OK - So Now I've Seen the San Juan Islands

On Thursday we took the ferry over to Lopez Island in the San Juan chain of barrier islands off the the coast of northern Washington. One of the reasons we bought the bikes was to 'bike' the San Juan Islands. Lopez is the favorite biking island because it's very rural and thus less car traffic. What they didn't mention were the HILLS. Shall we say this activity has mixed reviews. A real positive was the weather. We picked the most beautiful day we've had since we came up here, and that's saying something. The day was about 70 degrees and perfectly clear. We could see for miles, so the long range scenery was great.

We were disappointed with the on island scenery. The valley we live in (Skagit Valley) is rural Washington, and it's gorgeous. They grow everything here from tulips to potatoes. I know that because it's potato harvest season right now. It's also apple season - but everyone knows Washington grows apples. Lopez Island was a miniature of our valley - lots of farms - but it isn't flat; it's hilly. I confess that I had a lot of trouble with the hills. I walked up most of them - and that was really hard on my foot. The downhills and flat (what little of it there was) were good. I really like the new handlebars because I can control the bike with one hand. Thus, I can scratch my nose or relax a bit more while riding that I could with the mountain bike handlebars.

I still hate the handbrakes. Sigh.......... Until I get that $700 bike that has coaster handlebars, a seat with a back, gears and coaster brakes, I'll just have to live with them. We totalled up what the bikes have cost us - including the rack for the top of the car - and we have $350 invested - total. I've discovered that's the cost of one cheap bike. Our total investment includes the new handlebars, the helmets, the gloves, the cleaning stuff, and new grips as well as the bikes and the rack. Oh, and the 'step' we had to buy, so Drake can be high enough to lift the bikes to the top of the car. Not only have the bikes been a good buy, we've discovered we really like riding them - especially on the rails to trails paths. That's why the Lopez Island adventure was so disappointing - we expected to be more able to do the hills than we were - especially me.

Off topic again - back to Lopez Island. One of the good things about Lopez Island is we really liked the food. We had lunch at the Lopez Island Marina at the Galley Restaurant which serves breakfast, lunch and dinner mostly to local people. This restaurant (and most of the others I read about) pride themselves on serving local food. We had burgers made with chemical, antibiotic free grass fed local beef. The burgers were really good. We also had some Lopez Valley Creamery Ice Cream - which is the closest thing to Blue Bell I've had since I've been here. This Creamery just moved to Anacortes (an island connected to the mainland with a bridge instead of a ferry) to expand their business. I met a Mesquite, Texas woman who now owns the Lopez Island Fudge Store (where they also serve ice cream), and we talked for about 20 minutes. She loves the slow pace island living, but I think I would be bored and claustrophobic in about 2 weeks. We did learn the entire island holds a party at the end of tourist season; a celebration that they have survived the tourists for one more year. Apparently, according to the three women I visited with, August is the worst month for rude, demanding visitors. It's really amazing what people will tell you.

I loved the ferry ride. It's ironic - I hate boats. I hurt Eddie Revell's feelings when he 'boated' us to a restaurant on Grapevine Lake, and he realized I hated every second we were on the water. Somehow, ferry boats are different. I think of them more like trains - except there's more room to move around. They have really comfy seats - lots of seat configurations to choose from, and you can go outside or stay inside and walk around whenever you want. There's also food and snacks and real bathrooms. Since there are lots of islands up here, the scenery is interesting when you're on the ferry. Of course, the water was like glass when we took the ferry. I doubt I would find it so great if the sea was rough.

Overall, the bottom line is we thought the day was a bust, but we really enjoyed parts of it. I'd like to see another of the San Juan Islands (maybe Orcas), but I don't ever plan to bike around on one. It was just not fun because neither of us was in good enough shape to enjoy it.

Friday, we went back to LaConner to pick up my quilt art piece and to go to their annual International Quilt Festival. We saw 175 quilts, all of which were applique. Next year they are going to accept more types of quilts, and I think that's a good move. While each quilt we viewed was exquisite, I only saw about a dozen hand quilted while the rest were machine quilted. I just like the hand quilted look to a piece rather than machine. Both take more skill that I have. We both agreed that it's artistic vision that sets a quilt apart once you get to a certain needle skill level. Since there was absolutely no photography allowed, you'll have to make do with a picture of the art quilt piece Drake bought me for my birthday.

Oh, and on Friday we went back to the Rexville Grocery for lunch. This is a small family owned grocery that has reinvented itself. It's now a gourmet grocery store that caters to tourists, but they have a sandwich counter that uses the local farm produce and meats. Not only do tourists like us eat there, but all the farmers have lunch there - 'to go'. It was local color at its best. Sitting next to us at the counter was the Grandmother of the family that owns the store. There were two generations of women working the store the day we were there. This is the store that carries Shiner 101. We discovered that it sells fast. Go Shiner!

We're just enjoying the end of the good weather up here. Everyone is telling us that it's going to get colder and rainier as October continues. I've been piling up indoor things to do when the weather turns. However, while the weather holds, we are going to be out and about. Next week it's Octoberfest!

