Witch Hunt? Then Witch Trial!

Trump continues to insist the investigations into his behaviors from before he ran for President up to the present all constitute a witch hunt. It's not a slip of the tongue, it's his mantra. It doesn't matter what is being investigated, who else is involved, who has testified, it's still just a witch hunt. We have "tape", whether audio like in his "perfect" calls to Ukraine President Zelensky asking for a favor in exchange for what Congress already approved in aid to defend themselves against the Russian invasion, or the joint call to Raffensperger trying to change Georgia's election by "finding" 11,780 more votes in his favor. It's still a witch hunt. It doesn't matter the country watched the video of him urging his supporters to riot on January 6th, it's still a witch hunt.

We ridicule the phrase of course. But what if we took his claims as truth? What then?

We could acknowledge his claims as having a basis in fact, and treat him to a good old fashioned witch trial. We do have a history of holding them in this country, after all.

For those not familiar (no pun intended here) with the process, it usually went like this. The accused was fastened to a seat on the end of a long pole fixed along the bank of a pool. By fastened I mean tied to with a rope or something similarly effective, something escape proof. The pole was pivoted out over the deep part of the water and the accused lowered below the water surface, where they were left for several minutes. 

The water, standing in for God of course, made the verdict of guilt or innocence. When brought back up, if the accused witch had died, it was proof that they had no supernatural powers to save themselves. A pity they were dead, but so it goes. The community likely didn't care much for them anyway or they wouldn't have been accused. However, if the dunked person had managed to survive, it was considered proof of their magical evil powers and they were dispatched immediately before they could escape again. The community was safe!

So if DJT wants to insist on this being a witch hunt, let's offer him a chance to clear himself in a witch trial! Or we could just shut him up where he can do the least additional damage from behind very secure bars. I could go for either one. Just soon, please. Soon.

Learning Curve

 I've got a commission! Paid, even. A friend has a youngest child who will be a senior this year. That's high school senior, not college senior,  nor senior citizen. I've been commissioned to do their senior photo. As somebody who had to do two professional sittings for my senior picture, I understand the need for perfection. As somebody who takes bunches of shots before deciding which to keep/cull, I will take no offense when the first batch of tries is rejected. At least I presume that will be the outcome. I sent 8 pictures their way, with my own personal opinion being that one is worth consideration. The rest are part of the learning curve... for all of us.

I haven't done this before. I've shot weddings, not for pay but often sending a small selection to the couple as gifts. Those had their own challenges. This job has extra ones, besides the usual weird smile/closed eyes stuff. The photos must be shot outside, with fall colors in the background. A studio would have a big drop sheet with fall leaves as a background choice. We get to wait on mother Nature, and she better get on the ball in the next three weeks! We'll be heading back south after that.

 

A solitary high branch of color                                        

 

So what did we learn? The kid of course has some goofy smiles and closed eyes to offer. But that is to be expected. One spot which had great leaves in full red color last Friday now offers only bare branches. It rained last night. Of course I knew it rained, and I called to make sure my subject's footwear would tolerate getting wet, maybe muddy. I just didn't expect that ALL the leaves had dropped as a result,so even though I knew where to find the bush, what I found was a row of empty branches. Totally empty branches. Not one stubborn nub of a leaf remaining.

                 It was there on Friday!
 

I learned how slow the sumacs, usually among the first to turn and which change into several colors at once, were this year to start changing. I had hoped that of several large patches of them I'd scouted out, somewhere there would be more than a branch or two of color. One large patch just blocks from my house has been removed completely in the years I've been here only in summers. The only places with larger patches of color were along a 55 mph highway just after a curve with no shoulders to safely pull over on. We didn't even try that. What? Risk somebody's kid along a busy highway? There will be more eventually - sumacs, not kids.

The forecast was for more clouds than were actually in the sky. I'd hoped for less glare and contrast. We fought squinty eyes and, more surprising, glare on glasses which showed the entire skyline behind me when I tripped the shutter. Those photos showed trees, silos, even me in a couple shots in dark silhouette against bright sky. Those same photos got sun on half a face on occasion, but my software in my laptop eased the two-faces look by increasing the light levels, then made up for that with boosting the colors. The leaves mostly need that done anyway. The odd thing is the clouds/smoke combination have finally wandered over the noon sky, so we lost the blue sky now without losing the sharp contrast, if I were still shooting. I'll have to work on that. Maybe we'll get a foggy morning, but we're bumping up against school starting next week, so we'd only get weekends to try for, or perhaps late afternoons if this senor's job doesn't interfere. While the weather holds with nice temperatures, weekends around here are a nightmare of tourist traffic.

I did learn some good things, and passed the information along to my subject. The fields we drove along in quest of fall color happen to be full of sandhill cranes, at least in the mornings. There was also a  muskrat house unknown to this senior about a block from their family home, and this morning it sported a heron perched on top waiting for a passing meal. I was also able to pass along the location of a beautiful, recently upgraded, romantic park along the river which we used as a turnaround to get to the next location. I suggested it as a good place for a family picnic with fishing available, or perhaps a quiet place for an after school date with somebody they wanted to get to know better... once the driver's test had been passed, of course. 

I'm also looking at the cliff rising on the other side of the river at that park which I know would make a fantastic multi-hued background for photos, both of this senior, as well as the entire family as requested by Mom. We'll see if the colors cooperate in time. And the light. And the smile of the day.

Spur Of The Moment

Steve walked out of the bedroom about 7:30 this morning. He was so pleased with a trip to the river with his fishing buddy last night that he suggested he and I head there later this afternoon, like 2 PM. I had the advantage, however, of waking earlier and catching the weather forecast. They're saying the "feel-like" temperature, aka heat index, will be around 110 then. We'd be sitting in the sun. No thanks.

I countered with, "How about right now?" I'm not sure it took a full 5 seconds for him to agree. Breakfast could wait.Take the dog out and feed her, take our morning pills, get dressed, load the car and scoot! In about 40 minutes we were pulled into Franconia Landing, liberally dosed with OFF!, Steve ready to fish, me ready with my camera. I'm not fishing this year because an out-of-state license is expensive. Next year mine will be reasonable, and Steve won't need one at all, as residents. He got a permanent free handicap fishing license a couple decades ago, and had the foresight to hang on to it in case we moved back.

