Looking at dangerous hurricanes from the safety of Kansas

I can't even begin to imagine what the people of the Florida peninsula are going through right now.

How scary to be facing potentially one of the most powerful and deadly hurricanes to hit the west coast of Florida. Not only that, but Milton is so strong that it also is expected to strike the west coast of Florida as a hurricane and exit the east coast of Florida as a hurricane.

Milton is predicted to be the second hurricane to have its name retired in as many weeks. That's what happens when a hurricane is incredibly deadly or costly.

Folks were still cleaning up from Hurricane Helene, which roared ashore further north on the Florida coast on September 26, when they had to turn their attention to preparing for Milton. While crews frantically work to remove debris from Hurricane Helene, they are not expected to get all of it before Milton hits. The debris that remains will become deadly projectiles being flung about by the strong winds and storm surge.

Forecasters believe Milton will make landfall somewhere between Tampa Bay and Fort Myers late tonight or early tomorrow morning. 

I have several friends living along the west coast of Florida in the area of Milton's predicted landfall. I pray that they remain safe.

In Kansas, we have the threat of tornadoes and storm-related flooding. That is scary enough. What we don't have is sustained winds in the 145-165 mph range, wind gusts in the 175 mph range and storm surge of 10-15 feet of sea water. The storm surge is so deadly that several days ago, Tampa Mayor Jane Castor warned people in the evacuation zones to leave or "you're going to die."

What an ominous warning. I can't even imagine.

Remembering a good man, my Uncle

My Mom dearly loved her "baby" brother, Jere. 

Her face would light up whenever he called and she eagerly anticipated those times when they got to be together.

As of yesterday, they are together once again. I imagine she was waiting for him with a big smile on her face, ready to give him a big hug.

Mom and Uncle Jere when they were kids.

I tell you this not to gain your sympathy. I would prefer that you direct your thoughts and prayers toward my two cousins who lost their Dad. I can relate to what they might be going through, though it is all new to them.

Rather, I want you to know what sort of person my Uncle Jere was. He was a good man, the type of person you would want as a relative.

After my Dad died last year, Uncle Jere stepped in, checking on me occasionally and providing fatherly advice. Those who know me well know that I might have bristled at that, after all, I am fiercely independent. But coming from Uncle Jere, it was okay. I knew he cared.

He loved to text me photos of family, which, of course, I would share with Mom. I got to know a couple of generations of cousins, many of whom I had never met, thanks to those texts.

Uncle Jere also had a great sense of humor and liked to tease those around him. Like Mom, he had a keen sense for finding the funny in situations. I loved listening to him when he was telling a story about someone because I knew, at some point, there would be something funny.

He also was ornery. According to Mom, a great deal of his orneriness in his youth was directed at my Grandmother. It apparently was great fun to hear her shriek at his hijinks!

Despite his ornery streak, Uncle Jere cared deeply about his family. While I am missing him terribly, I take comfort in the fact that he is with Mom once again.

Taking a musical break from the news

I decided to take a break from watching news this afternoon, and I couldn't be happier with the channel I found.

Don't worry! I'm still a dyed-in-the-wool newsie. (More on that a bit later.) For a good part of this afternoon, I have been enjoying the Music Choice Yacht Rock channel on Cox. According to the info about the channel, I am "feeling the vacation vibes with a light mix of soft rock, pop rock, R&B, and smooth jazz from the '70s and '80s."

As I was writing this, Peter Brown was singing Dance With Me. I've also heard America's Sister Golden Hair, Earth, Wind & Fire's After the Love Has Gone, Starbuck's Moonlight Feels Right, Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street, and a couple from Christopher Cross, including Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do).

Other artists I've heard from include Fleetwood Mac, Dave Mason, Ambrosia, Billy Joel, Jackson Browne, Peter Frampton, Bread, The Pointer Sisters, Carly Simon, Little River Band, Steely Dan, Kool and The Gang, Player, and Hamilton, Joe Frank, & Reynolds.

I am usually skeptical of listening to a decades-specific channel or station as I usually hear a number of songs I haven't heard of or don't care for, but Yacht Rock is making my soul happy!

As for being a newsie, I image I always will be. News has been a part of my life since I was a child. Back in the dark ages, the Salina Journal ran a multi-chapter Christmas story for kids. I started reading that as a grade schooler. From there, I branched out to reading Cuff Stuff and some of the shorter stories in the Journal.