Finally, here's a funny story. I have discovered that even if you only have 5 x 10 feet of space for stuff, it's possible to misplace and lose things. How? Well, here's the story. We unpacked everything - it only takes a half a day. A few weeks later, I got my sewing machine out to make a jacket. Now, when we left Texas, I had very carefully packed a vintage Samsonite train case with all my sewing notions - scissors, pins, sewing machine needles, feet, my sewing machine book, snaps, and the zillion other items that you acquire over the years when you sew. I combed this apartment, and the train case simply wasn't here. I mean, how many places are there to look? We called Sarah and asked if we had inadvertently left it at her house. Nope. I was beside myself. I really couldn't start my jacket because I didn't have pins, sewing machine needles, even scissors to cut out the pieces. More importantly, I didn't have the feet that attach to the machine - especially the zigzag foot and the button hole foot. I strongly hinted that Drake MUST have either left it in the storage unit (best case scenario), or he forgot to put it in the trailer and left it on the side of the road in the last pack up. I was not a happy camper. Earlier this week, I got up one morning to a shit eating grin on Drake's face. He had 'found' my train case. When he packed it, he sort of jammed it up underneath one of the recliners - efficiently using all available packing space. When we got here, we carried this chair INSIDE THE APARTMENT without realizing that the train case was in the undercarriage of the chair. The other day while Drake was stretching, he put his hand under the chair - we have some limited space issues here - and felt 'something'. When he turned the chair over, there was my train case. At least we'll know where to look next time. This is my public and formal apology for the dark hints about inferior packing/loading that have been bandied about these past weeks.

2010 Birthday Celebrations

As all the faithful readers know, the Smith family mops up those birthdays in one week's time - the last week of September. As we are drawing to a close on the third and final birthday of the past five days, I've decided to create a list of activities enjoyed by the members of the Smith family (Jan, Drake and Sarah Lynn) this week. Here they are. You can use your imagination as to which activity was enjoyed by which birthday person. In no particular order:

1) The ballet

2) Played blackjack

3) Went to the Quilt Museum

4) Got Flowers

5) Played Bridge

6) Dinner at the Four Seasons Hotel

7) Manicure

8) Northwestern art purchases (2)

9) Joyful Entertainment........

10) Necklace purchases (2)

11) New Shirts

12) 10 Mile Bike Ride

13) Mad Men Birthday Party

14) New Dress

15) Window Shopping

16) Gourmet lunch

17) Watched baseball game(s)

18) Ate Cascade Glacier ice cream

19) Won 'best card'

20) Unexpectedly found 101 Shiner Beer

21) Rooted the Sooners on to VICTORY

22) Texas Rangers clinched the American League Western Division

23) Gourmet breakfast

24) Basked in perfect weather

25) Drank mocha frappes

In the last blog I asked each of you to tell me how old you felt internally. Here are the answers from the Smith's: Jan feels like 42. (Yes, it's a strange number, but the reason I chose that age is because that's the first year I became a teacher.) Drake feels like he's 30. (Please note that Drake chose an age prior to to becoming a parent......) Sarah feels like 22 or 23. (She qualified this to mean that she doesn't feel like a college kid anymore and identifies herself psychologically as a career person)

FYI - only one person who responded picked her psychological age as OLDER than her chronological age. A few people said they feel exactly how old they are chronologically, but everyone else pegged their psychological age as roughly 20 years or more younger than their physical age. I think it's a reminder that you're only as old as you feel.

I'm looking forward to my 60's. My 50's were no picnic, and I survived those. Since there's a time for everything and a season for everything, the 60's should be great. All I can say is so far so good. That's it for birthdays 2010 - milestones for each of us (two 60's and one 25). Thanks to everyone who 'remembered'. We loved getting all the nice messages and lovely cards.

The Oldest, the Farthest, the Muddiest, the Rainiest

Neah Bay was about as far from being a tourist trap as you can imagine. There were no restaurants, no T-shirt shops, no ice cream stores, and no shopping. It's the farthest point of the Olympic Peninsula, and the very northwestern tip (Cape Flattery) is the most northwestern point of the lower 48 states. The hike up to the point was wonderful - lots of boardwalk and trees disks to walk on. When we arrived at Cape Flattery, it was really a set of overlooks showing us sea stacks and the Pacific Ocean. There were lots and lots of birds who nest on these small rock islands out from the shore. The pictures can show this much better than I can describe it. Here's me at Cape Flattery.

The best part of the Neah Bay area was the museum - no, really, it was. The Makah Indian Tribe live on the northwestern tip of the peninsula, and have for over 1000 years. The tribal history tradition has always been oral as a lot of north American Indian history is. Their oral traditions were validated when, in the 1970's, Ozette village, (a traditional Makah townsite according to their oral tradition) which was submerged in a mud slide 500 years previously, suddenly reappeared due to a severe tropical storm that hit the coast. The tribe together with archaeologists from Washington University saved thousands of artifacts that documented the life of the Makah tribe in the 1500's. The mud preserved everything virtually intact. This discovery has revitalized this tribe in so many ways. They hired a museum designer and raised the money to have built a stunning museum facility to study and display what was found. The artifacts have spurred a re-learning of traditional woodcarving, weaving, and other crafts by tribal members many of them becoming recognized artists. Their native language is now being taught. Younger tribal members are attending colleges and universities because of this tremendous archaeological find. This was a real life study of how inspiration can transform an entire culture.

