I Don't Want to be All Wet

I made a pledge to pay more attention to the Words than the waves.

In the book of Matthew and the story of Jesus walking on the water, Peter wants to walk on the water, too. Jesus simply says, "Come." Peter, with no effort, walks on the water. When he obeys Jesus' commandment, Peter simply, but miraculously, walks on water, but when he gives his attention to the wind, waves and storm, Peter sinks.

Through this very difficult time with my children, I want to pay more attention to Jesus' Words than the waves of the storm. I want the miracle of restoration, the simplicity of obedience. I want the unity of the relationship of family.

It is easier said than done.

Healthcare vs. Heartcare

I recently went through my mom’s rapid illness and death. Initially, we thought mom had some pain issues or heart issues, or respiratory problems or arthritis. After going from specialist to specialist and back to the general practitioner and back out again to even more specialists, we finally came to the awful discovery that mom was suffering from dementia.

Growing up, I never had to crack a dictionary if I didn’t want to. Mom knew the definition and etymology of every word. Her penmanship was perfect. She could add columns of numbers quickly and put out a spread sheet that looked like Excel in cursive. She could organize any group of parents, neighbors or citizens. This woman had a sharp mind, made sharper by an army of nuns some of whom also played basketball – I love that image.

My mom also came from a family of round folks who fried and frosted anything that stood still. She had a massive heart attack in her 50’s. They found then that she had genetically malformed arteries throughout her body. My mom would probably die of a fried chicken induced heart attack. She would NOT lose her sharp wit, her well-exercised mind. That’s what I thought.

From September 2008 to January 2009, my mom’s mind moved through the stages of Alzheimer’s at a pace that amazed all her doctors. It left us running after her down the street as she ran away from caretakers and explaining why she could NOT brush her teeth with Bengay or use Fix-a-dent as hair gel.

I became my mom’s caretaker. My brother and I tried to care for her every need as she declined. He took care of all the money and business and I took care of her emotional and physical needs.

My mother’s first hospitalization during her illness caused her to completely lose her speech, ability to walk and eat. We learned that this is not unusual for dementia patients. I had never seen or heard of this before. I requested every test. I read every report. I pursued every specialist. I read everything I could get my hands on. I did not leave her until I had to ask for help so I could go home and sleep. After days of testing, exam after exam, waiting for reports, waiting for diagnosis, I realized that after three days, she had not really eaten or had very much fluid. I asked a nurse what they were going to do about getting her fed and hydrated. Honestly, they acted like they hadn’t even thought about it.

This was the first time I realized that the elderly, and particularly the demented, often were allowed to deteriorate because of this little thing called “quality of life.”

I admit I was very naive about this; although, my mother was very adamant about this all her life. She had a living will, a health care directive and had discussed all this with my brother and I. She did not want to be a burden. She did not want to be a vegetable. Honestly, she made all kinds of brave statements about the fact that she wanted a “quick” death.

Here’s the problem: She was demented now. If she could be physically healthy, but her mind was lost, what did that mean? She wasn’t a “burden” to me. I wanted to care for her. She wasn’t a vegetable, or she wouldn’t be if the doctors and hospital would give the care she needed, even if it was difficult and she wasn’t very cooperative.

She had money, she had a slew of insurances and insurances for her insurances. So now what?

I wasn’t getting the many different hints from the nurses and doctors when they would ask me about what the family’s wishes were for her “quality of life.” I am of the opinion that Life is Life. The quality or the determination of “quality” was not ours to decide. I kept asking about her nutrition needs and hydration and they kept sending people in to talk about “quality of life.”

I finally realized that while I was asking them about when and how they intended to feed and hydrate my mom, they were trying to get me to decide IF I REALLY WANTED TO FEED AND HYDRATE HER! I was mad! Yes, feed her! Yes, hydrate her! I don’t care why you can’t figure out what’s wrong with her; give her what she needs to live! She and I will figure out the rest!

I could understand not relentlessly beating on her chest if her heart failed while in this condition, I could understand not hooking her up to a machine that would function for her, but she was not hooked up to anything. She just couldn’t talk or stand up. Only weeks earlier she had put in a brick pathway in her backyard! Her house was immaculately clean, she did everything herself.