Franconia Landing is our favorite spot for the St. Croix River. First it's a federally protected waterway along much of the river's length, and with building restricted, wildlife is commonly seen. Second, once spring flood high water levels are over, we drive the car down the ramp, turn onto the sandbar, park, unload, and sit in our favorite folding outdoor steel& canvas chairs. You can at least see the car here, but Steve and chair are there as well.

 

 That is shot looking upstream, on the MN side. from a second sandbar on the other side of the landing road. A quick turn and I can get the Wisconsin side, heading downstream.

I will wander periodically depending on what's there to shoot. Otherwise it's mostly like a private date with Steve with terrific scenery, and occasional wildlife, not counting any possible fish.

Neither of us cares to go on weekends. It's crowded, both the landing and the river itself. Several outfits rent canoes and a shuttle ride back from downstream, lots of people are out fishing, the paddle-wheeler from Taylors Falls passes with tourists aboard, downstream, then up. Being retired we have the other five days, and while a rare boat comes down/up the landing, rare is the operating word.

Fishing was adequate this quiet cloudy morning. Steve caught a decent sized perch. What we believe to be a northern pike made it nearly to shore before biting off Steve's hook, nightcrawler and a bit of line. I can prove the perch:

However for me the best part of the morning was what greeted us when we first got there, and stayed around doing her (?) own fishing for about a half hour before wading leisurely away upstream. 

I needed that half hour. With all the cloud cover, my camera kept insisting it needed the flash. This meant it not only held the shutter open enough to blur the photos a bit but the resulting photos were dark anyway at that distance. My 30x optical zoom is fully extended, and this severely cropped. She is not as close as the photo looks. After over 40 shots I have about 5 I like. I did manage video for a couple minutes, which does a better job of working with whatever light level is there. But since I wasn't willing to disturb another creatures' fishing (OK, I really mean my opportunity to get more shots) by scaring her away just to go get the tripod from the car's hatch, the video is somewhat wobbly. If one can get past that, her activity is fascinating.

Once she left we did hear one crow, and saw three geese and a later hawk in flight. Several fish jumped. No deer appeared this time.  Somebody did fly a helicopter over the river heading downstream for unknown reasons, business or recreation.

Steve has suggested we repeat this tomorrow. I'll have camera batteries charged and tripod nearby. We'll have to check on the crawlers supply.

So You Want Me To Go Plant A Tree?

We need to sequester carbon in the air. By now I doubt there is a person with a TV giving weather news who can argue that point. OK, OK, they need an actual brain too. Let's get past quibbling about that.  One of the first things people tend to say is, "Go plant a tree." It's something which individuals can do to help clean the air. We can passively wait for the coal and oil companies to stop producing so much, or for our fellow humans to stop using so much "dirty" energy, or act ourselves in a positive way. I plant one, you plant one, everybody plants one and we have 8 billion new trees out there working for us, right?

The argument is sound. It would work a bit slowly if started right now, and should have been started 50 years ago, but better late than never. So let's all go plant a tree.

I bet you've already heard that. I do, a lot. A little hitch here, though. I am no longer physically capable of hiking out to some piece of land needing trees which also has an owner welcoming my intrusion and purpose, toting a shovel, a tree, and some water to set it in properly. 50 years ago, sure. 30 years ago, maybe not so much. Now? Not enough parts of me still work.

It's not that I don't value trees. I grew up a country girl, was traumatized when the family moved to St. Paul. When I was able to plant a tree in our -because married then- first owned, not rented yard, I planted a weeping willow. Within a couple years it had grown so fast and been pruned so well it became a climbing tree for the kids. My oldest named the tree Alice. Then we moved.

The next house came with plenty of trees, so I planted bushes, fruits, and flowers. Again we moved. Divorced. Moved again. Finally I got my own house, on an 86' wide x 180' deep lot, which when bought contained only weeds, mostly grasses 6 foot tall. Neighbors used it for family football games. Once it gained a modest ranch style home, a garage, and a driveway, we moved in. Let me tell you about that yard.

Let's start with the front, which I'll define as everything forward (east) of the front wall of the house. We had to keep the very front clear because technically the city owns that easement. A clump of three river birches went on the north side of the driveway, now so tall they have to be trimmed up annually where the branches hang way down, so people and cars can go in/out. Its roots are pushing up rows of bumps in the driveway, homes for random seeds, entry for rain. From the driveway down the slight hill to the north property line it's mostly daylilies, the double orange kind, fulva kwanzo, donations from my parent's St. Paul house just before they sold it to go rent in a senior community. They've filled in solid now and have been making their own donations to other yards.  Closer to the house in that same patch is a Pink Spires flowering crabapple tree. It was sold with the description that it grew to 25 feet. That was passed a few years ago. It starts a deep pink when it flowers and over the course of a couple weeks the petals fade to white and coat the ground. Closer to the house are a couple euonymus, aka burning bush plants among whatever lawn covering tolerates the slope and mowing schedule. Currently that means crabapple and euonymus seedings, some creeping charlie, and a bit of grass. Prickly! Don't go barefoot there. Seriously.

On the other side of the driveway and closer to the house is the next birch clump, this time three paper birch. They are in an L-shaped flower garden, lined along the driveway side by what has grown into a 3-foot wide row of hostas, purple flowers with narrow solid green leaves. I admit grass invaded and has never quite gotten conquered. Lily of the valley comes out from the house, and another pair of euonymus sit under the windows. An occasional thistle manages to find a home but we work on getting those out, along with too-prolific invading lily of the valley, hundreds of invading euonymus babies, and ash, maple, and box elder  babies - if you can call something which made it anywhere up to 3 feet tall a "baby". This is not the place for them.

It is the place for daffodils, crocus, tulips, dutch iris, bearded iris, brown eyed Susans, Alaska daisies (white), pyrethrum daisies, astilbe, purple coneflowers, native red/yellow columbine, blue balloon flowers, liatris, butterfly bush, purple violets, milkweeds, and about 25 varieties of daylilies. (Whew!) Originally they were planted as a rock garden, but the rocks have sunk except for the lumpiness which makes it risky to walk there. Later generations of many plants have scattered and inter-grown. Like I said, not the place for trees.