It was disappointing that they would not let us take pictures inside the museum. These people absolutely intrigued Drake, and for 3 days all he's talked about is how amazing it must have been for the first Makah who devised a method where he could go out in a canoe and kill a whale and get it back to shore. What a technological feat not to mention the food security a kill like this provided. To give the museum an amazing visual and bring this alive, the modern Makahs actually went into the forest, felled a couple of cedar trees, used the traditional methods and carved full sized replicas of the types of canoes that were used by their ancestors to fish and to kill whales. (Incidentally, it took eight men in a gigantic canoe, each one with a specific job, to kill a whale.) When the modern Makahs finished the canoes, they used the traditional methods of blessing the canoes and then took them out into the ocean just as their ancestors did! Those two canoes were what we really, really wanted to take pictures of. I would recommend this museum to anyone. The Makah still fish every day. Their marina is filled with fishing boats, and we bought fresh smoked salmon out of a garage behind a house.

I can not recommend the second hike we took - the Shi Shi Beach hike, or as I like to call it - The Mud Hole Hike. Now, hiking involves some mud, no argument. However, when the mud is deep enough to SUCK THE HIKING BOOK OFF YOUR FOOT, that's too much for me. The first mile of this hike was great - old growth forest, boardwalks, cedar tree disks to walk on, and then the mud began. We struggled over and over and over again with mud holes - think pig wallows - that stretched across the entire trail and were several feet in length. Not just a couple, not just 3 or 4 but more than 10 of these we struggled thru. Balancing on logs, looking for stones to step on. Fighting our way across each one - dodging branches, probing with our hiking sticks to see how deep the mud was, hoping it wouldn't go over our boots into our socks. Our tempers frayed, and we were both miserable and actually fighting - something we rarely do after 40+ years together. Oh, it was terrible. The icing on this muddy cake? To reach the actual beach, you had to rappel down a cliff - well, maybe not rappel, but it was way, way too steep for a clutz like me. It was just disappointing all around. The moral: Just turn back when you reach the first big mud hole. Save yourself a lot of grief.

We left Neah Bay and went onto the second stop of this trip: The Quinault Rainforest. This was one of our favorite places when we were here 12 years ago. For decades The Quinault Lodgeinside the Olympic National Park sits with the best view of the large natural Quinault Lake. The Lodge is famous for its rolling green lawn down to the lake The law is dotted with Adirondack chairs for lounging and looking over the lake. The temperate rainforest that surrounds the lake is green personified. There's every shade, every form, and it all glows in the soft light when it rains - which is quite a bit considering they receive 12 feet of rain in a normal year.

This wonderful micro climate did not disappoint this time. We got to hike it in both the sun (very unusual) and the rain - which was actually better. We stayed in our own cabin right on the lake, and watched the weather roll around us going from sun to rain, and watching banks of clouds form and hover over the mountains each day. There was even a full moon. One main difference from our previous visit is there's a new chef at Quinault Lodge, and dinner was wonderful - I had scallops (a northwestern thing) which were prepared with acorn squash, garnished with mushrooms and asparagus in a delicate sauce. Drake had salmon served on a wood cedar plank which he also pronounced delicious. This was a delectable end to a perfect day that sometimes appears when you find yourself in a special place.

I think what I really liked the most about the Olympic Peninsula was the air. It's very clean, and it's very noticeable that there's more oxygen content. It was a pleasure to breathe. The quiet and lack of noise pollution, that so many of us live in and don't even notice, was significantly calming. This was more than just a great place to relax - it was meditative. We spent a number of hours just doing nothing beyond sitting on the porch and watching the water and the clouds.

That takes me to our last top - the Tacoma Art Museum. They have a magnificent collection of Japanese wood block printings. I've been a fan of the Edo period of Japanese art since Margie, Sarah, Drake and I went to the Dallas Museum of Art several years ago to see a collection of things from this period that the Japanese government sent on tour. The wood block prints of the Tacoma museum were wonderful - so delicate, so restrained and such a glimpse inside the Japan of the 1700's. I expected to like these and I did.

What I didn't count on being blown away by were the paintings of Victoria Adams, another one of the exhibits at the museum. She's a Northwest artist who paints light. In the tradition of Bierstadt, Constable and Turner, she creates imaginary landscapes that are realistic but they are less about land and more about light and the play of light on clouds and other weather formations. It was the perfect ending to a trip which was about light - how it reflects on water (the beach and the lake), and how it is filtered by trees and vegetation (the rainforest).

This was a necessary trip for my own mental health. The beach got me relaxed, and then I got news from Tulsa. My Dad has made a remarkable recovery from his hip fracture. His ability to walk is almost back to normal. The staff is completely amazed with his progress. They are also feeling appreciated because he's being very 'sweet' to them. He obviously missed the place and the people there. This is a better outcome that I could have reasonably hoped for. My father has only two pleasures left to him: eating and being able to walk around. I am so grateful that he's going to be able to retain his ability to move around where and when he wants to. I'm also very relieved that it's obvious now that he's happy where he's living.

I'll finish up by saying that tomorrow I'm 60. WOW! I've been corresponding with some friends about how old I really feel. My interior mental image of myself is about 40. I used to feel 28 not that long ago - but too many deaths of people close to me have aged me. Think about yourself. Forget calendar age - that's a calculation. Think about how old you really are, how you feel inside yourself - it says volumes about who each of us think we are. I picked the age of 40 because most defining elements of my life had coalesced at this point. I'd love to hear from you readers on this question: How old are you?