Unfortunately, as the days and weeks went by, she continued to suffer setbacks with her heart and multiple simple system failures, nothing huge, but they were cumulative. Mom declined in her mind more every day. But she also spent time with her family, talked with her grandkids about that which was very clear to her – her childhood. The kids loved it. Especially since much of it was uncensored because of her condition. (Stories for another time.) Her sister came to see her. She had some really nice days. She blessed us, we blessed her. Quantify that!

My experience makes me very concerned about the rationing of healthcare. The doctors and nurses who only knew my mother as a seriously demented woman with multiple health problems, had their own opinions about what kind of “treatment” she should have and thereby how long she lived. As her daughter, I knew HER. Days and months didn’t matter to them: They matter to me more than words can express.

Through all of the medical mazes that mom and I passed through during her illness, in the end, I was usually right about what she needed. The doctors looked at their charts; I looked at my mom’s eyes. The insurance company looked at the bills, I looked at a woman who wanted to eat Fry’s macaroni salad and have her nails painted, even if she couldn’t remember the word “pink.”

Although her last days contained unimaginable difficulties due to the cruel damage to her brain, they also contained much laughter, sweet kisses, heart-melting confessions, and life-changing secrets revealed. I would fight to the end for those days. My heart will heal from the pain, but my heart would not be as full now without all of it.

The government should stay out of these decisions. I would fight. I will fight. Whatever it takes.

Another Branch of Business

We have started our fourth business.

I have told people I've always felt like God was always blowing my nest out of the tree.

Just when we finally had a thriving business, it was taken all away this week. Our accounts were from a government entity and they decided to give all the accounts to another company who came from out of state.

Now we move on. My husband is a craftsman. He's very talented.

I've re-discovered author, Ann Kiemel. She is a perfect example of someone who's nest is forever being blown out of a tree. In the end, she always finds a way to praise the Lord.

No other way seems best. I will praise the Lord, for He is worthy. I trust in Him.

Now, let me see if I can find another branch.

Scarlett O'Hara Rocks

I haven’t posted for a while because life and my mind have gotten in the way.

I intended not to embarrass myself doing this blog.

That hasn’t gone too well.

I come back to posts and think: Who wrote this?

My intended points seem to dissipate after a short time.

How can I really communicate to others when I cannot even identify with something I’ve written after a period of time?

Scarlett O’Hara wins again: I’ll think about that tomorrow.

Mental Illness for Dummies

There's a joke that I love:
First Man: "Are you suffering from mental illness?"
Second Man: "No, I'm enjoying it."

I read a book once that proffered a philosophy that maintains there cannot be "disease" of the mind. Since the "mind" is not a tangible thing, it cannot have a disease. That made sense to me.

So, what am I to do with my contention that I have mental illness? I think I can prove I do.

Here is some proof:
1. My mind gets a fever: I get heated up about a lot of things I only think about.
2. My mind gets fatigued: I get so tired just thinking about certain things.
3. My mind coughs: I can be thinking of one thing and then instantly, out of no where - "Cough!" - I have a spasm and my mind spews junk.

This is not scientific, but it is one of my theories.

At this time, I don't know what could cure or help the Common Mind Cold. But it would be nice if someday I could find the equivelant to NyQuil for the mind.

Actually. Come to think of it, Nyquil actually does help a little...

Address Book of Life

Two people in my cell phone contacts are no longer living.

It's the same problem I have with my address book.

Once, I drew a line through someone's name who died.

Everytime I looked at it, it seemed like such a cold thing to do.

I always write my addresses in pencil to make changes easier.

I've tried erasing names, but usually I can still see the name.

It seems ghostly.

I've tried writing, "Died" with the date. That seemed more memorial.

This week a friend died in childbirth.

For some reason, I went right to my cell phone contacts and looked at her number.

I thought, "Now what am I going to do?"

If I delete it, it will be gone forever.

I left it there.

I then checked to see if mom's number was still there.

It was.

I left it, too.

I think one day, I will feel comfortable not transfering them to the next phone and address book.

Not yet.

Kerry Martin was a lovely wife, a fantastic public servant and a joy to be around. Although she was only able to mother little Austin as he grew in her womb, she still was a great mother, too.

