August Sand and Other Hot Stuff

Kira and I went to another play at the Intiman Theatre the last day of July. The Tricky Part is a one man play in which Martin Moran narrates his personal story of childhood sexual abuse. He weaves a story back and forth from present to childhood and back again in a simple and yet complex way. I watched two men get up and leave the auditorium as Mr. Moran described his first sexual encounter; I wondered if they had not realized that this subject would be so graphically described or if they had known and thought they could tolerate it, but found they could not.

Kira and I both liked the play, although she found it a bit depressing. For me it seemed like my favorite part of my work: listening to someone tell the story of their life and giving witness to the reality they had experienced. It is a bit intense- go if you think you can tolerate it.

"Those of us-- and we are legion-- whose innocence has not been lost so much as taken, have a choice. We can remain children and insist on a black and white vision of perpetrators and victims, or, like Martin Moran, we can grow up. We can arrive at the understanding that love is only as pure, or as whole, or as beautiful, as the always imperfect beings who offer and demand it. The Tricky Part is a story of sexual abuse and its seemingly endless half life-- remarkable, then, that this isn't a book about blame, but forgiveness."- Kathryn Harrison, author of the memoir The Kiss

Jay and I made it down to Edmonds July 24th to see Kira and give her some things. We met her at Jon's apartment and were finally able to meet Bambi's sister, Sleepy.

Bambi and Sleepy were raised together and are basically twins- although not identical. They love being together. Jon and Kira take wonderful care of the girls.

If you want to see some pictures, click on the picture of Jay, Kira and Bambi at the right.

"We are alone, absolutely alone on this chance planet: and, amid all the forms of life that surround us, not one, excepting the dog, has made an alliance with us."- Maurice Maeterlinck

My lovely friend, Robie Yamini, invited several of us girls over to her home for a dinner party this last weekend. We each brought items to share, but Robie blessed us with a beatifully prepared Persian feast that was incredible. It was a very hot day, yet Robie cooked her heart out in the heat for her friends. We had a very special time together again.

Some pictures can be found by clicking on the partying cats.

Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.- Rumi

Life is full of surprises. We bump along on this adventure we have been dropped into, finding our way as we go along. Why are we here? When will it end? What am I supposed to do? We look for answers when there are none to be had, at least none to be had just yet. Moment by moment, as time is handed to us, the story of our life unfolds.

My daughter Carrie's birthday was on August 1st, she is now 23. I last saw Carrie for her birthday a year ago. She does not like the choices I have made the last few years; she does not like the changes I have made and how they have altered what she was expecting, what she had envisaged of the future. Her anger makes me sad, yes.

Life unfolds and becomes what is, whether it is what we were expecting or not. I never know if life is happening to me or if I am forming it or if I am simply watching it unfold- I think that maybe they all are happening at the same time. Being alive is weird. I feel better in the new context that I have placed myself into. I like being loved, the shelter of each other. Life is full of surprises- hang on and enjoy the ride.

"Through spontaneity we are reformed into ourselves. Freed from handed-down frames of reference, spontaneity becomes the moment of personal freedom when we are faced with a reality, explore it, and act accordingly."- Viola Spolin

We live in a teeny one bedroom house that is 500 square feet big. We live on a one lane, paved road along with nine other homes. Out our kitchen window above the sink you can see a high bank on the other side of Memorial Hwy.- it is the dike that lines the Skagit River as it winds through our valley. Our house does not show in the picture above, but is directly right or south of the cluster of buildings in the middle/top of the brown fields at the bottom right of the photo, across two fields and a street- we watch the activity at that house and outbuildings from our kitchen window on a daily basis to see if they have added more dogs or more cars to their collections.

From the air you can see our small house in the middle of the photo at the right. Across the lane from us is a mobile home- what looks in the picture bottom like white squares. The Beckers live there- they babysat for our old fish, Shorty, when we were in Michigan for the wedding last November. Don and his wife Margaret are in their 80s and have been quite active in their retirement years.