By sixth grade, I was hooked and convinced our teacher to let us do a class newspaper. The "newspaper" was one of the bulletin boards in the classroom on which we could put stories and pictures. I don't remember it lasting an entire year, but it was fun for a while.

In eighth grade, I signed up for the journalism class, and continued to do so each year once I got into high school.

My senior year, I was one of three high school seniors selected to write a column for the Salina Journal. The Journal selected one journalism student from each of the three high schools in town, and we were the first group. (I think the program only lasted a few years.) We were paid $15 per column to write about what was happening at our school. We alternated weeks, so my column appeared every three weeks.

I even had fans (besides my parents). I worked at Dairy Queen and had developed a friendly rapport with an older couple who were regulars. Once my first column, complete with headshot, appeared, they came in and waited for me to be free to wait on them. I smiled and asked them what I could make for them. They both got big grins on their faces and said, "we know who you are!" They were my groupies for as long as I wrote the column!

In college, after flirting with a couple of different degree options, I settled down and completed a Communications-Journalism degree. My first job out of college was working in the composing room at the Hays Daily News. It wasn't because I wasn't qualified to be a reporter. I was just having too much fun in college and didn't decide to pursue a job in the "real world" until it was too late and all of the reporting openings were filled.

I bided my time until a reporting job opened at HDN. I did that for a few years and then was promoted to assistant news editor. But all good things must come to an end, or so I thought. Because of some personnel issues, working at HDN became unbearable, and had me questioning whether I wanted to stay in journalism. 

I started looking for other work opportunities at which I could use my God-given talent for writing, and ended up with a PR position at Emporia State. Those were fun times!

After doing more PR and marketing, and a little executive directoring at other places, I went back to my first love - journalism - and ran a local news website for several years. 

Now I'm retired, but still greatly miss writing, thus I subject you all to this blog on a now more regular basis.

Remembering 9/11

Twenty-three years.

It hardly seems that it has been that long since the events of September 11, 2001, shocked the world, changing it forever.

"The 9/11 attacks killed 2,977 people. This was the single largest loss of life resulting from a foreign attack on American soil. The attacks caused the deaths of 441 first responders, the greatest loss of emergency responders on a single day in American history," according to information on the 9/11 Memorial & Museum website (911memorial.org).

In the days since, a number of first responders and others have died as a result of breathing in the dust generated by the towers' collapse.

A timeline of the attacks as provided by the 9/11 Memorial & Museum (911memorial.org):

8:46 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash American Airlines Flight 11 into floors 93-99 of the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City. Seventy-six passengers, 11 crew members and hundreds inside the North Tower were killed instantly. The crash also trapped hundreds of people above the 91st floor.

9:03 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash United Airlines Flight 175 into floors 77-85 of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. Fifty-one passengers, nine crew members, and a number of people inside the building were killed instantly. The crash also trapped a number of people located above the impact zone and inside elevators.

9:37 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash American Airlines Flight 77 into the Pentagon in Arlington, Va. Fifty-three passengers and six crew members were killed. Additionally, 125 military and civilian personnel on the ground were killed in the crash and the fire that followed.

9:59 a.m. Eastern: The South Tower, which had been burning for 56 minutes, collapses in 10 seconds, killing more than 800 civilians and first responders inside the building and in the surrounding area.

10:03 a.m. Eastern: Hijackers crash United Airlines Flight 93 in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Thirty-three passengers and seven crew members were killed. Hijackers were flying the plane toward Washington, D.C., however a number of passengers and crew members forced the hijackers to crash the plane near Shanksville.

10:15 a.m. Eastern: A section of the Pentagon's west-facing outer ring collapses.

10:28 a.m. Eastern: The North Tower of the World Trade Center collapses after burning for 102 minutes, killing hundreds of additional people.

5:20 p.m. Eastern: 7 World Trade Center, a 47-story building, collapses after burning for hours.

If you are unable to visit the 9/11 Memorial & Museum in New York City, I encourage you to visit the organization's website (911memorial.org) or follow the organization on Facebook (facebook.com/911memorial).

It is important that we remember September 11, 2001, where we were, what we felt, and how we came together as a nation. 

After running a errand, I had just gotten to work at Emporia State. Some of my coworkers were watching TV in the conference room next to my office. I popped in to see what they were watching and found out the North Tower had been struck by a plane. A short time later, I stared in horror as the South Tower was struck.

Nothing like this had ever happened in the United States. The attacks of 9/11 prompted a myriad of feelings and reactions from the United States citizenry. Among them, shock, horror, disbelief, and anger. The attacks showed us and the world that the United States was not invulnerable to attacks by extremist groups. Eventually, many of those feelings were channeled into a united patriotism.

