day of any opener, our office empties out by more than half.

We have let certain people hunt on our land for years. Since my son acquired his firearm’s safety certificate; he now hunts with them. He loves hunting and he loves wild venison. I always pray the he doesn’t hit anything so I don’t have to deal with having to cook it. I am sorry. I just prefer getting my meat from supermarkets.

Our little town is affected as well. It is another sign of fall, the invasion of the men in orange. They come in truck loads. And then the signs appear on the Hardware Store, the Liquor store, the Gas Station all with the same message: "HUNTERS WELCOME" or “GET YOUR TAGS HERE. It is very popular.

What is the latest in hunter's fashion?

This is my family’s response to deer hunting. Oh ok, just the women then. Hunting season is on at Thanksgiving. Every other year or so, my entire family and their children will spend the holiday at our house here in Minnesota. We make them all wear orange when they are outside, as we are surrounded by fields and woods. Even though it is our property, and we warn our neighbors to stay out while they are here, we still need to be cautious.The one in black with the thermal glove worked into her hair is my older sister, and we call her Bambi La Doe. And yes, those are antlers.

Conversation with the Dr.

The other day I went with my son to his dr. appointment. My son has an aortic aneurism (a complication of a bicuspid aortic valve) which forced him to quit all competitive collision / contact sports. Normally people have a three flap valve. My son has a two flap valve hence the bicuspid term. Sometimes this will lead to complications similar to what my son developed.

He played hockey, football and soccer; pretty much all his favorite activities, but no question, hockey was his favorite. The disease was diagnosed a couple of years ago. It was both very sad to discover, and difficult to transition our high energy athletic son to a different lifestyle with new interests. No matter, we consider ourselves fortunate to have stumbled onto it. Complications from this condition are the fifth most frequent cause of sudden death in young athletes on the field during sporting events. Most individuals are unaware that they have the condition as there are no symptoms. John Ritter, the actor, died when his aortic aneurysm burst, at least this is what I read at one time, I cannot say for sure that it is true. And, at the time I don’t believe he or anyone knew that he had this health risk.

We were always aware that my son had a heart murmur, and the doctors all said he would grow out of it, except that he never did. The heart murmur, long arms (possible marfans – President Abraham Lincoln was though to have Marfans), and a breathing episode during hockey, resulted in a recommendation to get an echocardiogram from our local doctor. My son had nothing wrong with his heart, but they discovered this out lying condition that they would only let our family doctor discuss with us. Now, my son has annual medical visits to check his cardiovascular system, along with regularly scheduled CT scans, and I am joking about starting a “heart” fund for future complications (valve replacement, periodic scans etc. at one grand a pop) at a time when my son is no longer covered under my insurance. Well, I guess I am sort of joking.


My son’s doctor (also my husband’s doctor) is a stereotypical small town doctor you see in movies or on TV. He gives discounted sports medical exams for the kids over the summer. He can do anything and knows everything as far as I am concerned. One time I stopped in his office for some reason, and the nurse went to get him and he comes out holding the snow shovel, saying “what, what? Does the sidewalk need clearing again?” They’ve since hired another male staff member, but at the time he was the only man in an office full of women and the sidewalk was his responsibility. On the occasions when he had to discuss our son’s condition with me or my son, there were tears in his eyes. He really cares a lot. And Harry and I have always joked about doctor visits in general, because he’ll take the time to tell you all the technical ins and outs of whatever condition you have, what he checks, why he checks, and so on. While it was great for this particular situation with his heart, for things like tetanus and other infectious diseases we would usually leave feeling far worse than we came in given all the gory details he provided.

So on this most recent visit we were talking about Harry’s senior year and I was complaining about all the solicitations by every branch of the armed forces, and how they were un-phased by Harry’s medical condition, and went even so far as to schedule visits to our home after Harry mentioned his condition to them.