When Jay was in the hospital with pneumonia shortly after I met him, Don came to visit him and wish him well. Don is a veteran and has been driving all the way down to the VA Hospital in Seattle for medical care since I have known him. Up until a couple of months ago he was still working most weekdays, heading down somewhere near Stanwood and doing some sort of construction. He loves to fiddle about and keep busy, particularly playing with the carburetor on his old pick-up truck. He replaced the original carburetor with one that has some sort of magical powers, purported to improve gas mileage. I'm not sure how that works since it seems to require Mr. Becker go out and rev up the motor repeatedly for what seems like hours at a time.

When she watched our fish, Mrs. Becker was nervous about whether or not she could care for and feed him properly, but I told her that Shorty was an old fish so not to worry if he died while we were gone. Later I thought about how I had said that and wasn't so sure it was the right thing to say. As it turned out, Shorty was well cared for and I took the Beckers some of my zucchini bread for their trouble.

Don is strong-willed, independent and likes to be busy fixing and fiddling with things. If I remember right, he said he was originally from Minnesota and drove truck for years. He gave us a plastic flower planter with ivy in it that they didn't want anymore. Later it bloomed with tulips and a tall purple-blue bell flower that I transplanted to the bed outside our dining window. I have dead-headed that plant several times this year and it keeps blooming and blooming with pretty flowers.

One day this last spring I heard a soft knock at our front door. When I opened the door I found Margaret looking concerned. She asked if we could come over and help Don with a water heater. I looked at her closely and said, "He doesn't know you're over here does he?" She shook her head no and I called for Jay. We went across the lane and behind their mobile home, finding Don with a large water heater hoisted on a board leaning against the home under an opening in the outside. The hefty thing needed to be lifted about four or five feet off the ground to get it up and over a pipe in the way- something that was beyond our means to accomplish. We discussed the need for a pulley and some muscular young men and Don decided he could wait until his son came over the next day. His wife went back in the house but Don continued to piddle and fiddle, so I asked if indeed he would leave the heavy work until tomorrow so as not worry us- he reluctantly agreed. I went in their house and reported his promise to Mrs. Becker and asked her to call us if things changed...

The last couple of months Don has been getting thinner and had to stop working. He has always driven his truck very slowly... I would have to leap into my car so as not to get behind him going into town on my way to work. He told Jay that a few weeks ago the cops stopped him for driving so slowly. Don has been battling cancer since I have known him and it seems to be wearing on him. His wife has worn a worried look for a bit now.

When I got home after work one day week before last, Jay told me that Mrs. Becker had called him on the phone and he had gone over to help Don get up off the couch. Seems Margaret had broken her ankle the week before and was using a walker and wheelchair- something we did not know about. Jay said it took all of his strength to get Don up so he could go to the bathroom. It's been hot here and was quite hot that day too. Jay had told Mrs. Becker to call again if they needed help. Hmmm, the social worker's brain was a buzzin'. As I made dinner I thought about what I would check on when I went over to their place after we ate, how I would see what their needs were and figure out how to proceed. The stir-fry veggies were almost finished when I heard a truck door slam- I figured it was the Beckers' son come to help. Looking out our front window, I saw a man run up the steps and bang on the door proclaiming "9-1-1". Sigh. Several guys in pick-up trucks (volunteer firefighters) showed up, and then the aid car arrived. I paced, wanting to run over and insert myself. I worried, fretted,waited and watched, wondering how many stretchers would end up coming out. I figuring they definitely would be taking the man who couldn't get up off the couch to the hospital.

After a while someone came out and backed the aid car into the Beckers' driveway, leaving the back doors open. Soon after that I saw them bringing a stretcher out with Don on it, partially sitting up as they manuevered down the steps, pointing with his fully out-stretched arm over to the right so that they could see for sure where to go.