I'm going to include a link to the pictures of this trip, so you can see for yourselves that these places are everything I've said. Oh, and scroll back up and look at that 40 year old that led off this blog! http://picasaweb.google.com/jalyss1/2010Tour8OlympicPeninsula?authkey=Gv1sRgCI_a6obn-4zligE##

Olympic Peninsula - Neah Bay

Today was a great day. I like nothing better than being at the beach. We are in Neah Bay on the far northwestern corner of the Olympic Peninsula. I'm looking out the window at the Strait of Juan de Fuca. This afternoon I beachcombed (almost my very favorite activity- well, it's one of the favorite "G" rated ones, at least), and I feel relaxed for the first time since September 2nd which was the day my Dad broke his hip. I've been in a complete funk from then until today. I came back to Washington so mentally drained that I've barely been able to function. Finally, I sense that I'm back to how I like to feel both physially and mentally, and it's all due to being able to walk on a wonderful beach, pick up stuff, and look out at the ocean.

The beach here isn't 'pretty' like the white sand beaches of Florida or endless like the brown sand beaches of Galveston. The mountains covered in verdant ferns, fir and pine trees come almost directly down to the shoreline, and in lots of spots, there are cliffs or rocks instead of beach. The shells are pretty much clam shells, but the rocks and beach glass tumble into the beaches here in abundance. Everybody knows how much I like rocks. There are birds everywhere; types of whom I've never seen before.

We had a leisurely drive over here stopping in Port Townsend (where the ferry let us off) to tour the part of town packed with Victorian architecture. Then we headed to Sequim (pronounded Skwim) where I visited a Lavender Farm - and bought lavender which has definitely calmed the car down. It's not only mellowed out, but it smells good too. We also stopped at a Native American Arts Gallery and finally bought the piece of art we've been looking for to represent our time in the Pacific Northwest. We decided some time ago that we wanted to buy Northwestern Native American art, but just hadn't seen the piece - well, at least the piece we could afford. Today we bought a wall hanging of handcarved wood of a kingfisher catching a salmon. It's in a Northwestern stylistic representation, and even better, it's Drake's birthday present.

Onto Port Angeles, the gateway city to the Olympic Peninsula where we had lunch at a local upscale cafe - the Dungeness crab cakes were delish. Then we bought and shipped Sarah's birthday gift - not telling what it is since her birthday isn't until Sunday when she will be one quarter of a century old. I'm not quite sure how that happened. Smoke and mirrors, I think. This is landmark birthday for everybody in the Smith family - Sarah is 25, but we are 60 this year. Sarah Lee (Sarah Lynn's namesake - someone I've known since I was about 12) and I were chitchatting about being 60, and we both agree that we don't feel 60. Inside I think I'm about 40. That's how I feel today anyway. I used to feel about 28 inside, but not anymore - I've internalized too much pain over the past 10 years. I think every death you have to grieve through ages you. Other things that have aged me internally are: motherhood, chronic physical pain, and looking in the mirror.

We spent the afternoon driving along one of America's newest National Scenic Byways - Washington Hwy 112 along the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Fifty miles of road snaked through lush forests, twisted around mountains, flirting all the time with dipping toward and away from the sea shore. The only slight problem is I could have used some dramamine - the twists and turns did a bit of rock and roll number on my full stomach, and if I had been so inclined, I probably could have talked myself into being carsick.

We've rented the upper story of a house right on the beach just outside of Neah Bay. It's 50 feet to get to a walk on a the beach. I can hear the ocean waves from here. Tomorrow we are going to the farthest northwest point of the lower 48 states - Cape Flattery. We're touring an archeological museum and doing a beach hike (Shi-Shi Beach in the Olympic National Park). Should be an action packed day - full of new sights. Just my kind of day. I love seeing new flora, new sights, and new people. Happy days are here again.

The Dark Side of Vagabonding

I promised myself I would write this blog when events settled down enough to collect my thoughts. For the past four months all my posts have been a combination of joyful happenings and travelogues. Today, I want to write about a major difficulty to this life style Drake and I have chosen. As most of you know, my father has severe dementia and has been residing in a dementia care center in Claremore, Oklahoma run by the Veteran's Administration. He is pitiful, but, fortunately, he doesn't know that. He's settled in the past year and a half to be a mostly happy two year old. He has no sense of time or place and hasn't recognized me for over a year. Basically, he eats and sleeps since he's no longer able to have dialogues, read books, watch TV, write, work puzzles or do any other leisure activity beyond those things that would interest a toddler.

Ten days ago he fell and broke his hip. He was transported to a major hospital in Tulsa for surgery and recuperation from that event. I had expected something of this nature to occur, but we made a conscious decision to not put our lives on hold waiting for the shoe to drop. This blog is not so much about what has happened in the past 10 days as it is about my responses and feelings about the events. I hope it will help others who read this when they wind up coping in similar situations.

I've learned some very hard lessons. Here's the first. I naively assumed that once my father arrived at the hospital that he would receive care for his injury. That was an incorrect assumption. I'm in Washington state trying to get a grip on the situation as well as finding a way to get to Tulsa where I knew I would have to be prepared to stay for quite a while. The Claremore care facility did everything correctly and very promptly. I got the call he had fallen at 9, and knew he was in the hospital by 10:30. I was told the hospital would call me when he arrived at the Emergency Room. By noon I still hadn't received a call. When I called, the response was along the vein of "Yes, he's here." I was listened to politely, but pretty much brushed off when I tried to explain his dementia and ask what was happening. Finally, I wised up and call my cousin Crystal, who works at another hospital, and told her what was happening. She immediately left work to go to the Emergency Room to discover my Dad in severe pain laying on a guerney in the hallway of the ER. He had received no attention, and more importantly no pain relief. He'd had nothing since the morphine shot in Claremore. She went into quick and angry action. From my end, I got the hospital to accept a verbal authorization to treat for both Crystal and my other cousin Travis, so they could at least get some comfort care established.