The doctor began to explain that teenagers were vulnerable and made easy prey because of their ignorance and lack of experience. Teenagers do not realize that when they signed up for service, the government owned them and their bodies. He said that these young men could be court marshaled simply for getting hurt or sick to a point that they are not able to serve. Then he talked about WWI and foxholes.

There were high incidents of infection during WWI because there was a prevalence of uncircumcised men and the difficulties of keeping clean under conditions that existed in foxholes. For the next war, per the doctor, men were given shots, hair cuts and circumcised on the spot, and that this led to an increase in babies being circumcised, so that the next generations son’s would be able to avoid this if they were called into service. (I currently know at least one man who served in the Vietnam War and was not circumcised going in. It is an interesting story anyway. As a side note, there is a rise in un-circumcised boys again because insurance companies are defining it as a religious preference rather than a preventative health measure. )

The doctor talked about being a medical doctor in the armed forces, and some of the “tricks” the government played to encourage one to re-enlist. It was clear that he did not care for the armed forces and he was none too happy with how he or his patients during this period were treated while serving their country. That brought us to the current government. The good doctor did not disagree with my opinion on the war, nor the state of our government, though he did not add to it. And then I was on a roll against our current government policies. I feel we’ve lost twenty years on the fight for a cleaner environment, and with the changes in laws regarding terrorist activity; we are taking away the hard won rights of individuals. This country was settled by slaves, bonded servants and criminals (unfairly prosecuted no doubt) who had no rights in the countries they left. It is no wonder our constitution is based on the necessity of presumed innocence and certain inalienable rights, and this was all part of the declaration of independence. I also got a call from the State Troopers auxiliary or association or whatever it was last night. I told them I wouldn’t give them any more of my money because I’ve given them plenty (inference meaning traffic stops on state highways)! I’ll get off my soap box now.

Inspiration

I just finished reading a great book: “We Are All Welcome Here” by Elizabeth Berg. It is the story of a girl who is being raised by her mother Paige, a victim of polio, paralyzed from the neck down. It is a wonderful story that addresses many issues regarding human nature, growing up with a disabled parent (like my child and stepchildren), and how normal changes. I found it inspiring, and given my current situation I need inspiration.
There is a moment, toward the end of the book where the disabled mom, Paige, lectures the social worker for accusing her of taking advantage of her daughter to help with her daily care.


“Was it fair what happened to me? Of course not, but here I am. And let me put this the simplest way I can: if being paralyzed is my fate, helping to take care of me is my daughter’s.”

My son is obligated (as were John’s two stepchildren) to do more in our family than I suspect is required in most families. The difference now for my son is that John was much more able when he was younger, and provided more guidance to his older son and daughter and better emotional support. John has always done a lot of remodeling in basements, garages, you name it. Johnny used to help John wire electrical fans, do plumbing, carpentry and electrical work. Later, Harry helped John put up drywall, insulation and fertilize trees and they all did things like walk John places or do chores with him around the house and yard. Harry takes care of John’s meals and medicines when I am traveling on business trips or visiting family on over nights. There is very little that John can do independently, and with his strokes, that ability has been reduced further. The key, to our survival and his, is acceptance, on many levels.

And that reminds me of two movies that are absolutely my favorite in this regard. One is “My Left Foot” starring Daniel Day, and the other is “Regarding Henry” starring Harrison Ford and Annette Benning. What I loved about My Left Foot was again the family, and the way they accepted their son’s, brother’s disability. My favorite scene though, was where it showed the four boys sleeping in one bed, two up and two down. I just loved that.


What struck me most about Regarding Henry is how much Henry’s life changed, and what he lost. Regardless of how they portrayed it, he did lose a lot. The scene that stands out most in my mind in this movie was a cocktail party that Henry and his wife attended after he was back at home(long recuperation from brain damage after being shot in the head). The Hostess was making some comment about Henry and his disability to a group of her guests that was negative and condescending, and she was making a cruel joke at his expense. The wife overheard, and she let the hostess know she overheard, and then she and her husband left and that was it for the wife’s friendship to that woman I would guess.

