Dispatch

This is what we do for each other.  We are bound together, in part, out of survival and we survive because the fit care for the halt and the lame.

These photos are from early  morning at the Amana Lily Pond.

Mom has been, all of a sudden, getting very confused and panicky.  She calls and sometimes I can calm her, but she's  convinced she is supposed to be going somewhere, to "get closer to you," she says, and that she's lost.  The metaphysical implications of these statements are staggering, but who has time?  

Her cats are shitting all over the place.  I had them to the vet and they are fine.  It think it's the cat box -- I tried to convert them to a covered one -- and the bathroom door -- it closes.  I put up a sign by Mom's phone:  a letter in my handwriting (only neater) explaining the situation.  Also, as sign on the bathroom door.

We don't think Mom's sudden decline is probably Alzheimer's.  Alzheimer's is the context, but it does not explain any sudden loss of faculties.  That's probably an infection or med side effect, something to be chased down by my lovely and talented nurse practitioner Julie Shaw (APRN), who is the best neurologist I have ever met, and who gives hugs to my Mom.

I think it started when we all got the flu.  Robyn had one bout of back spasming in the Spring, but went to physical therapy and seemed to get past it.  She was having another bout and just getting over it, but also feeling sad to have a bad back again, when Caitlin got the puking flu.  It was a very energetic flu and the puking took on Olympic proportions.  After 36 hours it was gone, leaving us tired.  Robyn's puking stage neatly coincided with back spasms and nearly landed her in the hospital.  She never recovered.

Robyn herniated the same disc as last time.  It has probably been coming apart since this Spring.  The herniation is worse this time and she is nauseous, weak, has tingling and numbness and lots of referred pain.  She's on so much medication she is totally unreliable and the whole thing is so depressing I have a Prozac air pistol and I just sort of shoot her randomly with a medicated dart whenever she gets morose.

Surgery is today at 2, but will probably be moved up a little.  She'll spend the night in the hospital, thankfully.  The first 24 hours post op are really nasty.  This will keep her there and pain managed by pros and give us all a better night's sleep.

Did I mention Caitlin's urinary tract infection?  No, because I'm so busy that Caitlin took herself to the doctor and got her own goddamn chicken soup!  What a great kid!  She's missed a lot of school lately and is going to need to bear down.  Not her best thing.  Caitlin is really smart, but she was really a lonely person for a while and now she has wonderful friends.  As long as she's happy, it's really hard for me to insist that she be more academic.  She seems to have a great boyfriend and really solid pals.  She works and does well, and has lots of interests and good values.  I think she's going to be just fine, and will bear down and study when she catches fire.  She has so many interests that I just feel sure something will, so I don't worry about it.

Mom hasn't called me in a panic since I put the sign up and we got the cats back.  Robyn will feel better in 48 hours.  Caitlin has really butch antibiotic on board.

I haven't talked about Walker because it would not be thematic.  Or maybe it would be, in that the men in this family are doing very well. 

Walker just finished his last cross country meet running his personal best for the year on a hilly course.  He just loves running and it's infectious.  His main preoccupation is getting to the mall to purchase clothing.  Hey, don't knock it!  It's finite and achievable.

I have been running a little, with Tye.  We eke out two miles on a good day.  Tye has a limp when we run too hard or encounter too much gravel.  Some days I have to walk a little; I cramp or have a cold.  It's great for guilt and low self-esteem though.  Put yourself through about 1/2 hour of panting and huffing and get 6 hours of residual runner's high and the feeling that you've taken care of a little business, hedging against entropy, enabling bowls of ice cream with fruit on top and other decadent things.

I feel great.  I haven't felt this good since long before Dad died.  I realize now that I was carrying around a great sadness that was chewing me up from the inside.  For reasons I cannot understand, I have let go of much of this, and although I am reassuringly inconsistent in my mission, I feel more in balance than I have, probably, ever.