First lesson: Have someone (more than one someone is ideal) with authorization to make medical decisions in hand on the ground. Thanks to Crystal's relentless badgering, my Dad finally got a morphine shot and was moved to a holding room - naturally the hospital was full and there was no room available to be assigned. If I had just been soothed aside from afar, I guess my father would have laid in the hallway for hours. I couldn't get out of Washington and to Tulsa until Friday morning (I left at 4 am to start the trek to Tulsa during which I saw 4 airports and finally arrived at 8 pm Friday night.) I had instructed Crystal to approve surgery as soon as possible - it actually occurred while I was literally in the air.

Second lesson: Your on the ground emergency people have their own lives and jobs and responsibilities, and you can reasonably expect them to help during the immediate crisis. However, my father is not my cousins' responsibility. Be prepared to hire help until you get to wherever you need to be to assume the reins of responsibility. Fortunately, I used a nurse's aid service to be with Dad when he was trying to get adjusted to being in care. These services hire out skilled professionals to literally give one on one care to someone who is sick or hospitalized. Within 3 hours after Crystal arrived at the hospital I had used the service to hire a nurse's aid to be sitting by his bedside attending to his needs. It's expensive (think $20 a hour), but worth every dime. Consider that my father can't use a call bell to summon a nurse, doesn't realize there's anything wrong with him when he wakes up (every time), can't ask for anything to eat or drink, can't be reasoned with, and doesn't understand where he's at. Think of it this way: You wouldn't leave a toddler alone in a hospital bed with a broken bone. I even kept an aid hired while he was in surgery to sit in the waiting room, so she could immediately go to his room when he came out of recovery. She could also give me instant updates while I was traveling.

Third lesson: Hospitals are a business, and in these sorry times the way a business stays in the financial black is to fire people. The hospital my Dad is at, which has a good reputation, is running on a skeleton staff. They literally don't have a person to stay by the bedside of an incompetent person 24 hours a day. Actually, I discovered about 7 days into my Dad's hospital stay that the doctor can order a 24 hour a day sitter to be assigned. However, here's the catch: There are never enough sitters, and they are assigned on a priority basis with priority being given to suicides and the severely mentally disturbed. Dementia falls far, far down that list. Oh, and no one volunteered this service either. When Dad left the ICU, the doctor ordered a sitter which is the first I heard of it, but the sitter manager told me candidly that she couldn't guarantee one would be available. After a sitter was simply taken off my father in the middle of the evening and predictable chaos and a failure of care occurred, I simply continued to hire my own private nurse's aid/sitters round the clock. I quickly discovered after my Dad began to 'wake up' that bedside care was NOT my highest and best use.

Fourth lesson: Do not expect continuity of care. Over a ten day period, I have seen the same nurse twice. Every other day, every other shift there has been someone different. The only person who has continuity is the doctor - the internist (think primary care physician). Even the orthopedic team has faded from the picture. I did see the physician's assistant from the orthopedic group for about 4 days running, and the surgeon once.

Fifth lesson: Do not expect for your loved one's condition to be known to the care people who walk into the room. As far as I can ascertain, only the nurse assigned directly to him has any idea about what is happening. I have spent days being a door keeper and giving out the same spiel over and over again about his dementia, his inability to follow directions, his tantrums, his strength - which is much, much greater than they assume, and his inability to communicate except on the most elementary level. I've become accustomed to the blank stare which means, "When you stop talking to me, then I can get on with the task I was sent here to do - see, it's on my check-off chart." This has happened again and again and again and again. We've been in 4 different rooms (including the Emergency holding room) over 10 days. All personnel float all over the hospital (nurses, ex-ray, sonogram, blood drawers, etc.). I've pretty much never seen the same one twice.

Sixth lesson: Take control of care. Question everything and everyone. Start immediately. When my Dad is sleeping, I sent away the blood pressure/temperature check woman. Here's another more critical example: I made the mistake of going to the bathroom, and I was out of the room for a cruicial 10 minutes. When I returned, I discovered a woman with a portable sonogram machine putting that cold jelly on my Dad's legs and running her little wand up and down while he is fidgeting and complaining of the cold. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied that she was 'looking for clots'. Upon reflection, I realized how stupid that was. Like throwing a blood clot would be such a bad thing for an 86 year old man with a broken hip and severe dementia? I had no idea the test was even ordered. It's standard procedure - after all, the hospital needs to pay for that expensive portable machine, and in our litigious society - hey, I could sue if they hadn't looked for clots and my Dad died of a blood clot. That episode made me realize that I would have to be more vigilant because I should have turned her away and refused that procedure.

Seventh lesson: Take time to make decisions. I took over an hour to decide if I was going to let the ICU people put a nasal/gastric tube down my father's throat and into his stomach. There's a lot of subtle pressure for you to make an instantaneous decision when presented with a treatment option. The ICU doctor was all but tapping his foot (hurry up, hurry up - decide!) when he presented this treatment option. I won't bore you with the details. This was a medical necessity, but not something that had to done IMMEDIATELY. The insertion is not exactly a piece of cake for someone who can cooperate. I checked the internet to become familiar with exactly what an N/G tube was - they always used acronyms - don't be afraid to ask. I talked to Crystal. I formulated seven questions I wanted answered before I decided. Let me tell you, the ICU doctor didn't like any part of this routine, but you have to grow a thick skin and let their disapproval roll off you. Overall, I've found the nurses to be more helpful and better question answer people than the doctors when trying to get all the facts.