No more stretchers came out and other people were arriving. I trotted over and saw Mrs. Becker standing in her living room with a walker as I strode past two ladies I didn't know in the doorway. I slipped over and folded my arms around her as one of the ladies was commenting about Margaret's shaking and then wondering out loud who this lady was hugging her mother-in-law. Sigh. How many family members will I end up witnessing not hugging those loved ones who need hugging? "She's my good neighbor friend." Mrs. becker announced this as I went and got the wheelchair that she collapsed into. "You know you need to reach back and feel that the chair is there before you sit down." "I just don't know how to use these things." Mrs. Becker patiently dealt with the intrusive social worker. "I was going to come over after we ate dinner, but you didn't give me a chance- dinner was almost cooked." A smile. "I waited for them to do their thing. I waited to see how many stretchers they were going to bring out." Another look into my eyes. "She helps people, that's her work." I'm not sure anyone but me was listening to the older woman. The daughter arrived; family took over.

That week and the next Jay saw vehicles come and pick up stuff, check on the house. We have seen no activity for over a week now. The Beckers have a plastic frog that sits under their back entry door and croaks to announce comings and goings. It has announced the neighborhood cat, but otherwise remains still. Cindy worries out loud sometimes, then decides to just write about it... Jay quietly checks the obituaries. The world is full of good people who have worked hard all of their lives, who only want to live out their days in peace. Time will inform us of our neighbors' fate.

"It is extraordinary how extraordinary the ordinary person is."- George F. Will

The difference between Bush Sr and Bush Jr:

"The night [before the invasion], I couldn't sleep. I couldn't move my neck or my back... knowing I was responsible for all those lives."- GHWB, 1991

"I sleep well because every day I get emails from ordinary americans who say they are praying for me, and there's nothing stronger than the power of prayer."- GWB, 2003

Click on the picture of Jay's dad's boots.

Politicians should read science fiction, not westerns and detective stories.- Arthur C. Clarke

Along with our small house, we have a small yard- which is slowly getting filled with raised vegetable garden beds, flowering bushes and flowers.

Out west here there are lots of butterfly bushes. Some grow wild, even along the freeway in downtown Seattle, but usually the more lushly flowered ones are purposefully grown by people in their yards.


Jay and I have a white-flowering butterfly bush that is over six fee tall and then we have a purple one that we like to remark to each other about because it was supposed to be a miniature one, but it is taller than either of us.

These bushes are great not only because they have pretty flowers and attract butterflys, but they are very hardy and drought tolerant- something important since our rainfall in the summer is, surprisingly, pretty slim pickings.

Last weekend Jay saw a butterfly checking out our purple bush, so went and got his camera...
to catch a shot of it enjoying our hospitality and scenery.


Caring is everything; nothing matters but caring.- Baron Friedrich Von Hugel

Jay and I were talking and I remarked that life is weird (again). Jay paused, as if searching for the right words, so I added for him "compared to what?" Yes, these were the words Jay was thinking of and besides, he added, he's just glad for this life and wants it to continue, weird or not. I love that man.

The graphic at the right is from 1962 and includes the Seattle Space Needle- a glimpse of the future back then. Click on it if you are interested in seeing time moving (this only works in internet explorer).

"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work... I want to achieve it through not dying."- Woody Allen

Congratulations Kira!

Kira has been taking a college prep class this summer, going to school all morning then working delivering pizzas all evening. Her classmates have been irritated by her raising the grading curve by getting mostly 100%, then doing the extra credit to boot. She can't figure out what their problem is, why they aren't prepared for class- "they don't even work"...

Kira has a break of about 6 weeks now before the community college classes start in late September. She will be taking the rest of the GED test sections so she can then start the nursing program pre-requisite community college classes. When she finishes her GED I will be sending out graduation announcements. I am so very, very proud of her. Kira is very smart, very kind and very strong-willed. She is an incredible person.

"The golden opportunity you are seeking is in yourself. It is not in your environment; it is not in luck or chance, or the help of others; it is in yourself alone."- Orison Swett Marden

Jay and I have those little usb port things that you can store information on so as to transfer it from computer to computer. Jay gave me some pictures on mine a little while ago, including the butterfly bush picture up above.

