Wednesday, November 06, 2019

Last night, my sister passed away. Early yesterday during my visit to the nursing home, her hospice nurse, social worker, and I discussed her condition. Both long had been assigned to my sister and agreed she wasn’t close to passing. This was reassuring, but I know my sister and told them she’d finish in her own way. Which exactly, she did.

Yesterday, during the hours I sat with her, although seemingly asleep she knew I was there. She once managed to say, “Help me, Diana.” I asked if she wanted to be turned in bed and at her nod called for someone who knew how to do this. That person taught me how to keep my sister’s lips moistened and how to offer water through a straw, all of which my sister resisted. Later, as I was leaving the facility, a nurse said someone was on the way to turn her again.

Last night around midnight, after awakening and letting the dogs outside, I discovered that my phone had a voice message informing me of her death. On the advice of her hospice team, I had packed away some my own sense that passing was imminent, and now felt a shock of having left the nursing home too early. In those midnight hours, all I could learn was that already she had been moved to a designated funeral home. I will get in touch early hoping at least once again to visit her.

Five years ago, as I was preparing to bring my sister to Oregon, she explained her wishes to be cremated and then her ashes mixed with those of a beloved dog, whose ashes she had saved for years and which I have. I’ll do as she wanted. Something else she’d prefer would be those ashes spread in favorite surroundings, like the Nevada or Arizona desert, or near Little Rock, CA, where once she lived.

I am touched and encouraged by readers who care and have followed this ongoing, sporadic thread of my sister’s story. Later, I will write more, for Elaine was a unique and in many ways amazing individual.

Dear Friends: This is a rare moment, for I’ve run out of words. Diana

Tuesday, November 05, 2019

My sister was asleep when I entered her room. She woke briefly, said “Hello, Cutie,” and again closed her eyes. I said, “Do you want water?” Her eyes opened and she reached for a half-full glass on her bed tray but wasn’t strong enough to lift and move it to her mouth. I quickly helped and she managed two sips. The caretaker who let me into her room (I forgot my key) picked up my sister’s untouched breakfast tray. It was close to noon and the attendant said she’d return soon with a lunch tray.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

My sister nodded, “I think so,” as her eyes closed.

I sat for nearly two hours while she slept. There never appeared a returning attendant nor lunch tray. Finally, I tiptoed out, went to the office and found the manager. I explained the no-food situation and inquired about their process of caring for my sister. The manager assured me that someone looks in on her every two hours and turns her in bed to avoid sores. She apologized, saying she’d make sure a lunch arrives shortly.

An attendant brought a food tray, set it on my sister’s bed tray and left us alone. I tried to encourage my sister to eat but her eyes wouldn’t open. I held near her mouth a spoon with soft food that she refused to accept. It felt wrong to try forcing her to eat. I found myself remembering an article in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal, about an elderly woman in her right mind who independently elected to commit suicide by self-starving. According to the writer’s informants, self-starvation isn’t an awful way to go. As it dawned on me that maybe my sister is committing suicide, I set down the spoon and considered this.

Nearly 20 years ago, our mother who had lost her memory lived in a nursing home, and as she weakened I authorized a feeding tube for her. I couldn’t let her go and the tube kept her alive longer–but maybe too much, for she seemed very ready to go before it actually happened. Yesterday, while considering a feeding tube for my sister and remembering our mom’s lingering life with one, I x-ed the idea. Besides there’s a key factor of my sister herself. She’d never want any sort of surgical intervention. Period, that’s who she is.

I left her still sleeping and on my way out stopped to chat with the nurse on duty. She said they do attempt to help feed my sister, but if she refuses won’t try to force her to eat. I understood, having just faced that situation.

Now, my sister sleeps most of the time and is starving. For all us others, it’s a waiting game.

Here’s a link to that WSJ article. https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/social-issues/at-94-she-was-ready-to-die-by-fasting-her-daughter-filmed-it/2019/11/03/41688230-fcd9-11e9-8190-6be4deb56e01_story.html

Dear Friends: Rosie-The-Brat, kept me running to re-capture her all afternoon. Diana

Monday, November 04, 2019

I’ve been writing about my elderly sister. She’s failing more rapidly and I’m visiting the nursing home frequentlly. She’s becoming more fragile and tired, it’s an effort for her to speak beyond a sentence or two, yet while awake she’s very alert.

I’m working hard to rethink and re-cement her as a cornerstone in my life. She’s the big sister who successfully represented to “the little me” a lifestyle of independence and decisiveness that often flaunted old traditions. She’s the big sister to whom I was sort-of a daughter. She’s the big sister from whom I finally achieved emotional independence, but the separation took a toll on our relationship, which became acrimonious.

