My second trombone gone to auction

I knew what was happening, but it was still a shock to see my personal items on an auction site so we could move. I need to remind myself they are just things. It wasn't even my original trombone--that had been sold in 1967 when we moved from Champaign to Columbus. I think Bob surprised me with this one on my 50th birthday, which means I had it a lot longer than the one I played in high school band. Some lucky kid will get to use it for learning and practice before she moves up to a good one. I did try it a few years ago at in a summer class at Lakeside. I couldn't even play Twinkle twinkle little star, as I recall. Collecting My Thoughts: Trombone review I rechecked my blog and see that in January 2019 I made a New Year's resolution to play it and then crossed it off the list.

Memories from 1957--Grandma's fall

 Repacking my genealogy files today, I found a 1957 letter from Leslie, my mother's brother, describing an incident I'd heard about from Mom--my grandmother's fall after I'd left for college.  The envelop has a 3 cent stamp, no zip code, and no street address for Mrs. Elbert Trent. 

Franklin Grove, Ill   Sept. 14, 1957

Dear Cousin:

Your letter was much appreciated informing us of the passing of Martha Klein, which we received on Tuesday before the funeral.  Mother & Father were planning to drive out to the funeral Wednesday morning. In the excitement of making plans, Mother fell down the porch steps on to the cement sidewalk.  She suffered a broken nose, which necessitated a cast, and various other sprains & bruises.  Of course, she spent a few days in the hospital and could not attend the funeral. She has recovered almost entirely now except for a general overall weakness which the doctor describes as "after effects."

Martha Klein's partner Addie was in sick bed when Mother last visited them some months back.  She wishes to send her sympathy to relatives & friends who cared for illness & final arrangements for Martha & Addie.

Martha seemed to be quite well at that time of their last visit, so it was of considerable shock to hear of her death.

She had hoped to see Marian (Marianne Michael?) while she was in this country but it did not seem to work out.  We are glad to hear of your son Norman, and his being set up in practice so near by in Mason City.  We are sorry to hear of your son Dee, having a painful accident.

As for me, I can remember rather faintly of stopping at your place about 1919 or 1920.  I have spent the last 31 years with the Bell Telephone Co--in, and also near Chicago at present.

Sincerely

Leslie . . . 

Written for Mary & Charles . . . 

----------------------------------------

As for me, Norma Bruce, the Trent name didn't come to mind as a relative, but it is addressed to "Dear Cousin." All my other genealogy resources are not unpacked, so I can't check the relationships. I know that Marianne Michael's mother who was widowed later married a Trent, and my mother called Helen Trent a cousin so possibly that will connect somewhere. Marianne, Norman and Dee were siblings.  Marianne was a missionary in Nigeria which would account for being "in this country."  It was from Helen Trent my mother learned a lot of "lost" family stories.

Blueberry pie tip

Another cooking tip. I'd forgotten this one. My children were adults, but I still wrote an occasional "Bruce Times" to catch them up on what we were doing. This edition was all about our Lakeside vacation programs in August, and my retirement plans for October 2000. This pie tip was in the P.S.

"P.S. This week I also learned not to mix blueberries with sugarless vanilla pudding to make a pie--it turns olive green, sort of the color of split pea soup then fades to gray."

The Chef-o-Nette

We took a step back in time today. The little restaurant near our former home on Abington Rd. has reopened (closed for over a year with new owners). It opened in 1955, was refurbished in the 70s, and that's about the decor today. We went there for lunch after church. Some of the old favorites are on the menu, except the sandwiches which used to be $1.50 are now $11.95, and they don't have their fabulous tapioca. I had the "Hangover," which is/was their signature sandwich. Hamburger with slice of ham, and cheese, lettuce, tomato and onion. Bob had a big waffle.  Breakfast is all day, but they close at 2:30 p.m. We moved here in June 1967 to an apartment on Farleigh Rd. and after the movers left, we cut through an alley and found a shopping center with a little luncheonette. We had our first meal there. Phil and I had our last meal together there the last week of September 2019 for my birthday and he was diagnosed on October 1, 2019, with terminal cancer.

