GOING HOME?

2015 Aug 8

In 2010, we began to seriously talk about, research, and plan for a life a full time travel, in an RV.  I was desperate to get out of Pittsburgh’s North Side. Our neighborhood had NEVER felt like home to me. It was never the place I would’ve chosen to live. (I still harbor some unresolved feelings about having spent 20+ years in a neighborhood and house not really of my choosing, but that’s my own personal issue  which I will eventually resolve.) Getting an RV and traveling was my grown up equivalent of running away. But, it also got us out of Pittsburgh, and the North Side, which I do not think would’ve happened without a dramatic exit. Now, I am willing to admit that there may have been better ways of dealing with my desperate unhappiness. But, the way things have played out, haven’t been all bad, or even really bad at all. We did travel and see areas that I had longed to visit for years. Places like Ely, Minnesota. I got to meet, in real life, a few people whom I had only known online. People like Kandy, Anick and Prin. (I missed out on meeting Alexis, Jennifer, and Shelley. But life isn’t over yet!) 

The original plan when we began to travel, was to roam until we found a small town that we both loved. Unfortunately, we haven’t both loved the same places, or even the same climates. A couple of years into the adventure, Raymond began detailing his need of more space and being desirous of "settling" somewhere. The opportunity to be work campers at Ocean Waves Campground seemed to offer at least a partial solution. We had been campers at OWC in the past, both in tents and in our RV. Ray agreed to give it a shot. We have been  here in Waves, NC since March 2014. Being two rather introverted people, living full time, in a 29’ Class C motor home, with no real privacy or personal space, has proven to be a greater challenge than we anticipated. And, while I enjoy my work camping experience, which consists of cleaning bathhouses with my husband a couple of morning each week, and working in the office/camp store a couple of days, my dear husband is not as enamored with his responsibilities. He has become quite adept at bathhouse cleaning, but the two mornings he spends weed whacking and blowing grass cuttings, are, especially in June, July and August, sweat drenched days, that result in muscle spasms. He claims to be ready "to be fully retired". Add that to the fact that he has been wanting to put down roots, and you see why he wants to get off the road, even though, technically, we haven’t moved the motor home since March 2014. 

For me, I am missing family, friends, and familiarity. When I lost my Father, in January 2014, I lost my anchor. No matter where we were, or how far we travelled, my Daddy was always in Pittsburgh. And I always made sure to be traveling somewhere nearby in September, so I could celebrate his birthday with him. All my siblings live in the Pittsburgh area, and since my Dad’s passing, I feel a greater need to connect with them. I never thought, when I pulled out of our driveway in the motor home, that moving back to Pittsburgh would be an option for me. But it is. NOT into the city proper, and definitely NOT to the North Side, but back to an area less than a ten hour drive from family. Back to an area with up to the minute medical care. Back to an area of good pizza, and perogies. Will I regret this move? I hope not. But, there was something very special about having one of my nieces say, when I told her we will be moving back, "WOO HOO!!! Can’t wait to have you guys nearby again!!!.."  There is something special about feeling wanted :) 

In the recesses of my brain, I had thought that we might settle in coastal NC. And I harbored fantasies that some of my siblings might one day relocate there as well. That, it seems was simply fantasy. After spending the last 17 months in coastal Carolina, about 65 miles south of my "happy place", there has been one visit by multiple siblings, and no discussion of anyone relocating. I have been disillusioned by both locals and tourists. I am a Yankee. And, in addition, I am a left leaning liberal. And while normally, I discourage such labels, I mention them here, to illustrate why I don’t really seem to fit in, even though I had thought this to be my happy place. 

I long for a tribe, a group of like minded people, who will understand and accept my quirks. I desire someone with whom to have breakfast, or lunch. I want to have a space where people will feel free to drop by. I want a neighborhood library. I know that I am, for the most part, an introvert. I do best with one or two people at a time. I wish for folks who understand that. I want to live somewhere with options - movies, plays, recycling centers, stuff that I don’t find right now.

In the midst of the beauty of this coastal place, I came to realize that perhaps this is my happy place, but in a 'vacation here a couple times yearly' kind of way, not a 'live here day to day' way. Who knows? I am willing to say that nothing is etched in stone, at this point. 

I fear this writing has been too much stream of consciousness, and not enough structured understanding and explanation. I love that life is not etched in stone. I don't expect people to fully understand any of this. But, I am going home. No matter how much I might have wanted to get away, I am beginning to accept that I am a Pittsburgher, in ways I never realized until I lived away, and on the road. Perhaps I am simply a slow learner. I have lived in other places, Kansas, and Hawaii, come to mind, and I returned to Pittsburgh from both of those areas, as well. And though we are returning to Pittsburgh, we will still travel, visit and explore. We have never, either of us, been to Montana, Washington, or Oregon. We loved the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. If our health and well being continues, there is no reason we can't visit Alaska. But, for now, we are going home in November.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RON

2015 July 13

Happy Birthday, Ron.

Today is the birthday of my brother-in-law, Ron, Raymond’s younger brother. I wish him on this day, blessings, joy, love, and cake! I do not really, even after 30+ years, know him well. He tends to be a very private person, not one who shares personal experiences or anecdotes. The things I do know include, but are not limited to: knowing he enjoys his business, I have described him on occasion as a workaholic; he is a car guy; he has a kind heart, though he does not wear it on his sleeve; he attends church more regularly than most, including me; he is smitten with his grandchildren; he has begun to talk about cutting back his hours at work, (which I thought would never happen); he is a creature of habit; he pays attention to his health. There are other things, but these few will suffice for this birthday.