You'll find two sour cherry trees in the front yard, one replacing a pear tree which died from fire blight within a month of planting. Over by the front SE corner a huge sugar maple is embedded in a border of a variety of lilac bushes, a wild fragrant pink rose invading everywhere it can evade a mower, more daylilies, and another hosta border, this one also purple flowered but wide solid green leaves.

The rest is lawn. By this I do not mean, say, Kentucky bluegrass or red fescue, as many think a lawn should be. I do admit, some actual grass survives there. We were required to put some in when we started. The first thing we added was white clover, and there may be a few of those left as well. Crocus bulbs were dug in, widely scattered, as were scattered scillas, now closely covering most of the lawn area... all over. The violets I mentioned earlier were a couple clumps dug out of the last place and brought over, and it is still a spring project of my son Paul to harvest their seed pods just before they burst, collect their seeds, and scatter them widely. In fact this year he's started scattering them in other places, like an unmowed roundabout near where he works, along with scilla seeds, now that those have scattered themselves widely. In spring our lawn is blue, then purple, then a  mix of yellow and purple, then yellow and green. After that it's anybody's guess. We tolerate dandelions, daisies, brown-eyed susans, volunteers from the "official" flower garden, the yellow whatevers which contaminated the grass seed a long-ago cable company used after digging across everybody's front yard, creeping charlie, and everything else that - again - tolerates our pattern of neglect and reluctant mowing. I've seen field and sweet clovers, sedges, baby junipers, baby chokecherries as well as sour cherries, and on and on.

This was just the front yard. The north side of the house is simpler to describe, as the tall ferns have totally filled  in the slope between garage and the neighbors yard from the few planted when we moved in. One tree was pulled out two years ago, after it made it to 6 feet, but was too close to the garage-turned-extra-bedroom to keep. It grew that tall because everybody was reluctant to tromp on the ferns, but we've found out how hard they are to kill even when we're trying. Hard. For years. It's a hard slope to mow, so why not all ferns there?

The south side of the house is a fairly short area because I'm only considering between house walls and property line, just like the north side. Here we have two more cherry trees in the middle of the chaos we tolerate as lawn. Those replace the apricots which grew well but succumbed to some kind of fungus on the fruit. Inedible apricots are pointless. Along the house, spaced not to obstruct the AC and various meters which need reading, is the blueberry bed. Months were spent hauling compost, putting in soaker hoses for irrigation, planting, mulching, making borders, because they have special needs and our soil is naturally basic, not acidic. Well, then anyway. The front edge of that bed is daffodils, though the huge variety has winnowed itself out to hearty survivors, so about 4 varieties remain. Again grass and other weeds have invaded, so the blueberries are needing to be totally re-done or abandoned. I have put in last year's purple daylily varieties in one spot no longer containing bushes. By the sump pump drain a hybrid tea rose has died back to rootstock, and while bushy, blooms mostly are lacking. Thorns are still plentiful. Other weeds like thistles and lily of the valley have also invaded, and cherry trees love to start there, though now those include chokecherries. 

Angling out from the house, along the front side of a chain link fence for the back yard, some highbush cranberries also survive, though they've gotten severely pruned back this spring in hopes of returning to former glory, again to be full of first spring arrival birds. Cardinals, robins, and cedar waxwings finish off the red berries right outside the dining room window. Some of the double orange daylilies and scilla now grow up between the cranberry bushes, and another row of the wide leaved hostas separate it from lawn. Continuing away from the house, across the other side of a small path of lawn left for access to the fence gate, are red honeysuckle bushes in a hedge just inside the property line, sort of a continuation of the lilac hedge line, and also sporting their own border of hostas. Occasional weed trees have to be pulled out of there, and like the lilacs, the honeysuckles need trimming back severely on occasion.

Let's head through the gate into the back yard. The fence along the south property line first has currants, struggling right now because the neighbors planted one of those weed maples which grow 80 feet tall with multiple trunks leaving their whole back yard so shaded they can't even grow grass. Now it shades a significant part of ours as well and interferes with our satellite TV dish. Next in line are two apple trees, a Haralred and a Sweet Sixteen. After those come the chokecherry hedge, another one needing periodic severe pruning. Following to the corner and wrapping around it, the hazelnuts. Continuing along the back fence are two large oaks and a blue spruce. Once past the shed which one oak drapes over, we have clumps of paper birch again, much healthier than those near the driveway, interspersed with elderberry and dogwood. Coming forward toward the house along that fence are a red maple, several service berries, and finally along the deck and its ramp are a second chokecherry hedge which the ferns are working hard to invade. All that is basically the border of the back yard.

Several feet inside that last  stretch of fence and parallel to it is a large fenced off rectangle with the remains of the raspberry patch. Admittedly it needs work but it is doing a fantastic job of supporting a humungous section of Virginia creeper vine, lovely in fall with its red leaves and blue berries, not so much in summer as it strangles everything it can reach and climb, aka everything. However it doesn't keep the birds out of the the nesting boxes on the fence poles which over the years have been homes to tree swallows, bluebirds, wrens, and (in another part of the yard) a tree frog. That patch is also our family pet cemetery, with several residents. The neighbor on that side, north of our yard so they don't much shade our plants, has a couple large Norway pine trees. I will prune branches which dangle over the fence on our side, providing I can reach them. If I can't, what grows beneath them is short enough to get sun.

That far back corner, the northwest one, was the low spot when we moved in. Spring thaw left it a large puddle, as did any heavy rainfall. I put in a pair of weeping willows, about 6 foot tall. Just like "Alice" they grew exceedingly rapidly, got pruned into climbing trees, and entertained young children. My rule was one had to be large and strong enough to make it into the first branch themselves. If they could do that I figured they were safe in the rest of the trees and had permission to go as high as they felt safe, as long as they could come down themselves too. The world looks way different to a kid from in a tree. The willows both grew fast and died fast, but the kids in question outgrew them before we cut them down and replaced them with the birch, dogwood and elderberries. The willows had done their other job well of breaking up the clay so the area could drain.

Still not done yet, along the back of the house and deck, there have been a variety of things, grown with more or less success. Since our climate zone was changing, several things were tried and made a year or six, including a tulip poplar, and a couple different peaches. The green ash died from emerald ash borers, the Wealthy apple tree made great apples but was short lived, the Nanking cherries were pretty but my son wanted to try something else he could actually eat, honeyberries, which now are trying to out-compete the sow thistles. The race is neck and neck.