Memories of remodeling

 
I've enjoyed the Facebook photos of Keith Fernandes, a friend of our children, spending his vacation remodeling his bathroom. The work clothes and the exhausted look brought back the memories of our first home in Champaign, IL. Sometimes I say "we" remodeled it, however I don't saw, hammer, plumb or sweat because I watched my mother do that and swore I'd never do it. Bob did it all. One night (1962) there was a trip to the ER because something fell on his head. Then there was a truck borrowed from a construction site to haul away debris thrown out a 2nd floor window and the ex-con he hired to help with the heavy wall board and studs. Bob made the mistake of paying him in cash the first day and he didn't come back the second day. This was all done to make it into a working duplex. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs. It is the only way to make money buying a house--rent it to someone else. When we bought a second house in a nicer area of town we rented out both units and that paid the mortgages on both houses. Years later after we'd sold it on land contract and moved to Columbus, a bank error was found and we were returned some money.

Keeping in touch with the class of 1957

 I was talking to my brother in Illinois the other day while sitting in our driveway soaking up the beautiful weather. One of the advantages of our high-tech communication--cell phones. He mentioned that he and a few of his class members of 1959 had gathered recently--maybe 10 of them.  A few women from my high school class (1957) also met the week before for coffee.  An e-mail had gone out discussing some 1950s memories of the "campus" in our hometown.  It wasn't our high school campus, but the old college campus that our parents attended until it closed a year after a disastrous fire in 1930. It's still called the "campus."  One memory popped up of one of our more unusual classmates, Neal Johnston, who marched to a different drummer, and died in 2010. Here's his obituary from my class blog. MMHS1957: Neal Johnston, class member, dies May 24

My parents met on a "blind" date, but my Dad did change his school plans after that so he could attend Mt. Morris College after he and Mom met.  Today is her birthday.

Happy Birthday, Dad

Happy Birthday to my dad--he would be 112 today, died in 2002. I don't have a lot of mushy, gushy remembrances like some of my FBF or blogging friends, but I do laugh at some of the stories I remember. He was really sappy with the grandchildren, but with his own kids--well, there was that thing called the Great Depression and WWII and trying to get his life back on track, and put all that behind him. My favorite story is the day he went to the court house to get his birth record for Social Security and was told he was registered as "baby boy." (I've seen the ledger book in calligraphic handwriting of 1913.) When asked could anyone vouch for his identity, he said, "Yes, my mother and father." We all got a good laugh, but Grandma sure wasn't happy about it. She'd had his name picked out a long time, and the doctor just forgot to register it (born at home).

Indiana trip April 27

We had a wonderful visit with our Indiana family Saturday, good weather for travel, and lots of laughs, and there were about 16 of us. One nephew has 5 children, so that upped the count a little. I took along a lot of Mother's Day cards hoping they can be distributed--I know they'll all show up at the home of my sister-in-laws. We were all exhausted when we got back -- it's about 6 hours on the road for a short visit, but we all had fun.

                                                             Bob and me with his sister

Chef-o-Nette is closing

We heard some bad news Monday night. The Chef-o-Nette in Upper Arlington is closing! This week! When we moved here in June 1967 we rented an apartment on Farleigh Road. We cut through someone's yard to the little Tremont shopping center and found a restaurant. We lived in that neighborhood for 35 years. I couldn't count the times we've eaten there, or just popped in for the tapioca. I'm not sure but I think the last time I ate there was with Phil in September 2019 for my birthday 2 days before he was diagnosed with glioblastoma and our lives changed forever. I probably had a "Hang-over with fries." When he was in pre-school we'd go there for a snack then wait for Phoebe to get out of Tremont School across the street. I wrote about the Chef in this blog in 2010 and 2006.

Collecting My Thoughts: Chef-O-Nette in Tremont Center

Collecting My Thoughts

Collecting My Thoughts

 

Antiques Roadshow, pt. 3, the dictionary

The Antiques Roadshow appraisal at our house today is my Merriam-Webster New International Dictionary of the English Language 2nd edition Unabridged. At least that's what I told my husband at dinner, but I was wrong. The word Merriam isn't in the title but is in the publisher's name. And until I looked at it carefully, I had several things incorrect. I'd assumed it was copyright 1948, but it is 1934. It has an updated "New Word" section which is 1939 and 1945, but 1948 is on the title page. That section (from the 40s) is truly fascinating. You can still purchase Mr. Webster's 1828 edition and it's interesting because it reflects a Judeo-Christian culture. The 1934 2nd edition unabridged was last printed about 1960 and the copyright doesn't end for a few years. But the 3rd edition is available.

This particular antique was a Christmas gift to my parents perhaps in 1949 or 1950 from my grandparents. My aunt and uncle probably were given one too. My parents had a special stand for it which someone else in the family might have. The volume is massive, so a stand that fits would be helpful. It sits on our dining room buffet. After my father died in 2002 it became mine. I use it frequently. 