I have never felt really close to Ron, yet he has welcomed us into his home on more than one occasion since we have been "on the road". He places great store in family, though I do not know if this has always been the case, or if it is a function of age and maturity. No matter, it is part of who he is now.

More than anything, when I look at photos of Ron with his grandchildren, I see the joy in his eyes, and I am glad for him to have that experience.

So, to the brother-in-law I may yet have the chance to get to know well, I wish many more years enjoying those boys who call you "Pap", and many more years appreciating and basking in the really important things life has to offer.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

2015 July 8 DREAM

Dream

Upon awakening this is what I remembered of a dream that I had right before I woke up.

First part, I was with Bob, Lois, Brittany and Molly Kuttesch, leaving their home. Bob was escorting me to the North Side of Pittsburgh. Not sure exactly why. But we had a very companionable conversation, which ended at a small house on the NS, which belonged to a very friendly black woman, whom I did not know, but with whom we had stopped to chat for awhile. Wherever I was headed, I parted ways with Bob at this point. The woman went into her house and for a moment, I considered asking her if I could shower at her house. For some reason, I had no idea where my destination was, but I desperately wanted to shower and wash my hair.

Morph to the next part of the dream. I have no idea where I was (as in what or whose home, or what city or neighborhood)

This is the part that REALLY stuck with me when I woke up.

I was looking at myself in a full length mirror, and I can’t remember if I was naked completely, but I definitely had naked arms, shoulders, and most of my upper torso. I was upset by my reflection. The reason for my upset was that I was looking at: 1. protruding bones of my shoulders, neck, scapula, and ribs; 2. I was looking and seeing myself from an odd perspective, in that everything else in the mirror seemed to be at a perspective normal to a person of my non dreaming height, however, my own personage was shorter, much like a little person, if you can understand that (it was like I was looking down on myself); 3. I thought that my boney reflection was the result of having cancer.

I awoke and ran the contents of the dream over and over in my head. Because my DH doesn’t believe in the power of dreams to help you work through issues, I tried very hard to seek reasons that could’ve contributed to the dream. These are instances that the DH would say influenced my dream content: 1. I read a posting on Facebook by one of the K family before going to bed last night; 2.My BFF’s Dad was recently diagnosed with thyroid cancer; 3. I had an interaction with a longtime friend last night who is in a lifelong struggle with an eating disorder.

Taking all that into consideration, do any of you have insight into dreams? Can any of you offer any guidance?

This is Jack. His owners are staying at Ocean Waves Campground. They wanted to take a day trip to Ocracoke Island today, and mentioned they were thinking of putting Jack in a kennel for a day. This conversation happened yesterday, while I was working in the store. Anyway, one thing lead to another, and I offered to dog sit for the day.  In my mind, it was great, because I wasn't working today, and I could get a bit of a canine fix. I failed to remember that we clean bathhouses on Thursdays. Oops. Raymond was quick to point out my error when I mentioned that the Peters would be bringing Jack by to acclimate a little bit yesterday evening.

This morning, Jack's owners came by to drop him off at 6AM, on their way to the ferry. They bought his favorite toy, his chewy bone, his food & water dishes, treats, his towel, and his leash and long tie out and his dinner. Off they went, after making sure we had each other's phone numbers, just in case. Jack was fine, until they pulled out and drove off. At that point he seemed a little anxious.

The temperature at 6:30 was already 74F, with humidity at 98%. The question on my mind, and Raymond's was: when will we be able to do the bathrooms? If we waited till Jack's parents returned, it would be too late for bathroom duty, as well as, way too hot. Taking Jack with us made no sense. Leaving Jack alone, even for a couple of hours seemed irresponsible. Especially, since Jack had reacted to his owners' leaving by standing at the edge of the driveway, starring off in the direction they went for several minutes.  

It was decided that I would take the work truck, go and do the ladies side in all three bathhouses. Then, Ray would take the golf cart and do the men's sides. I would go first, since Ray was in the middle of his daily viewing of Mike & Mike, on ESPN. 

Once out doing the bathhouses, I decided to do both the men's and women's at the beach bathhouse and the middle bathhouse. My plan was to then let Ray do the remaining small bathhouse, which is close to our site. That way, he could access everything he needed without having to transfer it to a golf cart. The plan seemed to be a good one. (Leaving aside the details of how awful the ladies beach and men's middle were.) I was happy to get my portion done. I was looking forward to a shower and spending time with Jack. 

When I approached our RV, Ray and Jack were outside. Ray had taken Jack for a short walk and a pee break. Only now, Jack refused to return to the RV. I took Jack's lead, and Ray went inside. I asserted, begged, cajoled, and pleaded, yet Jack simply hunkered down, refusing to walk toward the RV. The sun was baking, and it was sticky hot! But Jack was having none of moving toward the cool air of the RV. So, I thought, let's walk across the street to the shade and grass, which we did. Still, any move to walk anywhere near the direction of our RV, was met with diligent opposition from Jack. I am not sure how much Jack weighs, but he is muscular and when he stops, there is no moving him. So, we walked. Farther from the RV. We got as far as site number 6, where Mr Stuart and Ms Stella are camped. Theirs is a shady site. Jack still refused to turn toward the highway and the direction of our RV. Now his refusal came in the form of lying down in the grass by Stuart and Stella's picnic table. I tried being authoritative. I tried bribery. I tried pleading. Jack was having none of it. 

Finally, Mr Stuart came out. He tried being authoritative. He tried being commanding. Still Jack refused to budge. Stuart went inside and returned with a bribe, consisting of bread. Jack liked the bread, even stood up, but still refused to walk, especially in the direction of our RV. Stuart suggested I go and get the Jeep, while he stayed with Jack the statue. 