Advice about Advice

I admire people who give advice.

If I like their advice, I admire them more.

If they are living under their own advice, that’s helpful to know.

Advising is a tough job.

I used to give a lot of advice.

Most of it was second hand advice, "Here's what someone once told me..."

Now I feel very constrained about dolling out words of wisdom, fonts of fine words and ample admonitions.

I've seen others too often follow advice that was not meant for them.

I've given advice to others that was meant for me, without using it for myself, and made a mess in two households.

Just because you are in hearing or reading distance from some nice sounding advice, doesn't mean it's for you.

Just because some advice is good for you, doesn’t mean it’s good for everyone else.

The opposite of that is someone who can't take advice - or even a hint.

I’ve probably spent too much time asking for and taking advice.

The balance is sometimes difficult to get right.

I’m trying to take more time discerning advice rather than simply gathering it.

I think that’s good advice - but you should decide that for yourself.

I Just Explained Europe - You're Welcome.

Unfortunately, I was born in a time when people are obsessed with ADD.

What kind of disorder does one have when one is obsessed with identifiying ADD in others?

I wish they would find a cure for this newest disorder so that people would stop pointing out that they are sure I have ADD.

If I did not have 10,000 things to distract me, I would not be defending myself against accusations of having a "disorder" that really is not about me.

It's about stuff around me.

It doesn't help that I live in America.

If I lived in a country where there was war and people were trying to kill me, I would be focused - on not being killed.

A nice sharp focal point like this would be helpful.

If I follow my own logic, war is the cure for ADD.

I just explained Europe.

Some Times

Mom with Sam, Elizabeth and Tink

Once again I'm thinking a lot about Mom. Every time someone asks me how I'm doing after her death, I have a different answer.

Sometimes the answers are different because of who is asking, sometimes it's different because of time limits. I just don't have the time to explain, so I give a brief answer that does not come close to how I really feel.

The real answer is that sometimes I don't know how I feel.

Another answer is that I feel different each day.

On some occasions, I'm sad about the decisions I made about her care.

Sometimes I'm just sad.

Sometimes I laugh at the some of the strange things that happened as a result of her Alzheimer's and I want to talk about them and tell people the stories.

Sometimes I want to know all the answers about what is truly right and wrong with end of life issues.

Sometimes I don't think there were many good choices.

Sometimes I think I did the best I could, so it was the best.

Most of the time, I realize that some of the answers will come later, some of the questions are not answerable and some questions are too hard to ask right now.

Today, I'm doing the Scarlett O'Hara thing:

"I'll think about that tomorrow."

The Eyes Have It

Sam: That's my boy!

Several times over my mothering career, I've made comments about all the faces that my children make.

Friends remind me that the kids come by it honestly because I am so animated.

This picture of Sam epitomizes one of our favorite facial expressions - it usually doesn't include chicken bones or the claw hand, but the eyes have it.

Special Order Fingers

Piano lessons today. Elizabeth is now taking piano lessons. I bought a piano keyboard last year when we were making good money. By the time I got the keyboard home and tried to make plans for lessons, Kevin lost his job.

The piano has been stored standing on end in various places around the house for this entire time. Now that we are making money again, I found a teacher and we went last week for the first lesson.

When I was pregnant with Elizabeth, I had a dream that she was born without fingers. I prayed so hard throughout the rest of the preganancy that she would be OK, that when she was born, we couldn't believe the size of her fingers. They were the longest, skinniest fingers I'd ever seen on a newborn!

You have to understand that "stubby" best describes Kevin's and my fingers, so it wasn't us.

I'm sure I prayed those fingers on.

Our first thought when we saw them was, "Those are piano fingers!"

Sure enough when the teacher saw her postition herself at the piano for the first time, she commented on her piano fingers.

I look forward to hearing the music from those special order fingers!

Drive Time

Do you remember when you were a kid and your dad would let you DRIVE?




First, maybe you could drive a riding lawn mower. Then you would graduate to driving around the driveway or around on private property in whatever vehicle your mom would not have a heart attack over?

Here are my kids, Elizabeth, 14 and Sam,12 having their first driving adventures at Kevin's dad's property in Prescott Valley.