During the weeks of all the past mishigosh on my mind, I’ve ignored other aspects of my daily life that usually are enjoyable. Like my horses in need of attention and exercise. They’re getting fed, and I’m repairing results of their idle destructiveness, but they’ve been just standing around for weeks.

Until yesterday when I felt forced to go out and make Rosie do some groundwork. She’s begun showing signs of using her left stifle in a manner showing that she must exercise more to keep that leg’s muscles strong. I harnessed and began to long-line Rosie, feeling a little disassociated and wondering if I’d last through a half-hour of this effort. By the time we were fifteen minutes into the routine, I was focused on handling the ropes to encourage her willingness and gait, and pleased again by action with my horse.

In fact, after Rosie, although it wasn’t in my plan to harness Sunni and repeat the long-lining routine, that happened. What’s important is my renewed sense of kinship with the horses and knowing they’ve been exercised. Not to mention that all the while they’d been moving in circles, so had I, cirlcing slightly behind their girths, again and again. All this movement, a good addition to my now-daily walks on a treadmill.

In the best of times, it becomes a difficult call to balance our emotions and activities, and this becomes even worse in the toughest times, which do occur. A good support system can provide an optimal solution during both the best and worst of times.

Dear Friends: Thank you for keeping my sister and me in your thoughts. Diana

Sunday, November 03, 2019

A phone call from an employee at the nursing home where my elderly sister resides informed me that they’ve put my sister on “alert status”. Her blood pressure had registered only 68 over 30-something. I tossed on a jacket and rushed there, entering my sister’s room to find her dozing lightly. She woke and weakly greeted me.

As I settled into her wheelchair, she asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m worried about you.”

She thought a moment before shaking her head, “Don’t start counting me out.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Nobody ever counts you out.”

She nodded weakly and dozed off.

Our intermittent sentence-exchanges continued between her dozes and awakenings. In her non-alert moments, I tried to watch a football game on her television. She noticed this and reinforced my sense that she’d not been the one who tuned to that game by suddenly saying, “I don’t like college football.” When I asked why, she lacked the strength to verbalize an adequate response.

That’s when two nurses entered, one from the home and another from Hospice. The Hospice nurse checked my sister’s vitals. His reading of her blood pressure was 120/69, which is normal for her. When he said his BP cuff was new, the facility nurse decided that the facility’s BP machine was off and needed fixing. The Hospice nurse noted that my sister’s complexion and lips weren’t bluish, that her hands were warm but her toes slightly cold, perhaps because of slow circulation.

My sister’s condition was decent!

I’d been over-warned, but it felt important to be there. My sister said she felt well, was without pain and comfortable. The facility nurse commented that they’d earlier administered codeine for my sister’s pain. Now, I know for a fact that my sister rarely agrees to consume anything except her known daily five pills. I wondered how they had managed to encourage her to accept codeine and the nurse said, “In chocolate.”

After the nurses left, I sat watching my sister doze. She looked much like our mother at around the same age. Even her spoken words reminded me of Mom’s old age sounds and tones.

My sister’s admonishment, “Don’t count me out,” rings in my head. I recognize that she might recover, as has happened before when the odds seemed against her. But what’s also ringing is a “cautious maybe” that this time she won’t. I returned home reassured that for this moment she’s okay. Today, I’ll visit again.

Dear Friends: I’ve nixed old mixed feelings about a cherished and complex sister. Diana

Saturday, November 02, 2019

It turns out that daily trudges on the treadmill have nudged my brain to consider stepping-up my exercise game. Of course, as a non-participating gym member, my bank pays monthly for an unused membership. I neither want to kill that membership nor drive through traffic to exercise. Rediscovering my treadmill and reading this book are turning points that elevate my long-zero interest in formal exercising.

Through many years, my favorite role model has come to be RBG. She represents longevity, wisdom, and productivity, and one could add good health to her achievements. Although she’s battled through several rounds of cancer, it’s neither got her down nor done her in. She’s also of solid character, for according to biographical data, she’s always been diligent, hardworking, and straightforward.

Have you seen videos of RBG working out with her long-time trainer (who authored this book)? Can you believe that in her mid-80s she executes such as push-ups, kicks, and front- and side-planks? And that she and this trainer have worked together 20 years to keep her physically strong?

This little book of slightly over 100 well-illustrated pages (available on ebay) is inspiring me to expand my restarted exercise program. The author explains how to perform the Justice’s routines by using equipment available in a gym or by using stretch bands at home. I intend to start my workouts with stretch bands and hope to find my way back to the gym that’s charging me during absences. Honestly, I enjoy working out in a gym but need an appropriate restart program. RBG’s well-illustrated routines are inviting, and most of all, they’re doable.