I returned driving the Jeep, with Jack's favorite toy alongside me. I pulled up next to where Jack had planted himself, leaned over, opened the passenger door, said, "Come, Jack! I have your toy!" Jack was up, and in the Jeep, almost before I got that out of my mouth!  Stuart closed the door to the Jeep and said, "Well, now we know what this dog likes - he likes to go for a ride."

I drove to our site, got Jack out of the passenger side, after showing him his toy, and talking up how awesome that toy is. I had a minor moment of panic when I thought Jack was going to put on the brakes, but I kept using my excited, playtime voice, and he finally bounded toward the RV. I opened the door and he leaped up the steps, into the cool air inside. He sat sweetly, looking as though none of the previous activity ever took place. Then, he happily took the treat I offered, drank some water, laid down, and went to sleep.

Sleepytime Jack

Regrets

Watched a phoot essay about Dukey, a black lab whose owners documented his last day. It was filled with love, smiling pictures of Dukey, and his many friends who shared a portion of his day prior to his euthanasia. It broke my heart. I sobbed uncontrollably. 

Part of the reason may be that it was too close to home. It is only 6 months since we had Greyla put down. And Dukey was a black lab, like Greyla.  Yet, the tearing in my heart and the tears rolling down my face feel like tears of regret.

The regret exists bc our timing, mine and Greyla's was always off. It took me years into her tenure with us, for me to fully love and accept her. She was not an easy dog. And she came to us too soon after the loss of Jake, my heart dog, for me to bond easily early on in the relationship. But, eventually we did bond. But my regret was always that it had taken me so long to accept her for who she was. 

Then, there was the regret that came toward the end of her life. I am not convinced that our timing regarding the end of her life was flawless. She was in physical decline for a long time prior to our decision to let her go in mid November. Total strangers in the campground last spring and summer would question our motives regarding keeping her going. I was deeply wounded by those questions. But, we took her back to Pittsburgh in April last year for a complete physical, which showed her to be in metabolic good health. She had some arthritis changes in her spine and hips, but those were not a good enough reason to end her life, we reasoned. These were things treatable with anti-inflammatories and pain meds.  So, she returned with us to NC, and lived out several more months. 

Greyla's vision was poor due to cataracts, but she asked to go out walking in the grass multiple times daily, bc she LOVED sniffing the grass, and the ocean air. We adjusted her meds as necessary in an attempt to keep her paint free, as much as possible. 

Her appetite was good, though odd. For a short period, she would only eat her holistic, grain free, organic dog food IF it was topped with Spaghetti-o's! But she had an appetite. One of our criteria for deciding when to let go of our dogs over the years, included observing their appetite, fluid intake, and pain management. She seemed good on all three counts.

Yet, I wonder still, if we were looking for reason to hang on to our girl.  When I looked at the pictures of Dukey, today I saw a joy that I do not remember seeing in Greyla during her last five or six months on this earth. Perhaps our criteria for keeping her going was too narrow. Perhaps, it was bc of our wonky timing issues. I was so slow to come to love and accept her, that in the end, I was again too slow. This time, too slow to love her enough to let her go. 

I know that I will never have a definite answer to the guilt and anguish I feel about Greyla. I know that life is a crap shoot, that we all make mistakes. And I know that in time, I will probably come to grips with my questions regarding Greyla, and accept that even if our timing was off, it was still OK, bc we erred on the side of caution and love. It's just that I'm not there yet.

Thoughts on the Future

2015 May 3

Lately I have been short-tempered. I find myself irritated by relatively minor things. I have been wondering why.  Yes, I have been sick, but I'm recovering nicely. Yes, the weather has been peculiar, but we have a roof over our heads and the capacity to warm ourselves. We have too many, frequent reminders of how much we miss Greyla. I haven't spoken to my brothers or sister in a couple of months, nor have I spoken to Laura, my dear sister from another mother, in a long time. All these are contributory, I am sure.

However, the major factor causing my short temper and my crankiness, is the uncertainty of our future. 

We have decided that we are done traveling full-time. As part of the transition, we have been here working as work campers on Hatteras Island since March 2014. We even spent the winter here, while the campground was closed. We do not wish to do that again. We seem to have an easier time deciding what we don't want to do, as opposed to what we do want to do. 

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy work camping, especially here at Ocean Waves, where it feels like a pleasant village. I would, if they would have me, come back to work camp here again next year. The problem is my husband,  who has made his preference clear, and he wants to be retired. He wants to work on his time and terms. So, I think returning as work campers at OWC, is a very remote possibility, since more often than not, they like couples as work campers. It makes the future even more uncertain, since it means there is uncertainty regarding both our winter plans and our plans for next year. IF we were returning to OWC, then we could focus on finding a furnished winter rental from November till March or April. 

But, do we plan on a winter rental? Something for just November thru April? That would be feasible IF we were returning to Ocean Waves Campground next year. And I DO want to return. R does, too, but as a camper, which for the most part is NOT financially possible.

Do we look for a long term, 1 year rental? A possibility, but where? We think we might want to simply stay in coastal NC, but NOT on Hatteras Island, due to the isolation of the Island in the winter months.

Do we look at buying a condo? There are a few in a price range that meets our needs. Do we want to live in Corolla, Kitty Hawk, Kill Devil Hills, or Manteo?

My heart has always been in Corolla, though I can see some benefit to Manteo.  

There just seem to be more questions than answers with regard to our future.

Throw into the mix the idea that maybe we should head back to Pittsburgh, and I begin to see why I have been feeling irritated and ill tempered lately.

What to do, what to do…

Welcome February!

2015 Feb 1

Welcome February! 

