Adventure 450: The Story of George, Lake House Repair, 46

April 28, 2018

Real time found George making a stand. When we got to his room, he was reading while waiting for lunch. We'd come for our Friday Tai Chi class, which George came to and participated in. But back to the "Stand". No pills to be seen. The box was missing from its spot on the desk. It wasn't in plain sight in the bathroom, it wasn't in plain sight in the bedroom. The pill bottles were still on the desk, but he'd put the pill box somewhere out of sight. So it goes. His method of taking care of his pills, which he says he's done for years is to simply ignore the issue. So be it. I've talked with several friends and acquaintances about this adventure. Many, who are past the experience, say in retrospect, "We should have just left them alone." That's our current plan. We'll visit, have lunch or dinner, play dominoes or bingo, and generally chew the fat. Life advice, not so much.

As for our other adventures, we headed up to Priest Lake to my cousin's place, which he generously allows us some use of, to repair a part of the deck railing, which had been smashed by a falling Birch tree. The day (Temp near 80) was gorgeous. Bright, airy, not a lick of wind. Priest Lake is wonderful anytime, but to have a summer like day in late April is truly a gift. The repair went well. Our neighbors in Spokane have their lake place a few doors down from Douglas. They were up, so we had dinner, and enjoyed a nice evening, not even turning on the lights. Instead, we chatted into the dimness of late evening, soothed by the rushing noise of Horton Creek as its melting waters flowed in to the lake. Then, with the aide of technology, they used their phone flashlights to make the short trek home. It was a good night. We awoke to temps in the high forties, grey sky, still calm, and ever so peaceful. Planning on a breakfast of Huckleberry pancakes with bacon, doused generously with real maple syrup: finger licking good, especially today.

 Sweeping the rocks with a little style.

 Sunlight filling the cabin.

 The repaired railing. Long view.

 The repaired railing. Side View.

 The repaired railing. Top view.

 Repair's reward.

 The cabin, known to us as Noraville, bathing in the warm spring light.

Adventure 449: The Story of George, 45

File photo

Real time found George REAL mad. Spitting mad. Shooting mad. Drooling mad. Get the dogs out mad. "And tell that woman not to come in my room; it's illegal, and if I find her in there, there will be hell to pay. I can take care of my own pills; I don't need that kind of help." That's the tirade we heard as we approached the table for last night's dinner. We were buoyant from our overnighter, happy with the sunshine, riding, reading, knitting, playing crib. But as soon as we got into view, George started wagging his finger. He'd caught Judy's eye. He made three or four cutting motions across his neck, and before we even sat down, he began making his views known. It got awkward for a second, especially when Peggy, the care giver, leaned over behind me and whispered, "He doesn't like me." I thought to myself, "We've done it now, we've flown one too many cuckoos over the nest." Needless to say, we dismissed the care giver with our apologies, and Judy made a plea for George to be nice to her because it wasn't her doing. She was acting on our behalf. I doubt that he'll talk to her, but nothing tried, nothing gained. The amazing part is that if he's spunky enough to get pissed off, maybe he's still spunky enough to run his own life. We agree. The problem is the pills. We can no longer be daily monitors, mainly because it's becoming our only contact with George. When we started this, I was hoping for five good years with George, so I don't want the last two, three, or... to be fraught with henpecking. The only answer is to take it off our plate. We'll see what happens. And to be sure, this is just the beginning of the tantrums. Just wait until we're forced to move him away from his girl friend. He's likely to pull a full on revolt and not shave, not dress, not eat, and not move. That'll show us. Fortunately for me I'm not that good at predicting the future (Just look at my NCAA bracket every year), so there's hope that whatever will be will be as God wants it. Stay tuned because I'm turning it over to prayer.

Meanwhile, I've maintained my goal of riding my bike every day this week. It's the first week we've had consistent weather in the seventies. Crisp, blue, bright, and warm. These are unbeatable riding conditions. Right now just my butt and my shoulder blades was whining, but then they always do. When they whine too much, I just take a break at a coffee shop, so really life is pretty good, especially today.

Still thirteen uphill blocks to get home from here, but a nice break nonetheless.

Adventure 448: The Story of George, Cataldo Mission Overnighter, 44

April 21, 2018

Real time finds George doing well physically, slipping fast mentally, but generally living as well as possible. We decided to hire a lady to administer his pills twice a day, and generally check on him. Our visits had begun to consist of browbeating him to take his pills, which he very gently resisted by saying, "I've got too many bosses." Since care giving is supposed to ease the pain in the life of the one cared for, it seemed counter productive to heckle him constantly. In addition, it gives us a little more freedom to give ourselves the care we need.