Under the living room picture window, because our house plan puts it in back, are more daylilies and a couple red prince wigelia bushes, thriving very well despite a several-year fern invasion, now mostly dug out. The large fish pond used to sit right in front of there until the vinyl liner needed replacing and we decided it was too much work and expense. We're slowly converting that back to sloping yard, but I miss the water lilies and other tropical water plants kept there along with either koi or shubunkins. All had to be returned to the basement in late fall or die as ice totally froze down to the liner. Neighborhood frogs welcomed the pond too, but we found out the hard (heartbreaking) way that they couldn't survive there with no mud to burrow into. Fall cleanings included taking a bucketful of those to a nearby lake before it iced over. Latecomers were out of luck, found and removed in spring.

The back stairs cut in to the yard, then a terraced drop to a basement egress window. This time there are two rows of variegated hostas, one topping each terrace. The lawn continuing south from the house hosts a growing patch of tiger lilies, a favorite since childhood. The fence still extends further, but this time we're on the back side of the cranberries. On this side it's what passes for lawn, generously covered with all kinds of branches from previous prunings where energy lasted just long enough to cut and pile them, not move them way back. The pile leaves room for the corner gate to swing either way.

There were two smaller lined ponds more into the middle  back yard which contained lotus for a couple years. Those ponds hatched out tadpoles ("toadpoles") for the yard and dragonfly nymphs as well. The forms still sit there holding whatever rain/snow falls, each year filling in with more dirt. Volunteer cattails started to take over and yellow iris began to compete with them, decaying back and building up dirt levels. We leave those to do their thing. 

Also in the middle of the back yard is a grape arbor, with green grapes on one side and purple on the other. Near them is a bird feeder on a pole. Further back but far enough from the oaks is a fire ring, used for bonfires for entertaining and roasting brats and marshmallows for s'mores, fueled by dropped or pruned wood from the rest of the yard. We may have to rent a chipper one of these years as the piles of potential firewood are accumulating way faster than they get used. More mulch won't hurt. 

There is some open space there, both for visitors for those backyard parties along with needed tables and chairs, and for kids to run around in when they visit. We're eying one of those oaks with a high, sturdy, and nearly level branch as a spot for a tire swing or such, some day soon, but a bunch of dead, nearby low blue spruce branches will have to be trimmed off first.  Milkweeds like to spring up here and there out back and we let them go to seed, even harvest and spread those seeds very much elsewhere. New varieties of ferns are volunteering, and mushrooms spring up in the fall if it's wet.

Now that you've had the tour of the yard, the one place I can still get to and manage a bit of work in, I ask you: I keep hearing people tell me I need to go out and plant trees to save the earth. So... keeping all this in mind... where?

Letter To A Friend Giving Hospice Care At Home

This started when I checked in with an AZ friend about something else recently. We hadn't talked much while I was up north, so she informed me that her mother was now in hospice care, bed-bound, in my friend's home. I knew Mom had broken her hip last spring, had shifted from the hospital to a rehab unit, and when I'd thought about her it was with the expectation Mom was healed and back at her own home. Not only wasn't Mom at home, Mom's husband was in hospice status in his (their) place and one of my friend's regular jobs was to pick him up, bring him for a visit, and take him back to his place. When I heard this I briefly mentioned my own experience and suggested if she wanted to talk, go ahead and reach out. She replied that she might just do that, knowing I'd been through it with a parent, and that got the wheels churning. After starting to organize my thoughts, starting with her own current need not to lift anything heavy, I emailed her the following. Some was advice, some a reminder of how it had been from this distance past it. One thought led to the next, and I just left it as it came. It's incomplete, but.... My friend's experience will be different anyway. I'm hoping some of this will be useful.

*     *     *     *

 One thing that helps when bed bound is a kind of vibrating thin mattress , maybe liquid filled, under the sheet (?) which keeps pressure sores, aka bed sores, from occurring. Those get infected, are painful, and very difficult to get rid of. Much easier than worrying about turning somebody especially with avoiding getting your own back problems. I think that they also have mattresses which change position, like full flat to semi sitting like a hospital bed, can help. I'd ask about that if she's still bed-bound. The hospice people must have good information, possibly can provide some equipment (free?) unless AZ is VERY different from MN.

As for her giving up, depression is very common. Meds can help if you find the right ones. The wrong ones can make it worse, and not just for depression. For example Benadryl can cause hallucinations in some elderly patients.  Hopefully bringing her husband over helps as well. Are there things she used to enjoy? Reading? My dad was blind but got audio books he liked. Does she have old photo albums to look through? TV shows from long-ago are on some cable/satellite channels if she's nostalgic. I love satellite TV for the nature programs, Steve goes for cooking shows - the competitive kind - ICK!  LOL. Did she knit? Like music? Is there a way she can still feel useful? It can be difficult to feel like a burden on your family when they are your caregiver and you've lost bodily dignity, especially with the prudishness common in their generation.

On the other hand, can YOU accept her attitude? Hospice does have that ending after all. Either or both of you are probably grieving now along with every other challenge. Perhaps I should say all three of you if (friend's husband's name deleted) has developed a good relationship with your mom. All families are different. On top of that there will likely be some feelings of entrapment in the situation as it continues, and guilt for feeling that way as well as for the anger that can come out of it. If there is any way you and (husband's name) can get time out together as a couple while somebody else takes over for a few hours, grab it! Your marriage doesn't end because Mom needs care. You both do too, individually AND together. Don't lose that!

I was single while Dad lived here, but had 2 adult sons and a friend who helped. Plus a team of three county nurses/assistants for a lot of the practical stuff like getting him washed up, and keeping the house clean(er). Not sure if his Medicare took care of that latter or it was just a county hospice service. Meanwhile I worked 10 -12 hour days, then was on the other end of the baby monitor at night when he woke up confused. I think I sleepwalked through some of that time. I recall getting annoyed when people tried to tell me it was a rare gift to be able to take care of him, a "blessing". Yeah, sure! And yet looking back on it I am glad I was in a position to keep him out of a nursing home and with family instead of having to live his (and Mom's) worst nightmare for their old age. Mom died instantly from a stroke and avoided it, but she was the one who took care of Dad. Then she was gone.