Historically, I have seen February as the light at the end of winter's dark tunnel. It helps that February is a short month and contains three benchmarks for me: Ray's and my wedding anniversary, Valentine's Day, and my birthday. Three celebratory days when one is encouraged, by custom, to eat cake, contribute to the fact that I enjoy February. 

In the past, when we were living in Pittsburgh, we often took a vacation to Corolla, NC, in the month of February. Now, in our current living situation on Hatteras Island, we are looking forward to other family members taking a vacation to Corolla. Perhaps as many as four of my brothers (but, probably at least two or three), my sister, as well as my adopted 'sister from another Mother', are planning a vacation to the OBX's northern beaches in late February.  I am beyond excited! 

There is also the possibility of a trip to Staten Island in mid February. Pat and Van, two longtime Ocean Waves Campground campers and workers, have invited us to come to visit them. Actually, we were invited earlier in the off season, but were reluctant to leave Hatteras Island until after the holiday season. We then settled on a date in January, which got bumped by winter storm Juno. Then we planned to spend Super Bowl weekend, but again, the weather was uncooperative, as that area of NY is expecting a winter storm with snow, ice and freezing rain. As it stands, we will visit, but not until mid February, and only if the weather cooperates! 

Gosh! February is going to zoom by this year! I am grateful that the month began with warmer temperatures, diminished wind, and sunshine. We have experienced much cold and freezing winds this winter, as well as a few nor'easters. Having celebratory dates to observe, and visits to anticipate, is certain to make the light at the end of winter's tunnel even brighter.

2015 Jan 28, Beauty, Joy, and a Certain Peace

Beauty, Joy, and a Certain Peace

Monday afternoon as we returned from a trip to Manteo, NC, I noticed a particular colorful aspect to the clouds. We were headed south on Hwy 12, in the area near Bodie Island Lighthouse. There are, fortunately, patches along that stretch of road to pull over, so we did. I was certain the sun and clouds were about to amaze with a beautiful sunset display. I was not disappointed.

Poor Raymond does not have the same ability to see some of the potential for color in the sky that I have, due to his color deficiency. So, some of the beauty I saw immediately, was lost to him. I often find myself trying to explain what I am seeing, and getting confused looks from him. Some of the pinks that I saw on Monday, appear as yellows to him. But, I digress.

As I took photo after photo, I realized that one of the clouds had what was to me, a distinctive Lab profile shape. The more I watched it, the more distinctive it became. Unfortunately, the only camera I had with me was my phone, but I zoomed in anyway. 

As the "Angel Cloud Dog" took shape, I began to cry. 

Earlier that afternoon, I had been thinking about our Greyla Girl a lot. I was missing her. But, the Greyla I was missing, was not the frail, elderly dog whom we had allowed to cross the Bridge last November, but, rather, the silly, often goofy, sometimes mean girl we had raised from a pup. The thought plaguing me that afternoon, was whether we had held onto her too long. Had we egotistically made her last months harder than they would've been out of selfishness, because we didn't want to let her go? 

And then I saw the dog shaped profile in the clouds. I pointed it out to Raymond, but it seemed to have much more significance to me. I took it as a sign that Greyla bore no ill will toward the selfish humans who loved her too much. It seemed to me that it was a sign that Greyla was, indeed, at peace and in a joyful place. I took it as communication that there is beauty, joy and peace, if we look for it. Yes, I cried. In fact, I still cry when I look at the series of photos I took that afternoon. I cry because sometimes the beauty in the world is overwhelming. I cry because that beauty, though overwhelming, also brings me joy. And on that particular afternoon, I cried because seeing an "Angel Cloud Dog", brought me peace.

Watery Oblivion

The sea calls to me
the waves crash
the wind blows
and I am drawn to the roughness of the surf and the depth of the water

Today there is no sun a front is moving in

I am filled with tears I cannot shed
Perhaps my tears desire to mingle with the salty ocean
to merge with their perceived kin

For the first time in my life, I want to walk out into the surf 


                                                             2014 Nov 1

The Comfort of Watery Oblivion

2014 Nov 1

If you are a reader of Mind Flotsam, or a Facebook friend, or a friend in real life, or any combo of those, you may know that I deal with clinical depression. My personal opinion is that it is partly hereditary, partly seasonal, partly brain chemistry related. I take medication, which may help the condition. I know it did help when it was initially prescribed. In recent years, I have begun to doubt the ongoing benefits of fluoxetine therapy. That is not my reason for writing, though.

I need to try to articulate a brief thought that occurred to me yesterday as I sat on the dune line, staring out to the ocean. The thought may or may not have been related to my chronic depression. I need to put it out there, in an attempt to somehow banish it from my future.

Perhaps just a little more background is necessary. While I LOVE being near the beach, ocean, water, I rarely get wet, unless its raining. I do not swim. Nor do I venture into the surf, even when it is gentle. I will sometimes walk along the water and allow my feet to get wet. But at no time do I venture into the surf, to any depth above my knees. Though I am a person who loves the ocean, I also have extreme fear of moving water, especially deeper than say, eighteen inches.

So, try to understand the confusion that gripped me when, while sitting looking out at the raging waves yesterday, I suddenly felt drawn to walk out into the waves. Me, the person fearful of more than calf deep water. These were waves  breaking onshore with strength that ate up the sand and a height of about 3 feet. 

For a moment, it seemed I was drawn toward the water, and the possibility of oblivion. There was no value judgement attached to this desire. It only seemed like a good idea, to allow myself to be engulfed by the water, embraced by it, as it were. I didn't give any thought to the water temperature, or what anyone would think. For the time span during which I felt mesmerized enough to do this, I had no other thought. 