City kids don't get these opportunities as often as those in rural America.

Either way, America...what a country!

Birthday Breakfasts

Today is my husband, Kevin's, birthday. He is 43. The kids are making a breakfast for him. I went to the store at 5:30am this morning to buy the right kind of bread for making french toast. Sam, 12, has become an expert french toast maker.

Kevin and Sam have this in common: They both love to cook breakfast. You'd think they'd accomplished cold fushion.

They set the table, use every pot and pan I have and usually get a flower or two in a vase. The food is fine, but the delight I get from seeing them be so proud is more delicious.

I also wanted to buy him a movie. He wanted "Surf's Up", an animated movie about surfing penguins. That's my Kevin.

Kevin is taking the day off from work and we are going to relax. I still have to do a pile of invoices, but after that, I'm good.

Enough about me, now, what do you think about me?

I wrote about one of my favorite childhood memories and sent it to a friend in Idaho. She asked me if she could reprint it on her blog. Of course, I said ,"Yes!" She is the author of several books and a very talented and funny person. I was honored.

Instead of repeating it here, I'd love for everyone to go to her blog and read it. Enjoy her tales, too. She is the heart of North Idaho and true rural America!

My story is at the bottom of her May 12, 2009 blog. It's called "Of Jules and Julie." - cops and cows.

Go to Marianne Love's blog at http://www.slightdetour.blogspot.com/ Enoy!

The Very Definition of Contrast

My mom kept an immaculate house.

I keep my house absolutely free of radioactive material.

My mom had dinner on the table every day at 5:35pm - including dessert.

I am aware of the locations of some grocery stores.

My mother folded all the clothes directly out of the dryer and they were immediately delivered to the appropriate and neat drawer or closet.

My family has actually developed scientific ways to determine if clothes left in the washing machine have grown mold or not – they smell them.

My mother canned thousands of jars of fruit, vegetables and meats over her lifetime.

I own a can opener.

My mother quilted bedspreads for every member of her family.

I still use those quilts.

My mother compiled and cataloged hundreds of recipes in her homemaking career.

I keep all three of my recipes in my head.

My mother never ate the cookie dough when she made cookies.

I’ve had to go to the store to get more ingredients after consuming enough cookie dough to diminish the first batch of dough to enough for four finished cookies.

My mother planted thousands of flowers and plants and kept them looking beautiful to the fullest extent of their lives.

I made an agreement with my husband that I would keep the children alive, but all other living things are on their own.

Back to Life & Weight Loss

After a week in Montana, return week off, then Mother's Day, I am now faced with getting back to the daily grind.

I have to get the kids through some school work today, take the car into the shop because the air conditioner went out (conveniently during our first week of over 100 degree weather), I committed to do some campaign work, I have to get the business books in order and my house is showing the signs of weeks of neglect.

Additionally, now that I am back in the swing of things, I need to face the fact that I HAVE TO LOSE THIS WEIGHT.

I now have all this exercise equipment in my office, I have a ton of videos and a weight loss system that I bought off an infomercial

AND if I don't get it off, I will not be able to get insurance!

We have to buy our insurance privately and you can't get it or can't afford it, if you are morbidly obese; yes, you heard me - MORBIDLY obese.

Someone asked me, "How do you know you're Morbidly Obese?" Well, they have charts and to find my weight, my little finger went right up the line passed overweight, passed obese and my number was in the morbidly obese zone.

The other way I could tell is that last night while I was eating Whoppers at my desk, one fell on the floor and when I bent over to pick it up, I fell on the floor and could barely get up. There. See. It's not hard to tell.

Look Out Hallmark

Thought I'd share with you the lovely card I got from my son. Here is the text on the heart-shaped card he cut himself:

To: Mom

From: Sam

YOU ARE THE MOM WHO MADE MY HEART HOLE AGAIN! (OPEN)

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

TO THE BEST MOM IN THE WORLD!!!!!!

THE MOM WHO TOLD ME TO BRUSH MY TEETH AND

COMB MY HAIR AND

TIE MY SHOES

AND CLEAN MY ROOM

AND LOVE GOD.

I love this but I also learned some things.

First, I need to teach him the difference between "hole" and "whole".