 He had multiple and accumulating disabilities, each one a next step downhill, but we dealt with them. Some, like swallowing problems, were a total surprise, but lo, the doc prescribed a thickener for his beverages from the pharmacy so he didn't choke... except occasionally. His short term memory loss became annoying, but learning the need to repeat, repeat, repeat without allowing him to think he was in any way at fault was helpful. Eventually it was so bad he couldn't handle the daily after-lunch phone call my brother made because it was so short term he couldn't hold a conversation or know whom he was talking to. That was very close to the end.

When he finally couldn't walk we got him a hospital bed and put it in the living room, moving the couch into his bedroom. There was nearly always light and activity there so he knew he wasn't alone. The next to last day there was suddenly surprising clarity. He asked me if he was dying, so we had a chat about that. I reminded him Mom was waiting for him - their belief system and 67 year marriage - and he was comforted by that. We had recently ended his meds except for pain control by full family /staff agreement, and he slipped away in the night. One of his issues by then was congestive heart failure, and when I said good night to him his arms were icy cold. I checked on him around midnight when nature called, and he was still breathing but not aware. In the morning it was over.

Then there was legal stuff. I don't know AZ but here's how it went in MN. First, we gave the local fire dept a copy of his hospice status from the doc, along with his personally signed DNR, months ahead. I called the sheriff's office (not 911 number) to report his death, and the fact they had that paperwork on file meant they didn't have to come out, lights and sirens, to try to revive him. We waited for the coroner to come out,  pronounce him, and fill out paperwork. That's where it was helpful that I'd wakened at midnight and checked in on him so we knew the exact date. (He was 97 1/2 on the nose!) We had arranged with the same funeral home as for Mom to take care of him (cremation for both and if you do that you better know all the metal in their bodies like a pacemaker or joint replacement!). His O2 machine, tank, and hospital bed got picked up for the next person to use. They had a free joint burial in the local national cemetery since Dad fought in Europe in WWII, and we'd had that paperwork on hand. He got a 21 gun salute, and a flag, which my 'Nam veteran brother was given to keep.

I know I've been rattling on all over the place, but I hope some of this helps. There is some advance planning involved as well as the reminders to take care of yourselves.

Hang in there!
Heather

Latest Covid News: What's Old is New... Again

 I'm not hearing this in many places, but Covid is back and deaths are climbing again. The CDC has stopped collecting the information. Helpful, eh? There are technicalities: It's not the same old version. Like several times before, a variant has developed due OF COURSE to millions of people believing it was all over and forgetting about the usual precautions like good masking and social distancing. How long has it been since you've seen a mask worn in a store? Or worn one yourself? I have to admit that since leaving Arizona my masks tend to hang on my turn signal arm in the car. So mea culpa too. Of course I was prepared for fellow spreaders in that bastion of Righties, but now in liberal Minnesota?

Oops.

Many of us who are actually not influenced by the wing nut crazies have been keeping up with our vaccinations and practicing... sort of mostly ... protective measures that everybody's tired of by now. But we still aren't getting the information about what's happening out there. Heck, we hear more about malaria and leprosy in Florida then we do about covid these days. Guess which is killing more of us right now?

Yes, hospitals in certain areas are getting flooded with covid patients again. ERs are getting crowded, and once again, their patients are dying while waiting for rooms. When we can simply walk in, have a positive test, and get Paxlovid to knock our symptoms way back, not only are we not prepared for this new influx but neither are the hospitals and their staffs. Those professionals are barely getting over the demoralization of our million-plus deaths in the last three years, not to mention all the deluded people literally fighting them to "find out what they really have because it can't be covid!" while they die, still not convinced.

Officially the emergency is over. Governmental benefits have stopped. As a society we are out and about, traveling, partying, back in all the group situations we find necessary in order to feel like things are normal.

If only.

The tragic irony is that the unbelievers, those in areas most supporting of Trump, are the ones now sickest, and dying in the largest numbers. Those of us who claim to hold liberal ideals and who have wished most vehemently that those damaging ideas would quickly die out, never wished it would be because their followers were the ones dying out fastest. It's a demonstrable example of the law of natural consequences, those who don't believe the danger are most likely to fall prey to it. If I were in Florida I'd phrase it "those who don't believe in gators feed the gators."

EG-5, or Eris, the latest variant, has the following symptoms: It's more easily transmissible than the other ones currently circulating, and while more are getting it, there is as yet no indication it is more severe. It does seem to show up more in people who already have comorbidities, because of course it will, and that alone may tip the balance in consequences of getting it. Look for the following:

• Cough
• Sore throat
• Runny nose
• Sneezing
• Fatigue
• Headache
• Muscle aches
• Altered sense of smell

Several months ago there were reports of the variant this one derived from also causing red eyes, but that is not currently mentioned with this. Also anticipate fever. To be sure what you have, of course, have your home covid tests handy and up to date. People are reporting them not registering positive until the 2nd or third day of illness, so don't be shy about retesting, and with a positive result, get Paxlovid immediately. It only works if it's taken quickly after symptoms develop. A severe or advanced case, untreated, will result in breathing problems, and whether light or severe, long covid is a possibility. Some people who caught the first cases back in '20, and had those turn into long covid, are still reporting those symptoms, especially severe chronic exhaustion.

On a personal note, it's been 11 months since I caught covid, despite precautions and vaccinations. I still find myself having low energy, though rarely do I try to be active enough that I notice it. It has also only been recently that I've noticed my nose returning to anything like its former acuity. It's not completely there yet, but food is tasting better, and I noticed a burnt paper pizza shell (Papa Murphy's) in the oven the other night. (No, I wasn't the one cooking. Just saying.)

There have been 3 companies developing new vaccinations for this variant, supposed to be more responsive to changing pieces of the virus, possibly even better against variants not here yet. We'll see. We are told to expect news as soon as the end of this month on when it's available, so possibly in the stores mid September. If you're debating whether to re-boost now with what's out there or wait those last few weeks, opinions are mixed. Medicare is supposed to cover either, but other insurance companies... well, check your own. The "emergency is over" proclamation has allowed some of them to leave you on your own, and they can be costly.