A decade or so after the attacks, I and a group of coworkers at another workplace were remembering and discussing the events of 9/11. Another colleague happened by and began pontificating that all of the vows to always remember were hollow and worthless. We couldn't, he claimed, remember 9/11 because we weren't there.

Those comments were such BS. I don't know whether he actually believed what he was saying or he was just trying to provoke us. Either way, I lost a great deal of respect for him that day.

While it is true that we were not physically in or near any of the sites that were attacked, we were able to see what had happened in those locations thanks to numerous journalists and photographers. Thanks to video gathered by journalists, we were able to see the towers being struck. We also saw their collapse. We saw wreckage at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania. What we saw stirred a multitude of emotions.

One of the more haunting images from that day, at least for me, was Falling Man. Associated Press photographer Richard Drew captured the image of a man falling headfirst from the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

In a story marking the 20th anniversary of 9/11 and republished last year by the Associated Press (https://apnews.com/article/entertainment-health-talk-shows-newspapers-bc2d6b72e8733f2065ee8979ce2ef9c2), Drew wrote, "I was below the north tower that morning, on the corner of West and Vesey streets. The smoke was so thick, it was tough to see and tougher to breathe. Rubble was falling, and when I heard the first of a series of loud cracks, I thought it was the sound of concrete debris striking the ground. But I was wrong. It was the sound of human beings hitting the pavement."

Drew noted that he focused on one person falling from the North Tower, shooting eight frames. That person became known as Falling Man.

While Drew shot a number of photos that day, Falling Man is probably his most well known photo. While he got a number of compelling shots on 9/11, Drew also battled Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome because of his 9/11 work to capture moments in history for the rest of us.

In the 20th anniversary story, Drew contrasts his Falling Man photo with photos he shot when Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated in 1968. It is an interesting read and I encourage you to do so.

Drew's work, and the work of many other journalists, help us to remember the events and aftermath of 9/11.

We do remember and we will remember.

I'm doing OK

Over the past two weeks, numerous people have asked me how I am doing. My response has typically been, "I'm doing OK."

It's difficult for me to believe that two weeks have passed since Mom's funeral. The past 14 days have been a blur. The spontaneous tears still hit on occasion, though not as frequently.

I am mourning the death of my mother, though truth be told, I began the grieving process months ago when dementia really took ahold of Mom. While physically, she was still my mother, mentally she was not Mom. I desperately wanted my Mom back, knowing full well that it would never happen. 

I tried to heed the advice of a good friend whose father had, like Mom, battled Parkinson's and the dementia that comes with it. He told me that the best thing to do was to be present in the world of the person with dementia. I tried, and I hope that my efforts in some way made Mom's journey easier and happier.

Within the last year, Mom found a new activity that brought her joy: coloring. Late last fall, I found one of my Christmas coloring books and began coloring. (I've always enjoyed coloring, and took particular delight when coloring for adults became a thing several years go.)

Mom asked what I was doing, and I told her, "coloring." Her response: "Well I want to color, too!" 

Now keep in mind, I had gotten Mom several Victorian/Edwardian coloring books back when the adult coloring craze was all the rage. She loved Victorian dresses and decor. At the time, Mom shrugged them off, but I dug them out last fall and set her up with her own tray of color pencils and a sharpener.

She had a blast!

Initially, Mom tried to copy the colors of the Victorian dresses on the cover of the coloring book. Eventually, however, she decided for herself what colors to use on the dresses. Her color choices were exquisite. In that small way, she was keeping her brain active. (She also read a lot.)

The most surprising thing, however, was that despite her hands shaking from the Parkinson's, she stayed within the lines and did a really good job! I made a point of checking on her coloring progress and complimenting her on her work. 

There were times when I would catch her staring off into space and I would ask, "Mom did you ever finish that picture you were coloring?" More often than not, she would reply, "I was just getting ready to do that" and she would get her coloring book and pencils out.

After Mom died last month, I lamented that I had never felt so alone, as my core family was gone. While that is true, Mom's death has heightened my awareness of a new family: family members and those friends with whom I am close who I have chosen to be a part of my family. 

This new core family in what is becoming my new normal has truly been a blessing. They regularly check in to see how I am doing. Sometimes it is a call. Sometimes a text. Sometimes it is a quick chat in the yard. They give me the space to grieve, but they also provide support and love. 