And next, I evidently nag him a lot.

And finally, when God rates below shoe tying, I might want to check my prioritites.

Mom

This is the first Mother's Day without my mom.

Dona Lee Liden Imholte passed away on February 9, 2009. In the months before she died, I took care of her as she suffered from Alzheimer’s and her body struggled to maintain her lifestyle of constant movement and work.

In the end, she depended on me,
not necessarily because I was her daughter,
because some of that went away with the disease,
but because she sensed that I understood her
and what she needed.
And I did.

Even though she didn’t know that I understood her because I was her daughter, it is indeed the reason.

I was always convinced we were so different. When I was young, I thought it was because I was adopted. When I got older, I thought it was because we had different worldviews. Now I know it doesn’t matter that we were different.

We were mother and daughter.

I think that Alzheimer’s is one of the meanest diseases one can suffer from, but it offered an opportunity for me to spend a lot of time with mom and to concentrate on her.

She needed me - and I needed her.

Because she was my mom.

And I was her daughter.

This Makes Me Smile

I like this picture. It hangs on the wall of my office.

It's by a local artist and was given to me by the mayor.

My friends know that I have a political crush on the Bush family.

I think W., Rummy and Cheney would laugh if they saw it.

Opinions

We live in a day when people are airing their opinions at an alarming rate. I'm sure people have done it for millennia – on cave walls, around the city gates, at church, and in newspapers.

I think the real opinion stampede started with Phil Donahue. What do you think about “X”? – then talk about it for an hour. Back then, only five people in the audience got to say their peace and the rest of the country was left to talk to the TV set. Then came Oprah. Then came talk radio and if you got through the phone lines and the host let you talk, boy, you’d really had some exposure!

Opinions found their way to the internet; I suppose e-mail was the first sneeze of the opinion virus.

Now of course, we have My Space, Facebook, Twitter and Blogs. Opinions have been exposed to these radioactive devices and the Opinion Monster is now eating whole cities and countries.

It won’t surprise you to learn I have a theory on opinions.

I don’t think people should fight over opinions. Opinions are not facts. Opinions are not valuable.

Opinions are worth exactly what you pay for them.

Opinions have no physical substance and therefore cannot run you over like a car. They are air, but they have no power to even turn a pinwheel, let alone a windmill.

Let people have their opinions unmolested by your own.

I like to listen to other people’s opinions, especially if they differ from my own. Sometimes just letting people speak their opinion allows them to hear themselves and test the veracity of it. You don’t even have to point out that they may be wrong, they can hear it themselves.

Listening to people who share my own opinions seems repetitive. (Although sometimes it is comforting.)

Getting combative over other’s opinions is a colossal waste of time and usually means you have other issues beside a differing opinion.

If one person gives an opinion and invites you to give yours, an exchange is not the same as a battle. There’s no reason to pierce the other person’s opinion or to hit them on a personal level as a response. Put your opinion next to theirs and see which one stands. No other work involved.

The only caveat to my “Don’t fight over opinions” Theory is that actions arising from opinions are quite another matter.

I have to go now because my little boy wants to me stare at a Golden Grahams box to see if I can see the hidden image and in my opinion, that’s valuable.

First Post

I spoke to a friend today about the fact that I had started a blog.

She said she also had a blog.

I am not special.

I must keep this in mind as I ruminate.

I have theories about certain things.

Theories do not have to be correct, they can even be fanciful. They simply have to be somewhat plausible. Admittedly, my theories are a work in progress. My theories are usually plausible, even if it’s just in my mind. Since I’m not held to any standard, I’m comfortable with this.

Here is an example of one of my theories. I developed this as a young child and have had no reason to reject it.

When a person yawns in proximity to another person or persons, others will yawn because they are intrinsically selfish. I’ll explain: One person has drawn a sudden intake of the available air with an intial yawn - beyond what others are inhaling - and the others then feel – albeit subconsciously – that they have been deprived of their fair share and they then feel compelled to compensate by inhaling more air in return - thus, the return yawn.

From the Start

I intend to learn to blog.

This is my first attempt.

I would like to put into words snippets of my life, thoughts and interests.

I would like to not embarrass myself.

Let's see how far I can get.