I do understand a few things, learned from my friends and my family.  This things are:

Appreciating beauty as frequently and lingeringly as possible.  Being as creative as time allows.  Caring for others.  Showing up.  Taking the time to do the things we love and to be with those we love.  Thinking carefully about when to be present and when to be absent.  Applying various anaethesias more sparingly in light of said.   Taste.  Smell.  Feel.  Touch.  Consume it all, but not too much.  Love, dammit, and don't quit!

Couldn't post this right after the Marie Memorial.

This beauty flew right past my head as I was mowing the lawn this morning. She was easily 5 inches long and I think this means she is a female.  She looked at me and then turned away, dismissively, to hunt

I think this girl was just about the queen predator in my neighbor's yard.

This morning I took Walker down to the Lily Pond in the Amana Colonies, and I stayed to take some shots of this fine misty morning.  It was good to be alive.

Marie Paulina sneaked off Thursday night while no one was looking.  Kevin says she and Shorty and Diana all passed away while attention was diverted.  Not wanting to make a show, he suggested.  Life had long sense become a burden she endured, I think.  She lived to mourn her oldest daughter and bury her husband.  She was, in her time, sharp as a tack, and generous.  She is also where her daugher Diana got her dogged determination, I think.

I thought about Marie and stood by the Lily Pond and was glad she is free, and glad I am, too.

Now here is why a fella buys a couple of kayaks!  Walker and I took a paddle on the Wapsipnicon River this morning, from Olin to Hale.  This led to a number of puns, but since Robyn helped me drop the car off, Walker was able to call to her "I'll see you in Hale!"

Kind of makes your day.

This is a nice little stretch of river, 6.7 miles long, with a nice current and clearing water.  The sandbars are nicely scoured by last week's high water, and Walker was totally pleased with our adventure.  He doesn't fancy lakes much.  There is no current and it's boring.  You paddle around and there's no suspense.  But a river, now, that's something different!  There's always something new around the bend.

We stopped on this sandbar and I got the camera out, of course.  I had it in the big kayak's dry compartment.  Good thing, too, because I almost ditched the little boat getting into it.  235 pounds in a 12 foot kayak takes some doing.  Once I'm in I'm almost sprightly!  Walker and I dumped the water out of my boat on the first of many sandbars and we carried on.  The sun was shining, the water was burbling, and the birds were singing.

What one sees here are heron tracks.   I should have put my toe in the picture so you could appreciate that they are 5 inches long.  Herons have big dogs.

I was telling Walker that when I was a boy, I used to go down to the Arkansas River and hang out on a sandbar.  The Arkansas (pronounced Ar-KAN-sas in Kansas and normally everywhere else) is a bendy river that meanders across Kansas from sandbar to sandbar.  It provided me with a place to go when I needed to be by myself.  There was a grassy bank up 20 feet from the sand, overhung with young elm trees, and I used to sit there and watch the water go by, and not think any more than I could help.

I have always loved to walk along the water's edge and see what the river left.  I like the texture of it.  The river leaves behind gradated lines of matter of various particular weights.  There's an order to it.  I think this one will make a great desktop wallpaper.

Of course, there were flowers, and I photographed them.   I am nothing if not consistent in this.  Robyn rolls her eyes.  I feast mine.

Time on the river calms my soul.  Walker and I spent time and didn't argue.  We needed some of that time together.  

Fourteen year old boys make better sense if you get them alone and give them a space to romp in.  Romping helps a young man channel his testosterone back into nature, vigor, joy, and motion.

Yep, this is why we buy kayaks.

 And cameras. 

Down by the river I used to find refuge from problems I did not make and could not control, from the decay and disappointment that seemed to follow our family like a stray dog.  

I was able to sit on the bank and wash away 7th grade gym, unrequited love that isn't love yet, but longing.

The water will tell you, if you listen, how you will make it through, another day, another week, the rest of your life.  

You will keep going, and if you look around. . . .