It was only scary in retrospect. When I "came to myself" and realized how comforted I was by this thought, I suddenly became frightened. Frightened by how desperately I had to force myself to think about the idea with logic and with the idea of consequence. Even then, it was a struggle to let go of what was an appealing, thoroughly comforting idea. I prayed for God to help me to get a grip. Then, I cried.

I sat there on the dunes for some time, trying to figure the whys and wherefores of this thought of walking into the embrace of the wild ocean and into oblivion. When I came home, I tried to talk to R about it, but that was not fruitful.

So, today, even though the thought has departed, I must write about it in an attempt to exorcise future thoughts of this type. 

Greyla

2014 Sept 27

 Mind Flotsam ~ GREYLA

Yesterday was a beautiful day weather wise, but an extremely heavy day emotionally. I awoke from a pleasant dream, feeling that something had worked toward resolution with regard to an old emotional wound. A good start to a good day, was my hope.

When I took Greyla out for a walk, the day began to turn emotionally darker. 

Greyla is 15 years, 5 months old, and has some neurological degeneration in her hindquarters, along with arthritic changes. Her vision is poor and her hearing less than perfect. However, her sense of smell and the pleasure she derives from sniffing is topnotch. We walked through the grassy area that she loves, out to the highway, where she always stands with her nose scenting the breeze from the Sound, which I am sure is rich with salty sea smells. Then we returned to our space and RV. 

As we walked the area between our Jeep and the RV, Greyla misstepped and fell down. Because her hindquarters are weak, I tried to support her as she attempted to rise. This resulted in her front legs giving out for the first time that I had noted, and her snout hit the concrete. 

When I finally got her inside the RV, and explained to R what had transpired, he seemed to think it was an anomaly.  My thinking was more dire, which set me on a path of wondering how we will know when the appropriate time comes to put our girl down.

With Blue, our first dog, I had the guidance of both our regular Vet whom I trusted implicitly, along with the Vets I worked with at the emergency Veterinary clinic, and my dear friend Carol, also a Vet. Blue had dual problems, in that she had a tumor on her liver, as well as renal dysfunction. It was the hardest decision we ever had been faced with at the point in our lives, yet we knew what and when it had to be done. 

With Jake, our second dog, the diagnosis was less clear, and we took the necessary step to gain clarity before making any decisions. Once we were relatively certain his 13 year old body was suffering from Leukemia, I was still unable to let him go. I loved that boy with my heart and soul, and so for a short time, while he was on steroids in massive doses, I slept on the floor of our sunroom with him, as his IV bag hung from the ceiling fan. He was unable to stand on his own. I remember awaking from a nap in the middle of the night, on the floor next to him. He had had a bloody bowel movement and attempted to scoot himself away from it, resulting in his beautiful face being inches from the poop. I am haunted by the look in his eyes. At that moment, in perfect clarity I saw that I was keeping him alive only for me.

Our third dog, Baxter, was a rescue who came to us at six years of age. We loved him for six years. At 12 he began to have problems with walking and balance. After x-rays and lengthy exams and observations, it was determined that he had a brain tumor, in the area controlling his balance. It would only exacerbate with time. It hurt, but there was clarity about the decision.

Katie was the fourth dog we put down. She came from a shelter and lived with us for 13 years, which made her probably around 16 when we faced her euthanasia. She made the decision easy for us. She stopped eating, gradually and then refused to drink. She communicated her need to move beyond this life very clearly. She was the only one of our dogs to that point, who didn't die at home, yet it seemed fitting, as she loved all the people at our Vet's office, so when the time came, she was among lots of people who loved her, in addition to her family.

Greyla is another story all together! There were those, including our trusted Vet, who counseled us to put her down in April of 2013, when abdominal x-rays showed the reason for her labored breathing to be a mass, extending from her diaphragm to her small intestine. But, because nobody could site the origin of that mass, we chose to have an ultrasound, ostensibly as part of the diagnostic process. From the ultrasound we discovered that the point of connection for Greyla's mass was her spleen, not her liver, as we had feared. After much consultation with both the Vet who did the ultrasound and our steadfast, caring Vet, Ed Bennett, we opted to go forward with surgery to remove Greyla's spleen and the mass, knowing full well all the ramifications. Greyla's recovery after the splenectomy slow, but steady. And there has not been one day when we have regretted that decision. 

I need to say, that all of that did not take place in a vacuum. Only three months before Greyla's surgery, I had received information that my Daddy had stage four lung cancer, discovered when he required emergency surgery for a bowel obstruction. I was not prepared to have so little control over so many events in such a brief period of time. Keeping Greyla alive at that point, gave the illusion of some control.

While we were in Pittsburgh, both last year, and again briefly in late April, Greyla has had follow ups with her Vet. We currently have her on a combo of meds to ease her arthritic inflammation, as well as to ease any pain she has. We do not have a Vet here on the Island. However, All Pet Animal Hospital and their staff have been wonderful via long distance. 

The problem is, now that I see deterioration, and although she still enjoys going outside to sniff,and she has never peed in the house, although she does poop in the house in a laying position regularly, she still eats though with less gusto, and drinks normally, and we are mostly able to manage her pain, I'm not sure how to gauge when it is time to let her go. Add to that, the complexity of R's relationship with her. Greyla is technically R's dog. She was a gift to him for his 50th birthday, as he had expressed a desire for another female black lab. 

The other night I thought I saw just a shadow of the look that Jake gave me that haunts me still. However, I don't want to be the one who makes this determination. I don't fully trust myself ~ the past year has been a difficult emotional one for me, filled with loss and mourning, on many levels. And Greyla, although a sweet dog in many ways, is not the brightest bulb on the tree :) I'm not certain she has the depth of spirit that Jake had, so it could be that I'm allowing guilt to see things that don't really exist.