That care begins with Fric and Frac. We dusted off the trailer, drove an hour to a little campground in Cataldo, Idaho, and got two rides in. Our butts are screaming, but this is the process of spring. Had we been able to spend the winter in Phoenix, our mileage total would be somewhere near 700, and our butts would be as tough as tanned leather. As it is, we're whining and screaming like Indianapolis race cars revving beyond their limits. No matter. No engines blown yet. The weather is bright, and though a bit chilly, not even that matters because we have warm weather gear. We'll just gas up and go. Even at our speed (decidedly slower than an Indy car), life is still good, especially today.

 The Coeur d'Alene River flowing full and fast.

 Fric and Frac in the penthouse suite.

 A view from the trail.

 My Bunny saying, "Ooh, this feels sooo good."

 Our turn around spot yesterday.

 Nap time.

The view from our veranda this morning. Waiting for the temperature to break forty before our ride today. In the mean time, the Wiley Cager is smiling because she snuck in a win.

Adventure 447: The Story of George, Douglissimo, 43

April 18, 2018

Real time found George at the top of his game. He was looking sharp as he waited for Vina to arrive, his morning ritual. He had taken his pills (To our surprise), which put a sly grin on George's face, and made our visit more joyous than usual. We had taken Kevin with us to break him in gently with George. Kevin will look in on George as long as he maintains this monitoring status. Our hope is to have Kevin monitor George on a daily basis when we go to Michigan this June. We'll also have Leticia in place as our back up emergency responder in case George makes another ambulance trip to the hospital. In addition, we have the possibility of housing George at the VA for an interim time. It's unknown at this time, but that possibility may be the transition vehicle we use to get George into more intensive care. At any rate, we have a month and a half before we would head East. Much can happen in that time.

As for my other life, I'm currently at Priest Lake with my cousin, Douglas. It was our annual put Thor (Douglas' boat) into the water day. In truth, Doulgas did it by himself this time, so I'm just enjoying a night in a heaven space I call Priest Lake. We've chatted, played cards, watched the Utah Jazz win, and now we're watching the Legend of Dewie Cox for the umpteenth time. It;s a ritual. So, basically, life cannot get much better. And as for my Bunny, she took the rocket to a yarn store in Moscow, Idaho today. It seems that life is even beyond the normal "good" her in North Idaho.

 This is the first view of Priest Lake a driver sees on the way up the East side of Priest Lake. Few are better.

 Thor successfully tied to the dock for the season.

 The boat dock will be covered as soon as the lake comes up enough to get the boat on the lift. Regardless, the panoramic views, the  crisp air, the pure water, and the rugged purity of the lake never fails to satisfy. Visit here if you can.

Adventure 446: The Story of George, The Great Ordeal, 42

April 16, 2018

Real time found George looking sharp, happily waiting for Vina to come down for breakfast. Upon her arrival, she hands him her brother Ed's pills, takes hold of George's walker with one hand, and they proceed to breakfast where George hands Ed his pills and then moves to pull out Vina's chair like a chivalrous knight of old. He's either recalcitrant or mindless in terms of remembering his pills. Reasons matter little. The bottom line is that he now requires  absolute daily monitoring, although this raises an ethical question. If he is recalcitrant, and is just intentionally forgetting his pills, is it still his choice to control his own life. Maybe it's just a last vestige of independence. On the other hand, it could be deemed as negligent on our part to just let his daily meds fall where they may. Without real proof that he's just being willful, we're opting for intervention. And so it goes. It's still very obvious that his will to live is bolstered by his relationship with Vina. In that sense, it seem best to keep him as healthy as possible. And so go the trials and tribulations of George.

Speaking of the great ordeal (Some bibles say ordeal; some say tribulation), our pastor was speaking on heaven this past Sunday. It struck me that one of the angels called the group waiting to enter heaven as those who have "come out of the great tribulation". It's interesting in the light of the fact that I'm attending the funeral of a high school classmate this morning, which follows on the heels of the Doctor's death, and flies in the face of everyday looking at George and seeing my own mortality march toward its uncertain end, and all the more consternation that comes from watching my best buddy struggle through his cancer treatment. I try my best to be supportive, singing songs of hope, thanking the Lord for every gift, and praying often for a miracle reprieve. And then there's Richard Rohr who lately has been talking about the unity of the body and the spirit and how true blessings come from accepting our bodies as vessels of God, as sacred urns for our souls. It's all pretty heavy stuff, which is why I must maintain my mantra that life is good, especially today. And for me the best part of the day is when Judy and I go to bed. Our ritual is to settle in, wiggle together into about a thousand points of contact classically arranged like silver spoons in a drawer. Before drifting off to sleep, we play a little footsie, I squeeze her tightly, then softly in different places, and then we say, "Love you, Bunny." It's comfort beyond words, and it adds weight to the argument that while life is an ordeal full of tribulation, it is also most joyous. It's just as Barbara Brown Taylor says, "My body is what connects me to all these other people (Judy being the closest connection). Wearing my skin is not a solitary practice but one that brings me into communion with all these other embodied souls." Sharing life, building relationships,  and trusting the promise, these, too, are part of the ordeal.

 My best buddy, Mr. Ulmen.