Meanwhile, should you contract covid, there are things you can do to make your own illness easier. Paxlovid ASAP is important. And of course do all the things you've always been supposed to do to avoid spreading it. But most of the damage is from your body overreacting to the virus, or what is known as the cytokine storm. It has 2 main mechanisms, and there are inexpensive OTC products on the shelves which fight them. One is Cetirizine, an allergy product, the other the generic version of Pepsid AC for heartburn. You can of course go buy the big label, big price products. I would not personally take more than the labels suggest for normal times, or perhaps double it for a significantly heavier body weight, and not for more than a week or so. Also stock heavier dose B Complex vitamins to take for a couple weeks to fight the exhaustion since covid seems to deplete your body's supply. If your primary doc is like mine, they will order a chest x-ray once you test negative again. 

If none of these things help, hope that your local ER isn't overcrowded when you need it, and go get your ass hauled there!!!

Learning More About Aspergers

I've known bits and pieces about it for years, having a niece with it. First thing I learned, and my introduction to it, was when she learned to crawl. She's younger than my own kids, and I'd learned that the very second that mine - and day care kids - went out of view they needed to be followed to see what they were getting into. With one in particular it was always a needed precaution - and I say precaution presuming I'd been in time to prevent the next disaster. Everybody in the family knows which of my kids I refer to. 'Nuff said. 

But with all the kids, their first direction when they could crawl was towards another person, whether their own age, or an adult who could meet one of their needs. With my niece, crawling meant she left the room, getting away from the rest of us. We apparently had nothing to offer to meet her needs. It was more quiet and peaceful everywhere else. My previous training, and lack of information about my niece, required me to get up and follow her to bring her back. It wasn't well met. Kindly, yes, but welcomed, no. I learned this was a new kind of child to me. Eventually the word "Asperbergers" entered my vocabulary.

I learned about issues in finding proper schooling for a child with her particular collection of talents, both in getting them recognized, and then nurtured without making her feel like she was sick or stupid or  weird, just unique. The public school system in their rural community wasn't properly equipped, despite new federal requirements put in place, nor was the Catholic school. When her parents heard about a better school system for her needs, but in a different town, which required busing, she became enrolled there. Since there were no more moves, I presume everybody was satisfied. Of course more was required of her family, but they researched and connected with other parents and experts in order to provide all the rich environment they could.

When the family got all together we learned my niece was to be greeted with our welcome, but from a respectful distance. I could hug another niece, like her sister, ask her the usual questions one does when you normally live long distance, including many states away at times, and get the expected responses for any well brought up child her age. With this niece, many times a translator was needed, at least through her parents. There was often a pause when one or the other of us didn't exactly understand the other. Sometimes this niece was scolded that something was an improper question even before I got a chance to answer. For example once she asked why I was fat - fair, honest question, right? - and before I could answer it was a simple matter of eating more calories than my body needed so this was how it stored the extras, which I figured would satisfy her curiosity quite well, she was shut down. I have no idea how her question was dealt with afterwards in the privacy of family. I do hope it was answered. I had no way at the time to overrule her parents' decision, knowing full well that my reaction would not be the one she could expect in "polite company" and she needed to learn to operate in that world.

One of the things she needed to learn, and has to some extent as an adult, was interpreting the tone in other people's voices and inserting at least some into her own. Her voice was simply monotone. I could always tell it was her answering the phone when I called, but sometimes had trouble getting the content. That doesn't happen any more, mostly because we speak in person, usually once a year with the whole family. My phone calls usually go to her mother's cell. However, hearing it in my niece's voice has made me recognize it to a much lesser extent in her father's. Not saying he is on the spectrum, just has a fairly monotone voice. Mine is much more all-over-the-place.

I had picked up, very early as noted above, that she was not a very touchy person. That seems to be fairly common. I've never asked why. Is it painful? Is there just no perceived point to it? Is it a loss of control? I've just accepted it as fact for her. A couple years ago however I got to thinking. I like to hug the rest of her family. Mine too. Friends as well. I didn't know if she felt somewhat neglected that I avoided her in that way. It was time to check in with her. So on one of our summer get-togethers, I asked her if she would like a hug from me. I assured her it was her choice,  either answer was fine. She thought about it for several seconds, then decided it would be OK. We had about a three second hug. I was delighted at the presumed trust she showed.

This was in marked contrast to a short moment yesterday. It's always the tradition to take pictures of everybody, in a variety of groupings, during these events. See the kids grow. See the family grow. See the adults age. This time her sister asked for us to get shots of the two girls together. She promised she had a "surprise" for her sister. She did. As soon as the cameras were aimed, she reached and hugged her sister from the side and wouldn't let her go. There followed a sequence of shots with various "I want outta here" expressions crossing one face while the other sister kept her grip, all over and done in about 5 seconds. 

I find myself with mixed reactions.

You will hear/read the terms "on the spectrum" and "high functioning" with regards to the Asperger's diagnosis. My niece fits "high functioning" and nearly all the hopes and expectations parents have of all of their children, including many which were originally believed beyond what could ever be expected. She not only went to college but left the family to do so and went to another state which had a good program in her specialty, performing beautifully. I was informed by her parents that she would never learn to drive because her processing time would take too long between recognizing a problem and hitting the brakes. She drives. She has a job in her area of expertise, counting various kinds of bees in a variety of locations and habitats, and compiling the data on the populations. She can carry on a conversation comfortably when the extended family gets together, although it will be centered on her interests and experiences, not your typical "strangers small talk". So no favorite movies, what she's gone shopping for with or without success, and so forth. Your conversation will have surprises.

This holds true in online conversations  with self-described "aspies" as well. I have become acquainted with several other people online at a favorite political blog I like to spend time at. They either have an avatar name reflecting this identity or make the comment periodically during some other discussion where it has relevance. No punches are pulled, whether it's in their own experiences or correcting information somebody else is positing. I can ask any respectful question and get as much information as I want, often leading me to other questions or ideas. They appreciate the conversation, and I often learn a lot. I consider one in particular an internet friend, and pay attention when she posts something, either personal experiences, or the wide fount of knowledge and experiences she's gained in a very prestigious career. If she recommends a resource she links to, I'll go read it. If I'm "full of it" she'll respectfully disagree, with reasons, also appreciated.