R's response to my queries yesterday regarding Greyla's health and general well being was, "Her life's not so bad right now". Is he correct? Or is he delusional? 

How do we know what is right and when it's right? Do we wait for her to be unable to walk at all? To pee in the house? To loose all interest in food? Does her dignity come into play? And does she even have the self awareness to have "dignity"? 

Yesterday, my conclusion was to wait it out until R sees and resolves that  the time has come.  Today I find myself wondering if he sees through eyes so blinded by love for her, as I was with Jake, that he is missing important clues to her well being.

I spend too much time crying because I fear the loss, yet cannot bring myself to say with certainty that now is the time to let her go. This sucks.

Random Thoughts On Soul Mates and The Love of One's Life

2014 August 14

Random Thoughts

Several days ago, a friend posted on Facebook, a quote which basically said that the concept of "soul mate" and "love of your life" are not the same concept, but rather separate concepts that involve choice.

My knee-jerk reaction was to disagree. In my mind and heart, the concepts were intertwined. The idea that there is one person to whom my soul responds, as if we are, both somehow, tuned to the same frequency. A single person whom I instinctively trust completely, even in areas where I had been afraid to trust previously. One individual to whom I am drawn, as if by powerful magnetism, who also is compelled toward me, in the same fashion. These were the concepts that in my mind, defined both the love of one's life and one's soul mate.

Until I read what Chris posted on her wall on Facebook, I thought that both my soul mate and the love of my life, were one human being who passed through my life nearly forty years ago. I see now, that while that may have been true at that time, I have changed and grown in the interim. I married and committed to marriage with someone whom I did not view as either my soul mate, nor the love of my life. And to be honest, I am aware that he doesn't see me as either of those in his life. So we made a choice to love each another. As our vows said, "..for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death parts us." That was A CHOICE!  

Then I began to think about it, as the original writer had expressed, as a choice. Perhaps one's soul mate is the person to whom your soul resonates, as if tuned to the same frequency. But, perhaps, the love of your life, depends on your definition of love. And perhaps throughout our lives, that definition can change, according to our spiritual, emotional, and psychological growth.

As I thought about the idea of both soul mate, and love of one's life, it occurred to me that looking at it from a Christ-perspective, isn't our Creator, Redeemer and Comforter, the true and real fulfillment of both these concepts? 

If real, true, agape love is about honoring the "other person", then haven't we all been done the greatest honor by Christ? He loves us unconditionally, and awaits each of us, patiently, till we turn to him. Even when things we do pain him and are an affront to goodness, still he waits, loving us, even in our sinfulness. That seems to me, to be perfect love. 

Too often, I let the corporeal define how I interpret concepts like soul mate and love of one's life.  I know I am not alone in this. Too many people are caught up in how the world defines us. The things of this world will pass, including our bodies. So, why define important things by limited concepts?   What is the first thing we learned as children, in catechism? In case you don't remember, or didn't have catechism, the answer is: God is love. So, shouldn't we always choose love?  Perhaps that is what the originator of my friend's post meant. God loves us, in spite of ourselves. We need to learn how to do that - to love each other, regardless of the circumstances. That starts with a CHOICE.

'All Growed Up', as my friend Laura would say...

2014 Feb 17

Yesterday I met one of our neighbors here in the RV Park for the first time. She and I were comparing notes on how challenging this winter has been for so many folks, health wise, and in other ways, as well.

I mentioned, in conversation, that my father passed away in January. It was the first time, I realized later, that I had spoken those words without tears welling up. And, as I thought about that later, I wondered what kind of a daughter can reach such a point in so short a time frame?  I felt guilty. 

However, as I sit typing those words, I am crying. So, I am guessing that I am the kind of daughter who now grieves alone, rather than in public. I am the kind of daughter who dreams of her Daddy, and wakens sobbing. I am the kind of daughter who knows I will see him again, but who is saddened that he is away from my senses at present. I am a daughter like many others, I suppose. Certain dates will bring tears to my eyes and longing to my heart. Yet, I will bear that pain in private, rather than uncontrollably, wherever I happen to be when it rises up. 

Is this what it means to "be grown up'?

2014 Feb 2 A New Beginnng

2014 Feb 2

Very recently, my husband had a bout of pancreatitis. It was the worst he's experienced, and he's had some bad ones, starting back in June, 2004. For years our PCP has treated him while continually explaining to him the need for him to stop drinking. While he did finally forgo hard liquors, he continued to consume beer, on a daily basis, and occasionally wine. The decision to stop is one that only the person consuming alcohol can make. 

My husband says he has made that decision. 

Great! Wonderful! To God be the glory! Well, yes. Absolutely. 

Yet, as with any change, there is something frightening about this shift in the whole dynamic of our relationship. This is all new, for both of us. Our roles have been well established over our long years together. Sometimes there has been an irritating imbalance. Yet, our patterns seemed set and there was a certain comfort in the familiarity, even when it was irritating.

We are currently just a few days into our brave new world and the only things we have going for us in this sobriety, are honesty, caring, and our long history, along with the fact that we each made a commitment to be in this relationship for the long haul. That, and the fact that, In spite of all our ups and downs, and round the bends, we do love each other. Not that we haven't questioned that basic tenet. But, as Tevye and Golde so eloquently sang in Fiddler on the Roof, "Do you love me?" "I suppose I do."  Yet I find myself wondering if that will be enough in the days, weeks and months to come.