So how am I doing? I am OK and I will be fine, thanks to my family and friends. Some day, I might even color again!

Turning a deaf ear to removal requests

Exciting news! Apparently the Miracle-Ear Center in Salina is now servicing the dead. 

I have asked them multiple times to remove my father's contact information from their mailing list as he has been dead since early last year.

Today, a piece of mail addressed to Dad arrived. It started with "You have received this invitation today because you best represent the segment of the population which is most likely to experience hearing loss and tinnitus - ringing and other sounds in the ears."

OK. I can see how Dad's segment of the population is most likely to experience hearing loss. Not sure about the tinnitus, though. Might just be from the bugs, worms, and other critters in the ground.

I will have to take this piece of mail out to the cemetery tomorrow. I know Dad will be so excited to find out that he will be able to hear once again. 

What on God's green Earth is wrong with companies that don't honor removal requests?

Do they just not care? Are they incompetent? Or are they lazy?

Do they think that constant bombardment of survivors with mail for a deceased person is going to prompt the survivors to purchase something? I guarantee that this survivor will not.

As for Dad, I think it might be a bit difficult for him to make it to the "FREE Video Otoscope Exam" and "FREE Hearing Evaluation."

You know, Miracle-Ear folk, if you'd quit wasting money mailing offers to dead people, you might not need to charge as much as you do for your products. Consider that FREE Advice!

Wishing you all a little ba-dee-ya

A friend texted me this morning and wished me a Happy September, complete with a little "ba-dee-ya." Those who know me well know that Earth, Wind, and Fire is my favorite group. And while I will make my annual posting of EW&F singing September, I will wait until the 21st, so you all have that to look forward to!

I, for one, am glad that August is history and we have begun a new month. Mom's death in August hit me hard. For the most part, I have holed up in what is now "my" house. I haven't wanted to interact with people any more than I have to. That included missing my 45th high school reunion.

While, as I have told some, August sucked, it is important to note that a number of my classmates brought a happy end to the month this weekend. Thanks to all of you who posted reunion photos on our class Facebook page. It was fun to see people I haven't seen in years, and even more fun to try to figure out who some people were. Kudos to the reunion committee who pulled together a fun couple of days of activities in such short order. It looked as though everyone had a great time.

Some of my classmates. Photo courtesy Sara
Thomas

September has, for the most part, been a happy month for me. It teases that fall is almost here, and given our current temperatures, it is doing its job well.

It signals the beginning of the football season, which as many of you know is my favorite sport.

September also brings a particularly pleasing light, as the Earth adjusts and the sun appears to move more toward the south. Days become cooler and crisper, while remaining bright and shiny with a light only autumn can provide. Yes, I am aware that we still can have some quite hot days in September, but until those come along, I intend to enjoy the 80s weather we're having.

As my friend did with me, I wish you all a Happy September! May each of you find a little ba-dee-ya in your life this month!

Small steps sometimes feel huge

I don't feel like I've done much of anything since we buried Mom on Saturday. In fact, more often than not, I have been in a fog the past six days, except for spontaneous bursts of tears that have soaked my clothes and caused me to clean my glasses.

I've tried multiple times to write thank you notes and have yet to complete them. All of the memorials, plants, flowers, and other instances of kindness deserve personal thank you notes. I will get them done, just not as soon as I would like.

I need to do some laundry, but the pile of dirty clothes remains.

I need to put away a few groceries that I bought several days ago, yet they remain in the bags they came in. (Don't worry. Nothing perishable. Though I did buy some fruit cups and fruit snacks, which for me is huge!)

Having lost both parents and my dog in the past 20 months, I have tried to give myself permission to just be for a little while, yet the nagging voice in the back of my head keeps telling me that there is much to be done and I need to get to work.

Perhaps that is why the few small things I have been able to accomplish, that under normal circumstances might seem trivial or insignificant, have seemed like huge accomplishments.

Yesterday, before our trash was picked up, I managed to trim some branches off of one of the trees out front. They were hanging low enough that the young man who mows for me had to duck to get past them. I got them cut off, cut up, and in the trash cart with an hour to spare before the trash truck came by. Not a big deal, but it felt hugely significant.

The day before, after getting yet another scam call for my Dad, I called AT&T and scheduled to have our landline canceled at the end of the period for which I had already paid. Not really a big deal, but Mom and Dad had that same number longer than I have been alive. It is the first telephone number I learned as a kid, back when we used letters in front of the numbers and rotary phones. 