Yesterday was one of those surprise conversations with my niece, a get-together in a restaurant with family members now including 8 people. Only 8 because some worked, some were in other states, etc. When I travel to one of these I like to bring presents, things I would otherwise have to pay for shipping to send around Christmas time. So it's early, so what? This time it was glass pieces I'd been making this last spring. I knew my sister-in-law's favorite color, so that was easy to pick out the glass for. I'd had to ask for colors for other people, including this niece, which turned out to be "spring green". Not exactly positive which shade that meant, I came up with a sheet I'd just bought with half a dozen different blended shades of green, hoping one of them would be good enough to meet my nieces' preferences. Unfortunately the shade I'd mentally labeled closest to the correct one had another color flow over it when in the kiln, but I persisted with my project. I had more ideas for her piece.

Starting way back when she was a young child, my niece appreciated critters much more than people. I recall giant millipedes and a hedgehog in their respective cages, along with many others through the years, a pigeon (or dove?) in a diaper having the "run" of their house. While still young she was a very creative drawer, creating imaginary creatures which brought to mind the then-new forms in Japanese anime, giving my own kids a chance to admire her work and try to encourage her to continue. Without having any of her talent, I came up with putting a glass frog on one side of a bowl and several butterflies on another, with the frog looking at its potential next meal. We had quite a discussion.

Her questions were mostly on the mechanics of putting the glass together. She, and her sister who also got a piece, were familiar with glass blowing as a technique for shaping glass, but these weren't that.  I explained cutting sheets and fusing them, the various heat levels in kilns to accomplish different stages, including the order they happened in. How was the frog made? Did I cut it and how? No, while it was cut and I could use that machine, I paid for somebody else's expertise. I wanted it to actually look like a frog. After explaining, I showed her an eye I'd made for it which didn't make it onto the piece so she could see the shape (we discussed surface tension in glass) and the original bright color before the heating for that next step melted and somewhat blended the red eye and green frog into a pair of very dark eyes. I introduced her to glass decals, which the butterflies were made of, and she was surprised there were no high edges on them. (Very thin glass.)

At this point I somewhat whimsically mentioned I'd positioned the frog looking at the butterflies on purpose, so she could either envision it looking at its next meal, always ready waiting for him, or if she chose, see it as the butterflies always safe from it because it would never get to them. (I had no idea which kind of critters she'd "root for" to win that contest. Feed the frog, kill the butterflies? Always leave an unfulfilled hope?)  My whimsy got lost in her practicality, however. After examining the butterflies which I'd picked out for their bright colors so they'd show up on the multi-green glass, her comment was simply that they didn't look like the kind which would be good for it to eat.

OK then.

Getting Launched

Does having your day end with an ice cream cone make it a good day despite everything?

But I can't start at the end of the story, right?

In this extended family "Launch" refers to only one thing, driving up to Lake Mille Lacs, paying per head to go out on a fishing launch to spend four hours trying for a walleyes. The favorite location up to now has been Twin Pines, just a couple miles south of Garrison. Yesterday doesn't change our appreciation of the place, just makes it physically unlikely we'll go again. Steve is heartbroken.

 

He'd been planning this trip since last summer, at least in general. Once he actually scheduled it, we were the first to sign up. They don't take out the launch tour for less than 4 people, so I was recruited to fill out the group. No, I haven't been fishing for a couple dozen years or more. Yesterday didn't change that. I went with my camera rather than paying for an out-of-state license, literally did not touch a pole, line, or bait other than one leech dropped on the floor which I "rescued" to go on somebody's hook so as not to die in vain.

 

I drove Steve up, his buddy Paul drove Steve's son up from the cities. We both had a very light lunch ahead of leaving shore, the others had a hearty meal in the restaurant on site. Snacks and beverages were packed, along with all those other necessities. They did not include fishing gear since the launch company provides all that. It also didn't include the OFF! I was sure I'd packed. A few hundred biting flies following the boat around were delighted by that omission. One photo I've omitted to take is all the red spots on my ankles. I watched another young fisherman getting sprayed by his uncle for the flies, but within about three seconds he was still getting attacked as fiercely as I was. Those with, say, long heavy denim pants were ignored, but most of us dressed for the for the forecast 88 degrees for the sunny afternoon. The day proved its fondness for reaching 95 degrees.

 

That became important later. Earlier it was just a fun excuse for dunking a hat in the water, then wearing it to cool off.

 

Even without fishing, and despite biting flies, the trip was fun. I got lots of shots of the boat, the lake, fish being caught (we set the day's record of their boats for best catch), and people showing off their fish, however small, including three small perch. Small clouds  puffed up, made all sorts of cartoon faces which, by the time the camera was set to shoot them, morphed into something else, but by then the next cloud made its picture to entertain any imagination.

 

Despite our boat's group (which wound up being 15) having a good day, there was a lot of awful fishing going on. I watched the captain do his best to set depth for people,  adults try to teach kids how to cast, hold their poles, and everybody to reel in without breaking their poles. (You have to wait for them to put the net under your fish before you lift out of the water!!) Both kids and adults were sending their lines anywhere and everywhere, bouncing their poles up and down despite hearing over and over that the fish in that part of the lake at that time of day were on the bottom ONLY. I'm guessing 5 actual fishermen were in the bunch... and I do mean men as it happened. One kept informing everybody who would listen - and some of us who'd stopped listening - about catching the second largest marlin in some contest from his son's 40-some foot boat in the Bahamas. Apparently a marlin under 1,000 pounds is only worth giving away as charity (pat-him-on-the-back). For our trip, four fish were in the keeper slot for size with the walleye rules, and two of them went home to Steve's son's family, filleted by the captain, no extra charge. 

 

Steve's buddy caught 4 walleye - two keepers - including first, most, and biggest on this tour. More fun than that was this trip ended his 8 year jinx of not catching single fish. (Steve takes full credit - for ending the jinx, that is. Steve himself caught zero. His son caught a single small one.)

There were lengthy discussions about the economics of running a fishing launch these days. The price of leeches jumped (for reason covered by a wind gust), gas had just jumped a buck a gallon this week, diesel even more because somehow the Saudis... yada yada. (I'd heard earlier that the extreme heat along our gulf coast kept our refineries from working efficiently, as well as keeping the employees from being pushed as hard as in cooler weather.) Another lengthy discussion was about the lack of Coast Guard getting around to instituting laws and enforcing them on Mille Lacs regarding speeds as boat raced past fishing launches, how close they were allowed to come currently (no regulations), and how the lack of regulations in the industry meant that any Tom Dick and Harry could just invite any fisherman into their private boat, charge them less, and not have to be covered by permits or insurance, thus undercutting the large companies. It all added up to a full boat like this one going out and still loosing money on each trip. What used to cost Steve $25 for a 4 hour trip fishing now costs $48.