Eighth lesson: Unless an emergency situation develops, then all the procedures as well as the people you need to talk to about condition (ie doctors) all happens between 6:30 am and 3:30 pm. In 10 days I've never seen a doctor past 3:30. Between 3:30 and 11 - you get blood draw people, and that's about it. Of course, every situation is different, but I suspect that unless there are extenuating circumstances, all the action for every patient happens on the day shift. Be there. They don't wait for you, and no one will give you their numbers. I have discovered that you can ask to have a doctor paged and get a call back. Oh, and that information is NEVER volunteered. You have to ask for it, and I suspect be pretty demanding to get it.

Ninth lesson: Once you get control of the situation - well, when think you have control - then use your time to best advantage. If you can afford to have someone other than you sitting at the bedside doing bed care, then hire it done - the hired sitter/aid I talked about. This leaves you free to solve problems and interact with the treatment staff, and you can run and fetch. (This week I've gotten gowns, towels, blankets, food trays, toothbrushes/toothpaste, diapers, pads, sheets, ice water, requested medication, new IV bags, etc.) My Dad has never been alone for a minute - except for the time the hospital supposedly had him under their sitter care - and he managed to pull out a catheter and a rectal tube and spray the room with feces.

You can also use your time to anticipate the next steps of treatment. For instance, I used my time to figure out where Dad would be returning to at Claremore - his same ward, thank heavens. I called the ambulance service - oh, another tip, if you have someone who MIGHT need ambulance service, join and pay the annual membership fee. It will save you thousands of dollars. I figured out what will change in his daily living situation and made adjustments to his clothing that he will now be needing. I met with his primary care team at Claremore to understand what the rehab treatment plan would be, and to make it clear that I hoped they could get him walking again. (My father has only 2 things left to him - the ability to move around where he wants to go and eating.)

Tenth lesson: Give yourself permission to leave the hospital when it's appropriate. I quickly got into a routine of arriving at 6:45 in the morning and leaving after 4 in the afternoon. I interacted with everyone who would be making a care decision. I met every aid that sat by his bed and gave him direct care. Another thing I discovered is that while hospitals do run 24 hours a day, there is a holding pattern that they enter into after 4 pm and for every holiday and every weekend. For instance, my father could have gone back to Claremore on Friday, but there are no transports after 2 pm Friday - and I saw the doctor at 1:30 Friday. I got her to agree that my father would stay in the hospital until Monday. Good facilities don't take transports into their facilities except Mon - Fri. Care facilities also have a holding pattern on the weekends. Besides, I wanted my primary care team to all be on board when my Dad returned to Claremore.

The trick to deciding how much time to spend at the hospital is dependent upon how much guilt your mother/grandmother has managed to lay down into your DNA. Initially, I was sure that I wasn't meeting my mother's standard for how many actual hours I was staying up at the hospital. I literally had to step back and detach myself. My father has never recognized me once. I have his physical care covered every minute. I was wearing out physically and mentally from the constant stress. After 8 days of 10 hours (or more), and when he was clearly in no danger, I gave myself permission to not go up to the hospital, but to only check in by phone. That day I slept 13 hours. I had to refuse guilt, and stop comparing the job I was doing to the job I supposed that my mother would be doing in this situation. And, don't be fooled - it was hard to do.

I'm going to have to give myself permission to return to my life. I'm going to have to be prepared for all of this to occur again. Hopefully, I'll have learned from this event and be more effective the next time. I also suspect the next challenge will be fighting with the insurance company as the bills start to roll in. One of the things I have done is keep a calendar of what has happened every day. It could be six months before I start seeing bills. I realized I needed some prompt as to the events that have happened over the past 10 days when I start fighting the who I owe what battle.

Finally, I've asked for help. I've asked for physical help. I've asked for spiritual help. You don't have to go through these events alone. My friends in Tulsa have risen again and again to help me from giving me a place to stay, to dropping everything and going to the hospital, to staying in touch with me every single day I've been here. My friends not in Tulsa have sent me prayers of support and encouraging words daily. They have all made a difference. I am truly grateful and humbled by their care and encouragement. This is not the ending I want for my father. I've been praying for a massive stroke or heart attack. This event has led me to believe that he's not going to go out of this life the easy way. I have to be prepared to deal with this. At this point, the best I can say is I'm getting there. Heartfelt thanks again to every person in my life who has helped me deal with this.

Vancouver, British Columbia

We've been so occupied with everything we've found to do in the lower 48 that we hadn't even been up to Canada. However, we were determined to get up there prior to September 6th because of an art exhibit from the Orsay Museum in Paris. The Orsay is known as the Impressionist museum because that's where the bulk of those artists' paintings are shown. We are talking Renoir, Degas, Manet, etc. The exhibit featured one hundred plus drawings and watercolors. The focus was the changing role of women from 1850 - 1900 as seen through the eyes of the European artists of that time. I had never realized before what a case could be made that this era was the beginnings of the role of women changing to take up a more significant and equal role in Western culture. Considering the seeds of female political revolution were sown in the United States in 1848, I shouldn't have been that surprised. (For you non-historians - I'm referring to the Seneca Falls Convention called by Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott in 1848 to address the injustices toward women. Stanton wrote the "Declaration of Sentiments" based on the Declaration of Independence in which she cataloged 18 points of inequality and injustice toward women - the 9th of which was their inability to vote. To anyone reading this who has a daughter - this is HER history in this country.) I digress, as usual. Let's go back to the art exhibition.