I mainly use my cell phone now, so I just couldn't see paying as much as we were for a line that we used little more than for receiving scam calls. The only reason I kept it after Dad died was because it was the only phone Mom knew how to use. Initially, I transferred Dad's cell phone over to Mom, but learning and remembering it were just too much for her dementia addled brain to grasp.

Getting AT&T to shut down the line took all of five minutes, but it still felt like a huge endeavor.

Today I made an appointment with the family lawyer to start the legal process for Mom's estate.

That is basically all I have accomplished in six days, yet it feels as though I have done a lot.

My goal is to do a little here and there until I can get some major tasks completed. I know the spontaneous tears will continue, but I believe I have at least made a start in creating what will be my new normal.

I am not a rock

I shared a meme on Facebook this evening (I know...hard to believe) that seemed appropriate for my current situation.

You're allowed to be happy, hurting and healing all at once. You're a human not a rock.

I shared it because it applied to several of my friends, but it also applies to this 60-something orphan trying to navigate a new normal.

We celebrated my Mom's life well lived on Saturday and buried her next to Dad at the Brookville Cemetery, where many of my Eikleberry family are buried. And during that end of one chapter, beginning of another in my life I was surrounded by loving and supporting family and friends who I have chosen as family, including longtime family friends, my two besties, and two of my former ESU student employees who are friends. I had no clue that Meg and Jamie were coming to Mom's funeral, but I was sure glad to see them. They did my soul good! It also was good to have my longtime friend, Jim, preside over the service. We have known each other for about 50 years.

Each and every one of those people were a comfort to me, and I am so grateful that they were there for me. Many others were with me in spirit from locations throughout the world. Thank you one and all!

I'm sure some of the old gossips who were in attendance were wagging their tongues because not everyone sitting in the reserved family section were my blood relatives. They were my chosen family. (I only wish all of my chosen family who were there had been able to sit in the family section.) 

It occurred to me on the way to the cemetery that some may have thought that my one bestie, who had been sitting next to me, was my lesbian lover. Nothing could be further from the truth. While I do have LGBTQ friends, neither my bestie nor I swings that way.

For those who have felt the need to gossip about me never marrying, the fact is that I have not done so because I am too damned picky when it comes to men. I've had too many friends who have been hurt by bad guys, and I just don't want to go through that. (I know that all men are not bad.) And no, I do not own cats.

So now we are several days removed from the funeral, and I am trying to establish a new normal.

I've seen several posts on Facebook over the past few days that made me smile, if not laugh out loud. Initially, I was concerned that I should not respond with a laughing emoji as I was in mourning. Then it hit me: just a few days ago, we celebrated my Mom, who loved to laugh and find the funny in life. Additionally, being concerned about the appearance of my laughing really goes against who I am. I am too old to care what other people think of me. If you like me, great! If not, your problem.

I know that I will never get over the loss of my Mom. As I mentioned in an earlier blog post, she was the one person who loved me the most throughout my life. What I will do is work through my loss, establish a new normal, and move forward. And I will do so with humor.

Thank you for your inspiration, Mom!

So long, Mom

And just like that, she was gone.

The person who loved me most for more than 63 years, my Mom, died today after suffering from a fall-induced brain bleed nearly a week earlier, and I have never felt more alone.

It's not a matter of now living by myself. I lived alone for a number of years when I was in Hays and Emporia. No, this alone feeling goes much deeper. It's an "I'm an orphan now" sort of alone. Sure, I have an aunt, uncle, and cousins, and well as a number of good friends who have been quite supportive through Mom's most recent health issue, and I know they will continue to be so. Nonetheless, my immediate, core family is gone.

I will quit feeling sorry for myself, however, as this post is about Mom, not me.

A good life

Despite hardships, Mom's was a life well lived. 

She was a product of north-central Kansas. She grew up on two different farms on the outskirts of Barnard, a small farming community in northeastern Lincoln County where during her senior year, she was elected homecoming queen. 

Even as a youngster, her infectious laugh and ability to find the funny in life was on full display, often getting Mom in trouble with her teachers. It did, however, garner her many friends throughout her life.

Friends and family

Mom's community of friends came from all walks of life. She made friends at a number of jobs, including working in several offices in the old Saline County Courthouse (now the senior center), where she met my Dad. Mom swore that Dad was the driving force in their courthouse romance, but Dad always insisted Mom chased him around the building. Mom also worked for First National Bank (now Sunflower Bank), Morrison Grain, and a debt-collection business.