Steve not only didn't wind up catching a fish, for part of the trip he just laid down across a flat  surface to stretch out his back. He refused to come in out of the sun, where I spent most of my time to avoid getting burned. He's one of those who burns a little bit and a couple days later has a nice tan. So not considering the rest of the sun's effects, he overheated.

He'd needed an assist from the guys to get all the way down the dock into our launch in the lake, at least 80 feet. We waited until everybody else left the boat before we got off afterwards so as not to delay them, because three abreast across a small dock is slow and tricky. I went ahead with one of the bags of stuff and opened up the car doors. Turning around I saw Steve coming slowly up the dock, paused and drooping between the guys. As I watched, he came a few feet more and stopped again. I decided to shut the car doors and hop in, pull out of the parking lot which was across two lanes of Hwy 169 plus 2 lanes' width of shoulder.  Why on earth make him work that hard? I could cross during a traffic lull and pull onto the shoulder to load him up.

However, once I got the car turned to see approaching traffic, there was a gathering of people and Steve was laid out flat on the road shoulder. Once it was safe I pulled onto the shoulder just a few feet ahead of where he lay, thinking to get him easily into the car for whatever came up next, starting with running the AC.

Things were already out of my hands. Several in the crowd were medical and first responder folks, getting ready to go out on a launch themselves, now delayed a bit of course. (I never did see if their launch waited for them or left without them.) I knew the bag I'd carried had tea left he hadn't drunk, and suggested giving him that, but was overruled. (We don't know his blood sugar.) OK, I had bottled water. (But it isn't cold. Somebody was bringing ice from across the road.) He hadn't eaten much since a very light lunch - now it's suppertime -  and I had snacks right here. (But we don't know his blood sugar. Don't you keep a meter in the car?) No, both of us per our  doctors test once a day and get the A1C tests when we do lab work. So far so good. (Well, we called 911 and the ambulance is on its way. No ETA for how long out though.) So you still can't give him water, out here in this heat and sun and now sitting up in the hot pavement Seriously?? (No we need to get his vitals first.)

The ambo finally arrived, they got him up on a gurney "just to get him off the pavement",  and were getting his medical information from him. So would we let them put him in the ambo? They could get his vitals, give him an IV and get fluids into him, then make a decision as to what next. I still thought it was silly they couldn't have done a couple common sense things while waiting. It's not like he passed out, just while walking got exhausted and his legs refused to go another step. I've hit that wall in the pool before, needing to just stop a minute or 5 before getting out and grabbing a granola bar and some water. We knew he was dehydrated, and it turned out the heat he'd been sitting in for now 5 hours had hit 95... in the shade. He was wearing black clothing in the full sun of course.

While they were dithering in the ambo, asking him what he wanted, him telling them to ask me, them filling me in,  then heading back to talk to him, his friend came and sat in my car with my AC going while his son paced outside, the most worried of all of us. While I was still questioning why commonsense treatment wouldn't be enough, his son was emphatically wanting his dad to go to the hospital, almost as if I wasn't going to take proper care of him while I was waiting for information. As soon as they mentioned that his EKG strip had some irregularities on it, the decision was made. I left ahead of the ambo after verifying directions, thinking they'd be right along (it took another 15 minutes for them to leave). While waiting at the hospital I made several phone calls, interrupting the last when the ambo pulled in. 

They have a very nice, modern hospital in Onamia, except for being icy cold. I got to spend a while in the ER waiting room while they got Steve evaluated and hooked into all their instruments, enough time to identify an other patient-in-waiting with a UTI as wearing my identical shoes, and enjoy the bouncing of a 10-month old on his mom's lap while waiting to have a rash examined. So much for medical privacy, eh? The waiting room walls were covered with 6 huge versions of the same painting, blotches in random clumps of vibrant blue, purple, and green. If somebody switched them around I doubt even the employees could tell the difference.

Eventually I was allowed back to see Steve, who was getting his second bag of saline while hooked up to annoyingly beeping machines. A third bag was finally required, all his levels of whatever they checked returned to normal including cardiac patterns, and he was finally released. The diagnosis was heat exhaustion and dehydration. 

So-o-o-o-o... they couldn't let me give him water and get him into a cool car?

He proved he could walk up and down the hall behind a wheelchair (for balance) and we were finally allowed to leave. By then we were both glad to have the heat on in the car for a bit.

I fed him some chips in the car while we looked for some fast food place that was still open that late in rural Minnesota. The closer you get to the metro, of course, the later they stay open. It became a race to get someplace early enough to still be open because they stayed open late enough to be there for us by the time we finally got there. The magic mix was Cambridge where the McDonald's was still open. 

It had been an interesting drive that far. There was a storm over the metro, with lightning visible occasionally from as far north as we were. We knew where the weather was because our fishing companions called us from there to share the news and check on Steve. We didn't get a drop, just a very few bugs, not enough to impair visibility, and in fact not noticed until this afternoon.

The main topic of conversation on the way home was other drivers' high beams. Something like one in four still didn't seem to know how to dim them, or possibly were just plain assholes. Just ask Steve. He was free with his comments. Most of them didn't bother me, but a few exceptionally obnoxious sets took several seconds to recover from. One car flashed their brights at me from a distance, the usual signal that my brights were on. Once they'd passed me, I demonstrated for Steve what my real brights looked like to prove to him I hadn't left them on. In the process, I saw a brown blur on the road ahead and started hitting the brakes. It was exactly what I suspected, a family of deer crossing the road. The driver hadn't been being a jerk, they had been warning me of what was ahead. I came to a full stop, noticed the car behind me had stopped well back of me with their flashers on for whoever was following them, and we waited until Mom and the first fawn crossed, while the second one stubbornly refused to cross and returned to the other ditch.

In Cambridge Steve got a sandwich and I got an ice cream cone. We let the dog out once home since Paul, who didn't know he'd be dog sitting quite that late, and never answers his phone to hear what was happening, had put her back inside her kennel when he went to bed. Steve hit his chair and didn't wake up till mid morning. Back on his normal schedule, he's absolutely fine. I guess we can call it a good day despite everything, though the ice cream cone at the end had only a little to do with it.