When John was younger he talked to me more about what it was like to lose his sight (he lost his sight when he was thirty) and how his life changed. Before he lost his sight he was very active. He lifted weights, played pickup football on the weekends, golfed, tennis, repaired his cars, he loved to drive, painted his house, remodeling, gardened, you name it he did it all. He had lots of friends and was very social. When he lost his site he kept fairly active, and that was the only comment that he made to me that I remember regarding what life was like after he lost his sight. He said he lost a lot of friends. Having a disability can be very lonely and isolating, no matter what anybody says. He does not talk about it and he does not complain.


John retired from the phone company in 1998, after having had a mild stroke. He worked for at least 20 years with his disability, in Chicago, Maryland and Minnesota as an Account Executive. I think he did a pretty good job of accepting the change. He moved on. He made new friends and he has had a pretty good life so far considering.

Mud Flap

When Harry was young, every dog we had was bigger than he was. I realize now, this must have presented an impossible situation for him. In the country our dogs live chain free and loose out of doors. Harry was “hounded” the minute he walked out of the house, and as his mother, yours truly, I never quite understood that this could be a problem for him.


Mud Flap was our first dog. We’d just moved to Minnesota from Chicago. She was a four month old blue heeler; a very popular breed in these here parts, what with all the cows and cold weather. Blue heelers are skilled herders by nature. I watched her once move a group of Herefords into a tight knot and away from us when we were trying to feed them carrots over the fence. All most dogs would manage to do is upset and disarray and I’ve seen that happen with dogs too, but not with Mud Flap. She was short legged and compact, not weighing more than 50 pounds as an adult. At the time Harry was about three years old and maybe weighed more or less, nearly the same, but with less strength and less mass. Mud Flap would stand on two legs, press Harry up against the garage wall, give him a smooch and take whatever toy he had, which she did regularly. I remember dressing Harry to go outside. I would bundle him in his sweatshirt and windbreaker with a hood, and then on his signal, like a nurse handing the doctor scalpels on TV shows, I gave him his toys. He would have a toy under each arm and one or two in his hand. I’d open the door and out he went. Sometimes, the minute he was out the door I would hear milk curdling screams, and there would be the dog and Harry locked in a death grip on a toy. Harry was a screamer so I tended to ignore it, or ask him to lower his voice. Like talk about under reacting to something. The dog had a major chew fetish which he applied to all of Harry’s toys and some of our other things as well. So I discovered all the attributes and qualities of various types of tape from electrical, to hockey tape, to duct tape, in order to resuscitate Harry’s favorite play things, being that they were mostly plastic. Other stuff, like my leather gloves never survived. Ufdah, as they say in these here parts, the things we tolerate for a “family member”.

Mud Flap came to a very unfortunate end, but it wasn’t until a few days after the dog was gone, and I was preparing Harry for play outside, that I realized the true nature of their relationship. I had Harry bundled in his sweatshirt and windbreaker with a hood per usual, and on his signal, I began handing him his toys to tuck under each arm. I gave him the dog phone pull toy gift from my dad, (red electrical tape very cleverly wrapped around chewed sections of the phone handset), the dump truck under the next arm (duck tape around the joystick lever for operating the shovel), and then his shovel (black electrical tape all over). I could feel him stiffen with resolve as he faced the door and solemnly nod to me to let him outside. He was ready. And then I realized why the posture. “Harry, Mud Flap is dead.” Harry’s shoulders relaxed. His face visibly lightened. He loosened his hold on his toys. “Oh!” He had this sweetly pitched little three year old voice and a sing song inflection. “Mud Flap’s dead.” And that was it. He went outside. We had been going through this ritual for an entire season and it never dawned on me, till that moment, that I had been sending Harry out to battle everyday. I wonder if he’ll need therapy when he gets older. (The reason I say this is because I am afraid this isn’t the only thing I need to confess.)

Rude Power

This is LeRoy and his truck (the dog in the back is ours).