When I was young, Mom was a stay-at-home mother and parttime child care provider, however, she went back to work after I was in school. We didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up, but I never realized that until I was an adult. Both my parents made sure my childhood was a happy one. 

One expenditure they agreed on was buying books and subscriptions to kids magazines for me. In fact, my love of reading can be traced to when I was still in the womb, as Mom used to read to me then from her own Winnie-the-Pooh books. She always said that once I was born and old enough to talk, I more often than not requested the Winnie-the-Pooh story, Heffalump and Things to Eat.

Like a number of women of her generation, Mom navigated the delicate balance of working both in and outside the home. She worked her butt off to make sure everyone else was happy. Mom was once accused by a distant relative of thinking she was better than everyone else. Nothing could be further from the truth. Mom always sacrificed for the betterment of others.

I'm not sure how she did it, but Mom also found time to participate in a number of clubs and organizations. Some were professional women's organizations, while others were religious in nature, including Bible studies. Mom even led a Bible study. She also participated in the Piece Makers, a sewing group that makes quilts and meets in the senior center.

Mom was attracted to like-minded people who shared her love of laughter. There was one neighbor friend from the neighborhood I grew up in who, when she and Mom got together, watch out! They could laugh uproariously for hours. Even in her later years, Mom would recall some of those laughfests and burst out in laughter once again. The neighbor's daughter, and my dear friend, and I do the same sort of thing whenever we get the chance!

Mom also developed long-lasting friendships with neighbors who over the years have become family. I spoke with some of them recently and they all mentioned Mom's contagious laugh. A couple of them talked of trying to get Mom laughing. Once they did, everyone was laughing the rest of the night. There were trips with neighbor/family members, and many nights of playing cards and celebrating family milestones. Those were good times!

It was family that meant the most to Mom. She was definitely a daddy's girl and thought the world of my Granddad. Once Granddad passed in the mid-1970s, Mom held onto her memories of him, sharing them often, especially with me. Although I resemble my Dad's side of the family, Mom saw a lot of her Dad in me...a mantle I shall continue to wear proudly. Mom dearly loved her younger brother and his family. In later years, when one of the girls (my cousins) or my uncle shared family photos on Facebook or via text, I made a point of showing them to Mom. They quickly brought a warm, loving smile to her face.

Health concerns

While Mom had some health issues throughout her life, for the most part, she was healthy and happy. About 13 years ago, however, she was misdiagnosed by her then doctor's PA, and developed a particularly nasty case of shingles, which required her to be hospitalized for a week. She never really ever recovered.

It seemed that her health went downhill from there. A few years after the shingles incident, Mom was diagnosed with Parkinson's, a "progressive disorder that affects the nervous system and the parts of the body controlled by the nerves." (Mayo Clinic, April 5, 2024) It's the same disease that actor Michael J. Fox has. Parkinson's also comes with dementia. I started going with her to her neurology appointments.

We were fortunate that she didn't develop the hallucination component of Parkinson's. Medicine helped control most of Mom's shaking from Parkinson's. It was the dementia, however, that proved to be more of an issue. Mom's short-term memory had all but disappeared by the time she died today. She also had some not-so-short-term memory issues. About six weeks ago or so, Mom looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Where's Leslie?" It took all I had to not burst into tears. 

In a strange twist, Mom's food preferences also changed. Suddenly, my salad/veggie loving mother requested tacos, pizza, cheeseburgers, chicken nuggets, and Cozies.

After Dad died last year, I became Mom's primary caregiver. She didn't want home health help. The thought of anyone else in her house agitated her greatly. 

We each had our own chair in the living room, where we spent many of our waking hours. Mom liked to watch the news and she enjoyed Wheel of Fortunate, both of which we watched nearly daily. Despite her cognitive disabilities, Mom was fairly good at solving the Wheel of Fortune puzzles and we had an unofficial solving competition. She also loved to watch the Royals and all sorts of football, especially the Chiefs. We also spent time, when the weather was nice, sitting out front; Mom on the glider and me on the edge of the porch.

She was able to get around OK, especially if she used her walker, which she sometimes forgot to do. I doubt her walker would have done her much good Monday night. When she fell, she hit her head twice. Once on the wall and then on the floor. When I got to her, her eyes were mere slits and she was unresponsive. She also was tightly clutching a package of toilet paper that I was unable to wrestle from her. 

I called an ambulance, something I have had to do multiple times over the years for my folks. The EMTs were so nice and caring. Once they got here, she began responding a bit, but I asked them to take Mom to the emergency room anyway. I am glad I did.