Dear Friends: It’s never too late to restart strengthening our bodies. Diana

Friday, November 01, 2019

Upon the advice of a co-worker at my part-time job, I dusted off my aged treadmill and tested its turn-on switch. The machine heaved a sigh before a push on the “start” button cranked its floor into action. I set it for 2mph and walked while studying the control board and trying to remember its basic functions and potential. That’s an indicator of how long it’s been since last I unfurled this old machine. Happily, it still works.

Funny enough, although the treadmill has been parked in my bedroom throughout my years in this house, I had forgotten about it. Its floor folds up and creates needed space for a dog’s bed and its upright section offers various opportunities. Lately, its been a support for hanging winter jackets. And other odds and ends like handbags and scarves tossed casually over its handlebars.

I’d been explaining to my friend some concerns about stumbling and falling, which are possibilities on my rocky acreage, and liked the suggestion that walking on a treadmill could strengthen my legs and balance. That ah-ha moment–remembering the catch-all in my bedroom.

That treadmill has a history. I bought it as a used-refurbished unit from Sears back when that great merchandiser was a major store in Santa Monica’s downtown. My purpose wasn’t to exercise myself but to condition my dogs. My work requiring lots of traveling meant boarding my dogs at a kennel (it specialized in Irish Setters). Some of the Setters walked on comfortably on its treadmill. That seemed a great idea.

Only one of my dogs went for it. Cassie the Cattle Dog (in every way a terrific pup) would hop on and walk as long as asked. Others would get on and soon as the floor began rolling hop off and refuse to cooperate. Okay, so occasionally I’d walk, too, but let’s face it, treadmill minutes can be long and boring. Since then, I’ve hauled the machine around, maybe deep inside thinking someday it might be useful.

Now, I’m walking again and with lots of purpose. I intend to become stronger, and thus more efficient while navigating over property, playing with horses, and hiking with dogs (always their best exercising). These days, technology helps to combat boredom on the treadmill. An iPad streams movies, headphones allow read-aloud books, and an always nearby TV offers the latest political twists.

As yes, it’ll be a “new me”.

Dear Friends: This story never-ever entered my mind, life is full of twists. Diana

Thursday, October 31, 2019

Recently, some friends met for coffee with a common purpose of discussing current politics. All of us were well informed and our political perspectives agreed–a non-conflict group speaking aloud what we thought and felt–a meaningful event.

Except that parting into our separate ways didn’t diminish my heightened interest in politics. Since, our discussion has driven me more toward an awareness of national and international politics, and with more interest in regional populations.

I write, not from wanting to espouse a particular point of view, but because of that coffee meeting and mutual ventilating with friends of common interests. I’m surprised by it’s impact and how the aftermath continues to inform my world-view.

Many share my political leanings and I’m not among a minority, but mostly I prefer keeping quiet and avoiding potential conflicts. This is recent behavior, for I learned just a few years ago by experience that passionate politics can separate friends. Yes, after losing friends, I’m more quiet.

Communications are complex though. Perspectives leak out and manage to gain sympatico responses. Folks love to discover common interests, and the same for all focused perspectives. Take for example religious advocates, who attract like responses by speaking a word or brief phrase.

Unfortunately, while passions can bind, they also can separate.

There were friends I regret losing because of differing opinions to the extent that I wish my mouth had stayed shut. On the other hand, the new friends in my life have common opinions. The recent coffee klatch reinforced the pleasures of openly sharing, without arguing over premises, personal perspectives on situations, local, national, and international. And afterwards, parting as friends.

If I were to sum up, this probably has much to do with gaining wisdom.

Dear Friends: Sensing a need for silence is a good habit of the opinionated. Diana

“Nature is not something outside the human world. The reverse is true. Nature is the real world, and humanity exists on islands within it. E.O. Wilson

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

This morning is a huddling time in Bend’s current temp of eleven degrees, cold that reinforces the reality of winter’s arrival (as if yesterday’s very chilly hours failed to declare adequately the situation).

That aside, it’s hard to focus on and worry about approaching local frigid weather while the fires of hell burn vigorously much of California. As a former Californian, my senses and imagination are engulfed by the situation. Forced blackouts mean that people for days are without electricity, including the disabled who need battery-charged ready vehicles. The horrifying photos of blazing fires suggest the extent of work needed to improve or fix the situation. It’s beyond imagination. Soon, someone will write a book that traces the genesis of electrical power development, focusing on PG&E’s history of ownership, money, influence, and political strength.

We blame the fires accurately, or at least partially, on climate change, and there’s more. This is the second year of major California fires caused by PG&E’s overhead power lines that annual high winds swing and ignite. These fires are more huge signs of crumbling infrastructure, suggesting problems appearing too big, complex, and expensive to fix–until critical failures force us to examine, argue, plan, and finally shell-out.