There are flowers.

Dog

Tye's in the living room lying on the sofa thinking I don't know it.  I'll go roust him in a little while.  He's a good dog and his crimes, such as they are, are minor.  Occasionally some good snack will disappear from the counter if left within inches of the edge.  He's a crotch sniffer, no denying that.  Yipes.  And he sits on the overstuffed furniture in the living room, even though he knows he's not supposed to.

He's such a good guy to have around, we don't really complain much about his foibles.  He is an agreeable creature, prone to making the rounds, collecting scratches behind ears and various rubs from each available human.  He will fetch until the earth opens up to swallow him, and can locate amazingly small items thrown into high grass, in the dark.  Tye is a pretty good frisbee catcher unless there's something more interesting, like another dog, or a tennis ball around.

Tye loses his mind over tennis balls.  We tried to catch frisbees at Kevin's one time, but as soon as he saw all the tennis balls lying around it was frisbees be damned.  The slimier the better, there is nothing quite like a well seasoned tennis ball.

Every once in a while, Tye gets a little uppity and has to be told to find a place and lie down.  He expresses his resentment through pointed, long groans.  Tye could do Streetcar Named Desire in dog speak.

Just what we need in our house: more drama.

Iowa from a bus

I did a lot of driving today, back and forth between Vinton and Cedar Rapids, ferrying our new corps members to our site from the airport.  It was funny to see my home through the eyes of a bunch of 18-24 year olds from all over the U.S.

I think this is what they saw.  Corn.  Farms.  I told them the corn was not high enough, that it should be six feet tall by now.  I told them pithy things about local lore.  Corn.  That's what they heard, as though Charlie Brown's teacher (wah, wah, wah, wah!) finally said just one intelligible word:  Corn.  Jesus, look at all that corn!  Shit.

They seem to be a great bunch of young people, full of juice and ready for a new adventure serving their country and facing challenges.  I remember when I felt like that, all full of human potential and bulletproof.  Now it's more about ducking metaphorical bullets and staying flexible.  I don't mess much with my potential.  

When I was eighteen, I secretly thought I would probably end up famous.  Now I think I'm about as famous as I'm going to be.

So I tried to explain that we were driving along the Lincoln Highway, the first transcontinental highway, once a rutted dirt road, barely graded, that brave adventurers negotiated with spindly wheeled Fords.  At the end of each day's ride, there was a roadhouse, with gas, food, and little cabins out back, some with indoor plumbing.  As we turned at the Youngville Cafe, said roadhouse, and went north on 218, I heard a kid say "Damn.  Look at all that corn."

One of the Team Leaders said "This is where we saw the tornado last week!"

That got their attention.

where am I?

Those of you who are used to checking in here once in a while to see what is leaking out of my head should know that I am sharing a space with some good friends, over at a spot we call "Lessons."  I will blog here, too, but if you're wondering what we've been doing since May 24th, v visit here:

http://nancyturtle2.blogspot.com/

I think I will continue writing my more perverse stuff here, so stay tuned. s.

Serial monogamy

Ah, the old days.  Here are my kids before PUBERTY!  Wow.

Here they are skiing with their uncle, who I think may be the guy on the end of the two rope in the picture, but it's hard to say at this point.

This uncle has recently moved in with his father, my father in-law, after ending a relationship with a woman named Lena.  This is not new.  JD has a Modus Operandi which is predictable due to repetition.  He is a serial monogamist.

JD met Lena in the parking lot of the legal firm next door to the house he was selling.  One minute JD was busily buying a home in Fairfax and the next thing he was dating Lena.  Then, weeks after we moved him into this new house, he was renting his house in Fairfax to someone else and moving in with Lena.  Lena had a farm and JD always wanted to farm.  They set up what we used to call a "truck farming" operation, selling vegetables and knick-knacks at "Lena's Farmstand."  Not "Lena and JD's Farm Stand.   A couple local papers ran features about Lena and "her business partner, JD."