 Leticia giving George a massage.

Adventure 445: The Story of George, Auld Lang Syne, 41

April 12, 2018

Real time finds George on the up tick. His health is improving; however, his memory is fading. He's 0-2 this past two days on pill check, and he wasn't really able to follow a conversation with the home health nurse yesterday about the process for keeping his catheter sterile. This is not new; it's the state of him now. He's still managing to bathe, feed, clothe, and ambulate himself around. He's been exceptionally active recently, going with Vina to the Civic Theater and participating in Meals on Wheels as a person who hands out meals. As for us, we're still battling (And trying to prepare) the issue of when to move him, how to free ourselves up, and what or if any of that looks reasonable. Unlike President Trump, we're tethered to the truth of our circumstance, and for what it's worth, it's all good.

Last weekend was remarkable for me. I acted on an e-mail I received out of the blue announcing a retirement party for a friend I haven't seen since 1970, and others in that group who I hadn't seen in twenty years promised to be there as well. So I went. All but two members of what we called in college "The Machine" were at the party. It was fun to close up the gaps of a lifetime, and it was especially fun to spend the night with Eric Lagassa and his wife Roxy. I also took the opportunity to see my siblings, since they live in the area as well, and to top it off, I dropped in on Coach Brown in Centralia, the town of my first teaching job. As he always does, he called around to see if any of the old crew was around, so I saw four fellows I taught with as well. I then drove home over White Pass, stopped for a world famous Miner Burger in Yakima and made it home without being stopped by the highway patrol, which isn't that easy considering the White Rocket loves highway cruising. Without any effort, the A6 will settle into a comfortable ninety. Since the accepted excess speed in our neck of the woods maxes out at seventy-seven, ninety can be problematic. I was so enthralled with the scenery, that it surprised me to see the speedometer inch up so often. All in all, it was a fun weekend, and once again made me realize that life is good, especially today.

 Brother David.

 Brother Tom

 Retirement boy, Randy Ryan with his youngest grandson.

 Machine member, Joe Blue.

 Machine member, Erik Stewart.

 Machine members minus, Edwards, Kirk, and Willis.

 Eric Lagassa, machine member, and biologist by trade, used to raise these exotic cats. This lady is his last. She runs free on the property.

 Eric and Roxy live as naturally as possible. They raise a variety of critters.

 For years, they've raised Angora goats.

They're starting to phase out the herd.

  Eric and Roxy's back deck.

 Coach Brown.

 Coach Burchett.

George's new shoes.

Adventure 464: The Story of George, Hawk Creek, 40

April 3, 2018

Real time found George looking sharp, acting calm, feeling good, and reading the newspaper when Judy and I checked on him Tuesday morning. He had taken his pills, he was coherent, and all seemed well, so we left to meet our buddies, the Ulmen's for an over nighter in our trailers. We went to a new place, Hawk Creek, in hopes of discovering something new, hopes of seeing some spring flowers, and a guarantee of some good cheer with our friends. We got to the camp ground after Google maps took us the "shortest" way over and around some winding farm country dirt roads. It turns out we also could have made it via smooth pavement, which is what Dave's google map route said. Ours was different, and we happened to be the lead trailer so off we want in a cloud of dust and the pleasure of bouncing along on uneven ground. We got to the campground, which is located on an inlet on Lake Roosevelt. When the water is up, the campground sits right beside it, making it an exceptional spot in the summer for families with young kids who like to boat and swim. In the springtime, however, the water is out, the docks are grounded, and the only water is the profuse amounts tumbling over Hawk Creek Falls. And we were a little early for the flowers. Nonetheless, we walked, took in the sights, and generally enjoyed ourselves. Around dusk, Judy's phone beeped with a text from Vina asking if we were at the hospital with George. We thought we were in a dead zone for phone service. I got in the truck, drove to the top of the ridge and called. Sure enough George was at the Sacred Heart Emergency. We loaded up and drove back to Spokane, arriving around nine thirty. We fiddled with the trailer, hoping to unhook, but of course, a fuse blew on the tongue lift so after some minutes we decided to just park the whole rig along the street and deal with it in the morning. We got to the hospital about ten-fifteen. George had contracted another infection, this one less severe than his last, but never the less, prevented him from peeing. They did the normal things: a new bag, antibiotics, fluids, blood draw, etc. We had George home and in bed around midnight. The whole things begs the question: How much longer can George live on his own? We're in a state of denial about that, hoping that some guiding light will appear and guides us through this maelstrom. Time will tell. In the meantime, George seems fine and we're still swirling along.

 Dave and Liz choosing a site.

 Fric and Frac's new paradigm: short jaunts.

 Hawk Creek Falls.

 Hawk Creek on its way to Lake Roosevelt (Columbia River).

 If you look closely, you can see where the water rises for summer levels.

 This steep gorge is a little less than a mile from campground to the big water.

Springtime on the West plains. Doesn't get much better.