Today I noticed Jay had included for me a picture of our "mystery hollyhock" in the back yard. We have a huge pink hollyhock that blooms next to our driveway and last year several "babies" sprung up by it in the drive. We rescued the babies and moved them to the back yard, next to the back fence. Now we have a couple of small juvenile hollyhocks- but they are a cream white color! Are they actually babies of our original plant or are they volunteers planted by our local kind and generous birds?

Oh, the mysteries of life.

Roots nourish, give us life and bind us safely to earth. Plant them well.- Anonymous

Jay likes to be busy and so together we usually have some sort of project we are working on.

Jay has apparently always preferred to sleep on a futon that simply lies on the floor, and so that has been what we have had since I moved into his house with him. I like a firm mattress so this has been okay most of the time- except those times when I get up out of bed, a move requiring not only righting my body but then getting it up off the floor. As time has taken its toll, this type of movement has become less and less popular with me, despite my avid exercising.

Jay is also not particularly fond of change, at least not initially, until he warms up to an idea- and I have lots of ideas, so he keeps warm without having to purchase so much electricity. Over the last two years I have mentioned once or twice something about maybe not having our bed right on the floor and now have learned that this persistent remarking of my preferences does pay off over time- Jay has spent the last couple of weeks designing and making a platform bed for our futon. He also took the effort to research wood finishes to get one that would not to bother my allergies- what a sweet, kind man! (Shellac turns out to be the allergy-free choice.) The new bed is solid and so much easier to get up from, the wood is pretty, and it is quite practical and useful, providing ample storage space under the platform- yes, cool indeed.

"In great affairs men show themselves as they wish to be seen; in small things they show themselves as they are."- Nicholas Chamfort

My work partner and I spend a great deal of time together doing inspections and dealing with a variety of situations that present themselves to us. It is interesting to be part of such an intensive team.

If you would like to see some photos of Mary in action, click on the cartoon to the left. People who know Mary will find more information in her expressions than those who don't...

Edith Bunker: "I was just thinking. In all the years we been married, you never once said you was sorry." Archie Bunker: "Edith, I'll gladly say that I'm sorry- if I ever do anything wrong."- Norman Lear

Many years ago I worked with a client who was in her mid to late twenties and very paranoid. She had lost her husband and lost her legal rights to contact with her child because of insidious, troubling paranoid ideas that had made her a danger to herself and others at times. I worked with her for several months as she moved from one place to another, each home in succession deemed by her to be unsafe. She was once again at a new living place the last time I visited her; she had different things strewn about from the move and as I looked around my eyes fell upon a number of family photos. The photos filled me with a feeling of intense sadness that saturated me with almost visceral loss. The photos showed a younger woman, one full of life, full of promise, a woman with a future, a woman with a family. It's hard to explain the loss I felt gazing at those photos that were like all family photos- glimpses of the past- but these came with a stark acknowledgement, a realization that the future had arrived and the promise was gone.

I recently felt that familiar feeling again, looking at old photos with a fellow I met at a dementia facility. He showed me photos on his walls and photos in a box, as he wildly went on about unseen dangers and other reasons he needed to move back to the area where the pictures had been taken- faded pictures of a young woman ("that's the girl who wanted lots of babies"), a young man with the young woman, homes in black and white, homes with young children lined up to have a picture taken, children in clothing of another decade, another century. The wife had passed away, one son was dead. The days in the pictures had come, and had gone. The days that made up the man's life were now almost all gone; he could make sense of so very little of their remains. He was desperately intent on the idea that maybe if he moved back, back to the state the pictures were taken in, he could get back...

People who work in health care cannot escape the obvious- that we live and then we die. We are unlike "normal" people who go about life day after day as if there were no end- for us life's parameters are very real. Witnessing others' loss of function, loss of intellect, loss of life is part of our "normal" workday, but even we are brought up short at times- like when we are confronted with pictures of a past whose future is ending. We make amends as best we can with realities we cannot change: the inevitable loss of ones so dear, and of our self. We remind ourselves to cherish the time and function we have now, and hold onto a hope, faith, that life has meaning, that loved ones can be found again, found for forever, once we too go over that rainbow.

And when he found
That he was drowned,
It took him unawares.
- Father Goose

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