The Impressionists moved away from traditional art and forms of art not only in application of paint and choices of color, but also in choices of subject. Prior to 1850, affluent women were treated worse than children - their property and even their person were considered owned by first their fathers and then their husbands. This was justified by the myth that women were weak not only in the body, but also in the head - no brains, you know and hysterical to boot. Too delicate to cope with life - must be protected from reality at all costs. Art portrayed women in formal portraiture in formal dress as companion pieces to their husband's formal portrait. The Impressionists, because they chose to paint outside the art schools of the time with their restricted subjects already chosen for the artists, turned to their wives, sweethearts, and to women who would be willing to pose for money. This allowed them to pick their own subjects and their own poses and follow their own ideas of what art should show.

Being men, they decided to paint nude women. Isn't that a big surprise? Actually, women have always been painted - both in the nude and clothed - but prior to 1850 if the women were not in formal realistic portraits, then they were idealized as either Madonna's, biblical figures, or as goddesses from Greek and Roman myths. The Impressionists turned this totally upside down and showed women doing shocking things like bathing or combing their hair!!!!!! This was scandalous at best and lewd at worst. These cherished, protected doll like figurines (women of the time) didn't have bodily needs and functions. Horror - talk about take away the romance. Doesn't this put Manet' famous picture of The Picnic (1863) in more understandable terms? He's making several statements about art as well as the role of women in society - she's nude and vulnerable while her male companions are clothed (as in rights and protections of the law - while she has none). Incidentally, what is now considered one of the greatest paintings in Western civilization was uniformly lambasted by the critics of the day.

The Impressionists and post-Impressionists extended the artistic subject matter of how women should be painted to include women who actually worked for a living. Since in the 19th century (and a lot of the 20th century) the number of professions and jobs open to women was quite slim, is it any wonder that we see prostitutes, actresses, and servers such as waitresses and laundresses appearing in paintings - think Toulouse-Latrec.

Another great part of this exhibit was they had two early moving pictures of Paris - taken around 1900. One is at the base of the Eiffel Tower, and you can actually see ONE horseless carriage. Even in 1900 the small number of women actually walking around in the streets is noticeable. The other film is simply young women who are factory workers leaving their factory. Drake and I were both struck at the formality of the dress of women who were sweating for a living. They all had long hair (of course), dresses to the ankle, corsets, formal hats, and multiple piece clothing. That leads me to the other part of the exhibition which was fascinating. They exhibited three actual dresses - one each from the 1860's, 1870's and 1880's. It was a visual to demonstrate how much more freedom women had obtained in that 30 year period as evidenced by lessening of restrictive clothing. (Of course, to my 20th/21st century eye, the 1880's dress looked pretty uncomfortable and restrictive, but not even close to the hoop skirts of the 1860's.)

I was much more moved by this exhibit than Drake was. It struck me forcefully how hard fought our struggle has been to be considered equal not only in the eyes of the law but also in those unwritten rules of society that govern all our lives. I think the women's equality is only the crust on the pie that is our society, and can easily crumble without our constant vigilance. I think the whole concept of women with equal legal, and economic status in society is way too new to be taken for granted. Consider this: More than half the planet is still mired in ideas about women and their places in society that are stuck not in the 19th century, but the 10th century.

Vancouver is a magnificent city. There's just one quirk which cost us hours and hours of frustration and wasted time. This is a populated area of 2 million people. There are NO freeways. In the 1960's the city fathers decided they neither wanted nor needed that type of development, and simply didn't build any. On the plus side, you have very distinct neighborhoods reminiscent of what New York City or Boston must have been like prior to the advent of criss-crossing freeways thru those cities. On the negative side, if you use those new-fangled horseless carriages to get around, it's gridlock. It took us 2.5 hours to drive from downtown to the outskirts of Vancouver traveling at about 10 mph. Imagine driving from Hurst, Texas to Rowlett, Texas on city streets choked with bumper to bumper cars - without let-up. Oh, it ruined the trip to this alluring city. Knowing what I know now, I would never, ever drive a car into Vancouver for any reason. If we return, and the experience was so bad, that's a toss-up, we will park at the fartherest southern terminal of the Sky Train (think commuter mono-rail in the sky) and ride into town on the train. I'm sure their transit system works really well - if you know where you're going. However, for the out of town visitor, this transportation system is a closed box. I always read up before I go anywhere, and I wasn't given a whisper of what to expect or how to circumvent the gridlock.

On a personal note - I finally got back on the bike - still bruised and sore. We found a great trail around the county's regional airport, and we rode 10 miles yesterday. Next sightseeing trip is Mount Rainier. We leave for 4 days there on Monday (Labor Day) thinking we could avoid some of the crowds since school is almost ready to start. (Burlington starts back on Sept. 8th.) Washington is still pretty rural when you escape Seattle and Spokane, and the good weather is from mid June onward. Hay is being harvested in August - no time for school then. We come home for the weekend after the Rainier trip to go to the Dahlia Show in Bellingham (15,000 blooms - can't wait!), regroup and do laundry. Then, the second week of September we are going to the Olympic peninsula - specifically Neah Bay (almost at the most northwesterly tip), and the Hoh Rainforest. There will be lots of pix from those blogs. So, if you suffered through this addition of the blog, you'll enjoy the next few more.