Lena's parents met at Birkenau or some similarly horrible Nazi death camp and still have the tattoos to prove it.  They are also old and half-demented.  Lena's mom, to put it charitably, is somewhat needy.   She complains constantly and can be very demanding.  I suspect, after her life, she deserves to be waited on, but it makes it hard to keep her in nursing homes.  Lena takes good care of her parents, who have to live in separate nursing facilities for some reason that just escapes me.  Lena tried to explain it to me, but it sounded like a matter of principle, and I couldn't figure out how matters of principle match up with issues of dementia.

Lena and her family are Jews, and Democrats.  JD is a Fox listening, Limbaugh chanting, no-listening-to-reason, America-love-it-or-leave-is, Bush-will-go-down-as-the-most-under-rated-president-in-history conservative.  My wife's family is full of great people whom I love, but they all come from small rural communities around here -- Clarence, Shellsburg -- and Jewish culture, let alone Democratic Politics, are simply alien.  Nana had Lena and JD over for supper and served her best PORK ROAST!  Oops.

I grew up in Wichita and some of our family friends are Jews.  The best man at our wedding is a Long Island Jew.  I think you have to capitalize Long Island Jew.  I like, and to a significant extent, "get" Judaism.  The deal with Lena and her clan isn't that they're Jews, although that has created some fascinating dynamics at holidays.  The deal is that to some degree or another, these people are all channeling "Rain Man."

We had a gathering out at the farm and we had a fire out in a grove of walnut trees.  Lena became obsessed about the kids throwing walnuts.  At the trees.  Not at each other.   "Who's throwing walnuts again!"  Her brother Jack, who is reportedly an engineer or something in California, asks Lena's permission for everything and reports "they are throwing nuts again!"  The man is pushing 50!  It was all surreal.  Good thing I hadn't quit drinking yet.  I sat and got quietly smashed by the fire.  Intoxication and inertia were all that saved me from throwing walnuts willy nilly.

We could just never really figure out what made this couple tick.  Then, as quickly as harmony began, dissent began to break out.  JD and Lena came to events but they didn't stay and JD looked uncomfortable, as though his pants were full and he couldn't escape.  Lena was, it turns out, coming along, as a matter of principle.  She also began pulling relatives aside, or calling, and talking about how JD is leaving her because he won't quit drinking and she's worried about it.  She doesn't realize, or maybe it's another social cue she missed, that JD has moved on, as he always does.  We all knew Lena was temporary.  They always are, these women.

Marcia, who was pretty and Southern and drank excessively, to the extent it bothered JD, Tina, who lasted a really long time and went hunting and fishing and was the ultimate gal pal, and now Lena, Jewish Farm Stand Operator in rural Iowa, all kicked to the emotional curb, started furiously, ended predictably.  One wonders if JD is pondering his fate, sitting on his father's deck, his boxed belongings piled in storage.

This is a family ravaged by depression and emotional distance, which culminated in an awful divorce, the recriminations from which have lasted thirty years.  Casualties have included Robyn's brother Greg's estrangement from his father, Robyn's series of difficult and destructive relationships (I do not count myself among them, although she may feel differently sometimes), and, alas, to JD's seemingly mindless repetition of the same pattern: infatuation, haste, distance, detachment.  Over and over, world without end, Amen.

Robyn has talked to JD a little.  JD says Lena is exaggerating the drinking issue.  I would have said the same thing six months ago, about myself.  LeRoy, JD's dad, is not a big drinker and will probably comment if JD gets back to his six beer a night consumption pattern.

Truthfully, I have a good deal of love and respect for JD.  He has been very kind and he is a good man, who loves his nieces and nephews and would do anything for us.  It's sad to see him act out the same play, over and over, with different players.

Today I am grateful for the ability to make new mistakes.  The same ones over and over get old.  Do something NEW and dumb today!