I don't know which station they were from, but thank you Salina Fire for sending such wonderful young men!

Once at the hospital, Mom was responsive and chatting, though a bit slow. Her poor hearing accounted for some of it, I think. I explained to each new medical person which was the better of her two ears.

Mom had a scan while in the ER that revealed a small, but manageable brain bleed. The attending neurosurgeon told me that he thought they would be able to manage the amount of blood on her brain without surgery. He said that they wanted to keep her for a couple of days for observation.

While we were still in ER waiting for a room to open upstairs, Mom, who had been complaining of her head hurting, laid her head back and closed her eyes. I thought she was just resting as she had been through a lot, but suddenly, her arms and one leg began moving in strange ways and then she settled down again. A room opened up in ICU and they took Mom up. Two of the ER personnel escorted me up on a different elevator and told me to wait in the family waiting area outside of ICU.

A short while later, two ICU nurses came out and said that Mom had been sent back downstairs for another scan as she was unresponsive. I could tell by the way they phrased what they were telling me that Mom's situation had become much more serious. Once Mom was in her ICU room, I was allowed in. A short while later, the neurosurgeon came in and told me that in that short amount of time between scans, the amount of blood on Mom's brain had tripled. While the next course of action normally would have been surgery, he believed that because of her health and age, her chances of surviving were about five percent. He also said that if she did survive, she most likely would be in a vegetative state. Mom, he said, was in a coma.

As I had power of attorney for her, I had to decide whether to pursue surgery and a 95-percent chance of death or make her comfortable until she passed. Some choice, huh? Choose surgery that might kill Mom or choose to keep her comfortable until she died. Either way, she was not coming home. It was the toughest decision I have had to make in my life.

I chose to keep her comfortable, which was what the wonderful Salina Regional Health Center staff did for almost a week.

I can't begin to express my gratitude to the folks at Salina Regional who took care of my Mom, especially the nurses and specialty technicians. Salina Regional sometimes catches flack from the bitchers and moaners, but the folks who took care of my Mom were wonderful, especially the nurses and specialty techs in ICU and on Fourth Medical. 

The doctors, both the neurosurgeon and the hospitalist, checked on Mom daily and made sure I was updated as needed. They also checked on my wellbeing. 

I am thankful for what the doctors, nurses, and specialty techs did for both my Mom and me. The nurses and specialty techs in ICU and on Fourth Medical were especially wonderful in helping me navigate through Mom's final journey. They checked on me multiple times and, when time allowed, stayed and gave me the opportunity to talk and ask questions. They truly cared.

When the neurosurgeon told me Friday that Mom only had about 24 hours to live, I made the decision to stay in her room with her. The nurses and specialty techs got me a pillow and blanket and gave me three options for a place to sleep. (I chose the reclining chair beside Mom's bed, but I didn't sleep much.) They also ordered comfort trays with tea, water, coffee, and snacks for me during my two-night stay with Mom. (Ever the stubborn woman, Mom decided to prove the doctor wrong and lived nearly 48 more hours. She was more tough than she ever knew.)

The nurses and specialty techs also comforted me when Mom passed.

Thank you, Salina Regional medical staff and caregivers! You are the best!

As I write this, out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mom's chair and for a brief instant, it seems like she is still sitting there. I know she has gone on to a better place, but I already miss her terribly.

Gully washers, eerily quiet darkness, and Queen

Continuing with the storm theme (see most recent previous post: "Camping, a tornado, and a fierce creature"), I am writing this by screen light, as our power has been out for just under an hour.

We lost electricity when the second of two gully washers blew through town this evening. With the first, there was a lot of wind and some heavy rain. Some people in other parts of the city lost power then. The second round of storms, however, were quite intense and knocked out power to more than 18,000 people in town, including a good chunk of the southeast part of the city, according to Evergy's power outage map. It even knocked out our cable/internet provider, as I received a text from them as well. 

Even with Mother Nature throwing a hissy fit outside, the darkness inside the house was eerily quiet. No TV. No internet. Fortunately, my laptop switched over to battery power so I briefly amused myself with a game on my computer and then began writing. I also had the company of Queen singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" in my head. As of me writing this, they are still singing.

I even sang along (all the parts, of course) for a bit, but whenever I, or they, forgot the words, the song reverted back to "thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me," where they had started singing in the first place. 