Finally, I stumbled onto a lady's dahlia garden of about a half acre that's just blocks from our apartment. She sells cut dahlia's (5 for $1.00!), and I bought some. Now, I have fresh flowers in the house for a pittance. My favorite one is called "Santa Claus" - it's Christmas red and white stripes. It looks good enough to eat.

Big? I'm Talking BIG HORSES!

We made a trip up to Lynden (the Dutch town) where the Northwest Fair is held every year. This fair was really like attending a Tulsa State Fair with two major exceptions: The Draft Horse Show and Open Driving Competition and the Alpaca Packing Competition. The inlaid wood picture sums up 19th century Lynden. Now days, modern farming doesn't include using draft horses for any significant farm work, so they have morphed into show animals. Imagine scouring the countryside for vintage wagons, and reconditioning and refurbishing them (to the tune of about $50,000), add 3 pairs of perfectly matched draft horses (price tag - an additional $20,000) (Clydesdales being the most famous thanks to Anheuser Busch) tricked out in silver and black jingling harnesses ($5000 more) pulling these refurbished wagons. The judging takes place on the show level. (A winner is the team of horses who are best matched, best sized, best synced when trotting, and cutest - each horse is curried and braided and decorated - all the same). Multiply this picture by 8 teams, and it was darn impressive. Then just to make it more fun, there is the "Free Drive" - 8 teams weaving in and out of one another as they free drive all together around the arena for about 15 minutes. I'd never seen anything like it, and apparently you won't see anything like it anywhere else - all the horses were LOCAL. I have no idea what you would compare this to. It was a demonstration of skill and camaraderie. I videoed this, and I'm trying to figure out how to send it out, so you can catch the flavor is this.

The other really fun event was the Alpaca Packing Competition. You take your curious, gentle, intelligent alpaca (the 3 top personality characteristics of this animal), add one 11 year old, and a cheezy obstacle course which includes 2 parallel sticks laying on the ground, a kiddy swimming pool, some fir branches piled on the ground, and a portable steps/ramp set up. Oh, and a set of side/side saddlebags that you pluck out of a kid's pup tent and load with rubber chickens. You lead your alpaca onto the course (not that easy) - then 'hitch' them to a car end and put on the pack holder. We first got the difficulty drift here when it became obvious that no respectable alpaca is going to stand still and have a pack holder put on them - it's kind of like saddling a horse. One poor girl never got her alpaca to cooperate at all. Now that you have the harness on - you lead the alpaca to the pup tent and put on the dual saddlebags and stuff them with rubber chickens. This was actually the easiest part. Finally, you lead the alpaca thru the obstacle course - having him walk between sticks, wade thru the kiddy pool (one competitor actually waded thru the pool himself, and he was the only one to persuade his alpaca to get its feet wet), walk over branches and climb either the steps or the ramp. Alpacas will walk over stuff pretty cooperatively, but they do not like to climb steps or wade thru water. Overall, this was very entertaining since it was very low key, and everyone was just having a lot of fun.

This was a fun fair, but it was much more commercial than our little county fair, the food was not as good - but we did get to support local charities with our lunch purchase. ON the plus side - those BIG HORSES were really, really something.

The other part of this tour is the old growth forest/glacial creek hike we took this week. This was in the Northern Cascades, and it was a wimp hike we got from "Hiking Western Washington with Kids" - my bible for hikes. Kid hikes are just about my speed. You can do some terrifying hikes here where you gain thousands of feet in elevation, ford streams, and hoist yourself over large boulders. This is not considered 'climbing' - this is considered hiking. So, the wimp hike we took was really, really gorgeous and you didn't have an opportunity to break your leg or die. I finally got my tootsies into the water here. OH GOOD HEAVENS. How did those miners or beaver hunters ever, ever stand in this water looking for gold or killing beaver? It was exactly like plunging your feet into a bucket of ice cubes. This was not like when it's cold when you first get into a pool, but then it feels great after you've been in for a few minutes. It was unrelenting, bone chilling, hurts horribly cold. I couldn't stand 2 minutes. Brrrrrrrrr.

Finally, the other interesting thing is I fell off my bike today. Well, perhaps not interesting, but novel. The last time I fell off a bike I was 10 years old and spun out on a patch of gravel at the bottom of my street which was a great gradual hill. That time I tore myself up really bad - both knees, both forearms - I still have the faded scars. This time I took a corner too fast, wasn't coordinated enough to squeeze the hand brakes to slow myself down, BUT I did miss the tree. I wound up hitting on my bad knee (left side, of course) and my forearm. Good news is my clothes protected both my knee and arm. I burned the skin off the front of my knee, but missed landing directly on either my knee joint or my elbow joint. I didn't tear either my jacket or my yoga pants. I'm going to be pretty bruised up, and I'm a little sore, but I consider myself fortunate not to be hurt worse. I also terrified Drake, and some nice lady who came out of her house and offered to let me come into her house to recover - I was laying on the street at this point rocking back and forth, holding my knee and trying not to cry. Hey, IT HURT. We're off to Vancouver tomorrow, so we can't let these little episodes set us back. In hindsight, I'm glad I was wearing my helmet. If I had hit my head on the pavement (easily could have), this would have been a hospital emergency room visit. On the plus side - doesn't it sound cool to say, "I fell off my bike." WOW - I sound like I'm 25.

Here are the pix of all these events except the bike accident - I didn't think to have Drake snap my picture while I was laying on the ground.

http://picasaweb.google.com/jalyss1/2010Tour7ForestHikeNorthwestFair?authkey=Gv1sRgCLG2187O5qqm0gE#