For years, I prayed that God would do whatever it took to make my husband stop drinking. In fact, I was on a bus in Ireland, praying exactly that, when he had his first pancreatic attack, in 2004. Gradually, I prayed less. Sometimes I nagged more. Neither seemed an effective strategy. Now, it seems my husband's eyes are finally opened, and I am afraid. Of what, you ask. I suppose the whole paradigm shift that is taking place scares me. What if we are too comfortable with our old roles? What if, in his sobriety, he realizes that he doesn't really love me? What if I am unable to adjust to these changing patterns? What if the strain of getting and staying sober is too much for us, as a couple to handle?   

Please, do not counsel us to go to therapy. I suggested that several months ago during a particularly rocky patch, and was met with a resounding, "NO!" I suppose I may revisit Al-Anon, at least for awhile. I am grateful to have several people in my life who have walked this road and who, I am sure, will be willing to offer whatever guidance they can. I am praying again. This time, for both of us, that God will provide His wisdom, and most of all, His love as we navigate these new circumstances. The times they are a-changing. Lord, give us grace to change with them.

In honor of William (Bill, Will, Willie) Balkovec, 1925 - 2014

 In honor of William (Bill, Will, Willie) Balkovec, 1925 - 2014

The Leader of the Band by Dan Fogelberg

The leader of the band is tired

And his eyes are growing old

But his blood runs through my instrument

And his song is in my soul

My life has been a poor attempt

To imitate the man

I'm just a living legacy

To the leader of the band

I thank you for the music

And your stories of the road

I thank you for the freedom

When it came my time to go

I thank you for the kindness

And the times when you got tough

And, papa, I don't think I

Said 'I love you' near enough

The leader of the band is tired

And his eyes are growing old

But his blood runs through my instrument

And his song is in my soul

My life has been a poor attempt

To imitate the man

I'm just a living legacy

To the leader of the band

This song reminds me of my Daddy. Not because he was ever a band leader, but because of his love of music, especially the music of the Big Bands of the 40s and early 50s. Lately, the stanza about thanks has meant a lot to me.

I am grateful for his love of music and the exposure to it in our house. I am thankful to know who Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, Bunny Berrigen, Fred Waring, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Eddy Duchin, Count Basie, Glenn Gray, Duke Ellington, Sammy Kaye, Louis Jordan, and many others I'm sure I've forgotten, are. I might have been one of the few kids in my age group to know the words to songs like "Skylark", or "Pennsylvania 6-5000", or "Chattanooga Choo-choo".

My daddy's stories were not "of the road", but rather of his times playing baseball, or times growing up with his family, or his friends in the Army. He always had stories to tell. Only in the last couple of years did I listen intently. I am sorry for not listening with greater appreciation through the years. 

We left Pittsburgh several times over the last few years and each time it was with my dad's blessing. So, indeed, I thank him for "the freedom when it came my time to go". And I thank him especially for telling me when I needed to come home.

My Daddy was almost always kind. He stood up for me when others did not. He may not have always understood my choices, but he loved me enough to always have my back. I hope he knew how much that meant to me. I can't say Daddy got tough with me too many times, but there are a couple that stand out in my memory. Those were turning points to a better relationship between us, I think.

As to whether I told him I loved him enough…I did not. I don't think "I love you" was a phrase used in our house when I was growing up. Consequently, I never told my Dad I loved him until I was 25. And I was afraid to say it. Amazingly, once it was out there, that first time, and Daddy responded with, "I love you, too, kid," there was never anything holding back our mutual "I love you". Still, "Papa, I don't think I said 'I love you' near enough".  

The leader of our family has moved beyond this life. He was tired. Not just his eyes, but all of him. But, his blood, does run through each of my his children's instruments. His songs live on in our hearts and souls. And I think I speak for each of us when I say that, indeed, our lives have been a poor attempt to imitate a good, loving, caring, kind-hearted man, whom we were blessed to call our Dad. I pray we are a legacy of which he can be proud.

ANGER ISSUES

2014 Jan 27

Where to begin? My family of origin doesn't really have anger issues. I do not ever recall seeing my paternal or maternal grandparents get angry. My Mom had lots of issues, but I'm not sure anger was one of them. My Dad was not an angry man. Yet of the eight siblings in our family, at least four have or have had anger issues. Currently, I would say at least two of us, maybe three need to work on our anger. 

So where does this anger originate? According to Pastor Bertine's sermon yesterday, at Gulf to Lake Church, anger generally originates as a result of hurt, and or frustration, and or fear. Since I can only speak to my own stuff, I would say that I have the trifecta of origins going on.

Most of my anger is involved in my relationship with my husband. Hurt? Yes.

Frustration? Yes. Fear? Yes, but not of him, rather of where our relationship is headed.

The past year has been a most difficult one for me, for our marriage, and for the general feelings of marital joy. Neither Raymond or I are the perfect spouse. But, I thought we shared in common, a strong sense of family. 

Now, for some recent background.

Last February, as we were planning our travels for 2013, my Dad had emergency surgery for a hernia repair and bowel resection. At that hospitalization it was discovered that he had stage 4 small cell lung cancer. We changed our plans, and instead of heading to Texas, drove to Pennsylvania. Dad's oncologist would not discuss life expectations, so we took up residence at a local campground, uncertain how long we would be in Pennsylvania.

By summer, Raymond was getting the urge to move on. Since he doesn't drive, any moving that was going to take place had to involve me. We made plans to travel from Pittsburgh through upstate New York, into Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine. Then, on our way to Florida, we would come back through Pittsburgh for my doctor appointments and for Dad's 88th birthday.

Throughout the spring I had been experiencing numbness and tingling from my chin to my shoulder. My PCP suggested I see an Orthopedic neck specialist, which was one of the appointments scheduled for September. I have had severe arthritic changes in my cervical spine for several years, but they had only begun to be intrusive during 2013.