It reminded me of grade school days when my friends and I used to sing popular music of the 1960s while on my swing set. At least we thought we were. The Beatles were one of our favorite groups to "cover." While we thought we were singing a Beatles song, in reality, we were singing a mash-up of every Beatles lyric we could remember. There were at least four different Beatles songs represented. I'm sure we drove most of the old folks in the neighborhood crazy as we sang at the top of our lungs, but the nice old fella across the alley from us found our swing set shows amusing.

Well, after approximately an hour of darkness, the power is back on and all seems well so far. I think I will wait until the morning to see what sort of tree and other outdoor damage we have. Goodnight!

Camping, a tornado, and a fierce creature

For whatever reason, various posts about camping have occupied a good portion of my Facebook feed this season.

They range from those posted by true camping folk who excitedly await the end of winter and early spring so they can head to the lake, to those posted by folks who are adamant they would not camp, but begrudgingly admit that they might succumb to the uber luxury of glamping.

When I was a kid, my Dad had a boat that we took to the lake often in the summer, mainly to fish, sometimes to ski, but we never ventured into the camping scene.

When I was four, my Dad bought a tent big enough to sleep four people. He also got all of the accessories needed (camp stove, new cooler, etc.) 

That next weekend, Dad, Mom, and I loaded up all of our gear and supplies, and went over to Milford Lake for our first camping excursion. The trip started off well and we were having a good time.....until the storms came. 

Not only were we camping in a stormy area, but our part of the lake was immediately put into a tornado warning. Dad literally stuffed us and all of our gear/provisions into our old Pontiac Bonneville and we headed for home. 

The quick departure from the lake seemed somewhat exciting to four-year-old me, but I quickly caught on to the seriousness of the situation because of the looks of concern on my parents' faces. Dad told me much later, when recounting the adventure, that the tornado had lifted when the storm went directly over us, but later dropped down again.

We made it home safely in the middle of the night.

Later that summer, we used the tent for my fifth birthday party sleepover. I and several friends spent the night "camping" in the backyard. We had snacks and a cooler full of drinks. 

My poor parents took shifts watching over us from the back porch. Dad rigged up a portable work light to shine on the front of the tent. And while those were simpler and safer times, we kids in the tent did have a bit of a scare in the middle of the night. 

All of a sudden, we saw the shadow of a fierce animal stealthily creeping up to the tent, and, of course, we all screamed. Turned out it was only a kitten who was more scared of us! Nonetheless, the kitten joined us for a bit.

All in all, it was a fun sleepover with little sleep! It also was the last time the tent was used, as the first-camping-trip-tornado jinx put a damper on our desire to experience the great outdoors.

The Bloody Bat House

I don't like waking up tired. Usually I do so because of tossing and turning much of the night, but last night was different. I had strange dream and it was a doozie!

In the dream, I was doing PR for a small university in a small midwestern city. (What a shock, huh? Considering a good part of my adult life was spent doing PR for universities.) 

Oftentimes, my dreams are set in cities and at universities with which I am familiar. This one was not. The buildings were not familiar. The neighborhoods were unlike any I have seen before. Most of the people in the dream were not familiar. Those who were I have not been particularly close to in real life.

In the dream last night, a media friend of mine and his family had purchased an old, three-story Victorian home near the campus at which I worked. Their intent was to rent out rooms to college students as a side gig.

One day after work, I decided to drive by the house, as I wasn't familiar with it. I was shocked at what I saw.

The house was covered with black goth symbols and bloody Ozzy Osbourne bats.

Surely my friend had scheduled painters to give the house a new look, but no. He and his family had purposely painted the house that way. As it turns out, his wife was a closet goth and had convinced him that the paint job would attract lots of renters.

Neighbors were none too pleased with the paint job and demanded city officials do something about it. The city officials tried to blame the university, as my friend's wife claimed the house would bring lots of new students to the university, boosting city coffers.

The city became divided as to whether the "Bloody Bat House" needed to be repainted. Some were pleased that the family had decided to do something to help boost the number of students, as the university was the biggest employer in the city. Others, however, were determined that a cult had moved into the Bloody Bat House and wanted it gone. 

Needless to say, I spent many long hours dealing with media and concerned citizens. I even had a vendor trying to get me to have Bloody Bat House t-shirts made.

I'm not sure how the Bloody Bat House issue got resolved, but I believe it was somehow settled as I was thanking people for their help.

Then I woke up.

I'd love to know what triggered that dream. In some ways, it was entertaining. I am, however, so very tired because of it. Hoping for less entertainment and more quality sleep tonight!