Big worries can make citizen groups easier targets for charlatans and crooks who claim they can and will make fixes, and in the end can’t or don’t. Social history is filled with examples of failed promises for improvements. Meanwhile, Nature and human infrastructure continue to battle.

California is an amazing example of an area that has flourished and despite huge worries about fragile infrastructure. This has been ongoing since long before the current fire-igniting powerlines. Among Californians, there’s continuous talking about earthquakes, including and especially the “coming ‘big one'” that’s destined to sink the entire state into the ocean.

No infrastructure problems are local, for example, Oklahoma suffers serious earthquakes, too, ignoring why. Everywhere and indeed worldwide there’s much to do, to reinforce buildings, bridges, roads, and re-improve misused soils. Not to mention reinforcing Nature itself by re-planting trees, repairing landscapes, rearranging waterways, and saving diminishing species.

Maybe the fixes won’t be by older citizens, battle-scarred, wiser, and tight-fisted. Maybe they’ll be forced by today’s kids who for themselves attempt to re-visualize the future. Consider, the young globe-trotting “Gretas”, worried, brave, and speaking boldly of an immediate need to address climate change. Consider, the “Parkland kids” who after learning first-hand about victimization, fiercely are opposed to the indecency of social status-quo attitudes enabling relatively easy mass murders.

Here’s one of my favorite quotes, a perspective of the brilliant biologist, Eward O. Wilson: “Nature is not something outside the human world. The reverse is true. Nature is the real world, and humanity exists on islands within it.

Dear Friends: It’s essential to think large and make wise decisions accordingly. Diana

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Soon, I’ll start shopping for a new laptop, and much as I dislike admitting this, likely an IOS-driven computer. My current machine, an expensive brand-name droid, is approaching two years old. Through the past year, its processing has gradually slowed and become less dependable. For example, this machine initially seems to take forever to crank up, and then often processes weirdly-enough to need shutting down and rebooting. This, in early mornings especially is trying, for this computer’s main job is to facilitate my reading of major newspapers and creating a blog.

My interest in trying a different operating system has been facilitated by a couple of factors. First has been my current droid experience, with slow updates, unwanted photos, and whatever else Microsoft forces on me. Second has been my recent acquisition of an Apple Watch, iPhone, and IOS tablet. This was inspired by the Watch’s ability to recognize if a wearer hard-falls into a horizontal position, and then, use its linked iPhone to alert rescue personnel. This can offer some reassurance to one who’s often outside on acreage and around large animals.

Now in my third week of learning to work with Apple products, they’re easier to use. The IOS easily interacts with my droid laptop, but the laptop is too problematic to keep meeting my needs. Before this, and as an always droid user, increasingly I’ve been disappointed by the too-short-efficiency lives of laptops. Even if it turns out that an IOS environment doesn’t process more efficiently and make equipment longer-lasting, it seems worthwhile to try this change.

Dear Friends: We chase desired technology by tossing dollars up into the air. Diana

Monday, October 28, 2019

It seems that for thousands of years I’ve hauled around old scrapbooks from my high school days and several more binders of essays from my college years. By “hauled around”, I mean simply moving these tombs from one home to another, and stashing them, without perusing casually or trying to read. It seems that refocusing even briefly on the old days is too trying, interesting or productive as past times might have been.

Gradually it’s become clear that I’m the only one interested in these scrapbooks and notebooks. Although I’ve avoided re-involvements with these memories, there’s always been strong senses of attachment. The photos are of a very young me, and often with friends, most of whom have gone long-missing from my life. Photos make me wonder where they might be living, how their lives might have shaped-out. Rethinking old past relationships, and wondering what was or might have been with others, is overwhelming.

Similarly with college papers and creative story drafts. Writing each consumed time and energy. Take those technically-oriented college papers, which once researched and drafted, needed rewriting to satisfy rigid reporting models. The other writings, personal and creative, originated from real experiences that became semi-fictions. Maybe some are worthwhile, but again, reading and remembering can become overwhelming.

Those pictures and writings through the years, recording much of my past, long have been stashed untouched in a bottom drawer. Reminders of my beginnings, learning to think and growing pains, self-reveal to my depths.

This week seeking more physical space, I finally opened that drawer and removed the binders. I browsed the scrapbooks and opted to keep some photos awhile to remember a few meaningful individuals and events. The binders with writings are tabled beside my desk, eventually to look at, remember, and wonder. Maybe others than past choices would have influenced my life differently.

Returning to the past forces the discomfort of “sort of reliving”.

These memories are personal and soon will become history. A cleansing of the past that leaves only its product.

Dear Friends: Memories are too powerful and defining to let go of easily. Diana