Although LeRoy lives and works in San Diego, he spends certain times of the year in this area to maintain his family’s home place and do farming. He actually kept a trailer on our property which he lived in part time for many years. It was rustic, but as we improved our property, added a well and electricity, and eventually built a house, we hooked him up to all our services, and charged a one dollar rent (for legal purposes). LeRoy is now retired, and built his own house in the area, which continues to be part time.

I talked LeRoy into letting me paint his truck, being that it was old and rusty, and this was the end result. I bought a bunch of Rustoleum paint in various bright colors, to blend with the original orange color of the truck. I sanded the rust with an electric sander and then I put a crew of neighborhood kids together to do the painting. We had a boy from Northern Ireland staying with us that summer, the same age as my son, so this was the perfect way for him to get to know us.

I am sure you are curious about the mix of symbols and graphics, and how we came up with the theme. Well, there were a couple of middle school girls who participated, hence the flower power kind of seventies overall graphics style. It was popular that summer and I used to love the stuff myself when I was their age. And you know how teenage girls are, they have tremendous power to influence, love decorating, and give major attention to small details. Some younger siblings, preschoolers actually, did the hand prints. Their moms were a bit stressed out by all the oil based paint. One of the boys is a farmer’s son and all the branding commonly associated with a certain green tractor is his contribution. Not sure if you can tell, but there is a map of Ireland on one side, green of course, and LeRoy’s phone number is on the back of the truck. Le Roi is single and the kids were trying to help. They were pretty sure this truck would be a chick magnet. Think so?

The next summer LeRoy registered the truck as an entry in the Covered Bridge Festival Parade and the kids and I put on roller blades and skated around the truck and threw candy to the crowd as we went by. I don’t think anybody called him. They probably couldn’t read the phone number.

Welcome to the 80's

When I was visiting Chicago a couple of weekends ago my mother gave me this picture. It was taken sometime between '82 and '83 I think. The car’s name is Bill in honor of a guy I was dating momentarily. I was living in Lakewood, Ohio and this was my first car. It was an upgrade from my mother’s old schwin ten speed. The bike had baskets on the sides which were useful for carrying groceries. I used the bike for shopping and running errands around town. Now, with this car, I was no longer tethered to public transportation, and was able to get yet a third job, working as a waitress at the Colony Restaurant on Wednesday nights after work at my first job as a receptionist at the Great Lakes Theatre Festival, all in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. I needed the money. Weekends I worked my second job usually on Saturday, cataloguing the insect collection at the Natural History Museum at University Circle, free of charge and for the love of biology. My younger sister was living with me at the time. She worked part-time for a temporary agency. We bought a six pack every night for a week one summer and I couldn’t pay the rent that month. I think a six pack was $ 2.50? It was bad. Then she got a real job that paid decent and she split. She upgraded to a flashy condo on the east side. It happens.

As you can see from the picture, my sisters are piled on top of the car, plus my brother in law, with me on the door. Standing next to me is my brother, and then my future brother in law. I left Bill with my mom and moved to Chicago, which happened rather impulsively the following spring. I had a friend at the theatre that was moving to California so he gave me a lift. I took two trash bags of dirty clothes and was dropped off at my older sister’s house. She was already living with her husband in Chicago beginning a few years earlier. It seems like my older sister, whose only three years older than me, has been married forever. And we, my younger sister and I, were forever either drinking her beer (me) or using her washing machine (Laura), so it was no surprise to my older sister that I showed up in Chicago with dirty laundry. Anyway, I gave my jobs in Cleveland four days notice (they were thrilled for me) and my roommate a months rent (she was not, quite angry infact). Oh well. It happens.

Eventually, I sold the car in Chicago to four young Guatemalans. They dressed like Sandinistas and reminded me of the Clash album cover of I think the same name. Only one of them spoke English and they offered me $750.00 for the car. My ad had said $ 700.00. There was a rough moment as I deliberated this but then I only took $ 700.00. Oh well.

My Rose Garden