On our return to Pittsburgh in September, we opted to park in Raymond's brother and sister-in-law's driveway, since the plan was to be in the area for about two weeks. Even so, Raymond disliked the location because he felt too isolated in the far northern suburbs, since very little was in walking distance, and I was rarely available since I was spending as much time as possible with my Dad.

The real curve ball came just before we were scheduled to leave for Florida. My symptoms were progressing and I really felt, as did my surgeon, that waiting till spring for neck surgery was a gamble. So, I scheduled the cervical surgery and fusion for mid October. Raymond was very unhappy. Between the surgery and recovery, the absolute earliest I would be available to drive our RV to Florida would be the last week on November.

Raymond acted in a manner that hurt me deeply. Later when we talked about it, he explained that his reaction was because he felt blindsided. 

Shortly before my surgery, my Dad began radiation therapy to attempt to shrink one of his tumors which was causing him difficulty breathing. He finished radiation while I was recovering, but still unable to drive. 

I began driving when my surgeon OK'd it. Slowly, I began to build my strength and my range of motion. By my final post op visit, early in the last week of November, Dr. Smith gave the OK for me to try the drive to Florida in the RV. It was two days before Thanksgiving. Raymond wanted to leave immediately. I want to spend Thanksgiving with my dad and brothers. At this point I was feeling both fear and frustration. The fear was two pronged. I was afraid of Raymond's reaction if I told him I wanted to stay on longer in Pittsburgh, as well as feeling fear that this would be my Dad's last Thanksgiving. Frustration was full blown because Raymond seemed to be lacking an empathy for my needs, at that point. Frustration was also in play because of my father's situation.

Yep, I had the full trifecta, of hurt, frustration and fear. Only I didn't know it at the time.

Truth be told, I didn't want to leave Pittsburgh at the end of November. But we were already paying for a lot in Florida that we hadn't used in October or November. The weather was freezing in Pittsburgh, and our RV is not really made for winter camping. Raymond was unhappy in the extreme. I was depressed. My Dad was dying. Life was overwhelming. So, in an attempt to be "a good wife", we left for Florida on November 29.

The drive took a lot longer than any before.  Apparently I still did not have the stamina to drive long distances and found it necessary to stop frequently for rest and naps. When we made to to Edisto Beach State Park, in SC, we stayed four days. I needed three of those just to recharge.

After arrival at Nature Coast Landing, in Crystal River, FL, the thought of immediately turning around and driving back to Pittsburgh was daunting. So, I didn't think about it. Instead, I called home every other day or so to see how things were going. I distracted myself by decorating the lot and the RV for Christmas. 

On Christmas, I was very homesick. Raymond was very melancholy and seemed to be missing his parents, who died several years ago. Because of Raymond's emotional state, I was glad that I hadn't left him and Greyla alone over Christmas. Although, I was still torn by thinking of Daddy and the fact that this might be his last Christmas. Still, when I spoke with Daddy on Christmas morning, he seemed in good spirits. But there was still some part of me that was resentful of Raymond and his blindness to my needs and wishes.

New Year's day arrived and I called to wish my Dad and brothers a Happy New Year. My brother informed me of Daddy's decline & after talking to Daddy, I knew I had to return to Pittsburgh. I explained to Raymond that I needed to face this own my own. I would be wanting to focus all my energy and time on my Dad, at my brother's house, and that to have him & Greyla along at a local motel (which was what Ray wanted), would be too much of a distraction. Perhaps that hurt him. I don't know. I just knew it was the truth as I was experiencing it.

I arrived in Pittsburgh on the afternoon on Jan 5, after driving from Florida.

I spent time talking with my Dad. My brothers and I spent time trying to care for him over the next several days. He passed away in the wee hours of Jan 9. Following Daddy's last wishes, we arranged for his cremation, with no viewing. There was a service the day of the interment of his ashes, at the chapel at the cemetery, on Jan 14.

The next day, Raymond began pressuring me to return to Florida. I was not ready. There were things to be done. There was a need to be with my brothers and sister. There was a need to grieve with my family. Raymond seemed not to have any understanding of these feelings.

My feelings of anger grew. Each time Raymond called, I dreaded answering, knowing one of his first questions would be, "When are you coming back?" I wanted to stay at my brother's house. I wanted to be with people who were experiencing the same pain and loss I was feeling. Twice I put off my return date. I really couldn't understand Ray's impatience for my return. Especially since every time we spoke, I cried. Finally, when there was news of an anticipated storm and snow accumulation, I relented, and planned my departure. 

Then, my brother, Vinny, developed a problem with his left arm. His doctor's appointment was scheduled for 8:15 AM, the day I was scheduled to leave. I called Ray to let him know that I would be getting on the road later in the morning that day, and his reaction was not positive. He assumed I was going to stay to see what Vinny's outcome would be. I had to explain, more than once, that I would drive Vinny to the doctor and get on the road around 10:30, rather than the 8 AM departure we had originally figured. Regardless of Vinny's status, I was not yet prepared to leave. However, I felt I had to in order to placate Raymond.

Several times on my way back to Florida, I became overwhelmed by emotions and cried. Some of that was loss. Some was anger.

Having arrived back in Florida on Jan 25, just three weeks to the day since I left, I was in full on anger mode with regard to Raymond. At this point I knew it was anger, because God graciously pointed it out to me as I drove. And there was an assurance that I had to return to Gulf to Lake Church on Sunday morning. I knew that the sermon was one I needed to hear. It was!

I am now trying to work through both my anger and my loss. Pray for me. And for Ray.