Here's how language and dictionaries change with the culture.

 
Marriage (1828 Webster's dictionary): "MAR'RIAGE, noun [Latin mas, maris.] The act of uniting a man and woman for life; wedlock; the legal union of a man and woman for life. marriage is a contract both civil and religious, by which the parties engage to live together in mutual affection and fidelity, till death shall separate them. marriage was instituted by God himself for the purpose of preventing the promiscuous intercourse of the sexes, for promoting domestic felicity, and for securing the maintenance and education of children."

 
The color plates and illustrations are as good as the day 10 year old Norma first looked at it. The print does seem to have grown smaller! There are 600 special topics with little bios about the editors and there were special assistant editors checking their work!

Antiques Roadshow, pt. 2, the dishes

Today's Antique Roadshow at our house is the dinner table set with hand painted Blue Ridge China (Mountain Ivy pattern) from the Southern Potteries company (1916-1957) Erwin, TN. I bought these from the Lakeside Archives shop in 2020. The pottery in Erwin which at one time was the biggest in the USA closed almost 70 years ago because of foreign competition after WWII. There are avid collectors and they have a show which this year is October 3-5 which coincides with an apple festival. Dinner was broccoli soup, grilled salmon, green beans with onions, fresh pineapple with red grapes, sour dough toast, and lemon cookies. I have a fairly full set, so I had enough pieces.

My own Antiques Road Show, pt. 1

Addictions start small. At first, I hardly noticed. One day I flipped on Roku (streaming service) to watch something while riding the exercycle and I came across reruns of PBS Antiques Roadshow, something I rarely watch. Now I watch several hours a day. I think the oldest show I've seen was 1998. I most enjoyed the 2019 Sarasota show at the Ringling mansion because we'd been there with Bob and Jeanne Poisal. I've seen a lot of changes in fashion, hair color of the appraisers (they are volunteers and not paid), and some ridiculous values, but they go up and down. Gen-X and Millennials don't care about Civil War flags or Grandma's pottery. But a Hot Wheels prototype can go for $100,000.

 
So, for Sunday dinner today I served up a box of watches and miscellaneous I found in my scarf drawer and asked Bob to identify. We think we know where the pocket watches came from but we're scratching our heads about the WWII compass. We're also pondering a set of cuff links with Phil's initials that was in the box. I'm checking with his ex-wife on that one, and the groom for whom he was the best man.

Jim Minnick obituary

Leroy James "Jim" Minnick, beloved lifelong partner and best friend to Mary Brown passed away peacefully on Thursday February 8th, 2024, at the age of 68. Jim was known to family and friends for his kindness, leaving behind a legacy of love and cherished memories.

Born in Glendale, California on December 25, 1955. Jim grew up in South Carolina. He was a son of Evelyn Mae Corbett-Morris and Ershel Leroy Minnick. Jim's journey was intertwined with that of his lifelong partner, Mary Brown. Their love story was one of unwavering devotion and companionship, spanning 3 decades. Together, they built a life filled with laughter, love, and countless shared adventures. Their bond was a testament to the enduring power of love and commitment.

His dedication, work ethic, and integrity earned him the respect of co-workers at Quebecor where he was employed for 22 years. Jim will be remembered for his generous spirit and compassionate heart. He was always ready with a helping hand or a listening ear, offering support and encouragement to all who crossed his path. His kindness knew no bounds, and his impact on the lives of others was immeasurable. In his free time, Jim enjoyed coin collecting, metal detecting and loved to watch sports. He found solace and joy in the simple pleasures of life.

Jim is survived by his loving lifelong partner Mary Brown, siblings, Gery Martin (Ava), Jodie Louise Strickland and a very special great aunt, Norma (Bob) Bruce [correction, first cousin once removed]. He also leaves behind Nieces: Julie Jenneman (Steven) and Kristy Smith (Carl), Nephews: John, Steve (Leslie), and David Minnick and several great nieces and nephews.

He is preceded in death by his parents Evelyn Mae Corbett-Morris and Ershel Leroy Minnick. [siblings] Lorrie Passailaigue, Lawrence James Minnick (Linda), Lonnie John Minnick, Julian Byron Carter, Barbara Jean and Gloria Kay and their beloved dog Eli.

He also leaves behind a host of relatives, friends, and colleagues who will forever cherish his memory.

Though Jim's physical presence may be gone, his spirit will live on in the hearts of all who knew and loved him. His legacy of love, kindness, and integrity will continue to inspire and uplift us in the days ahead.

A celebration of Jim's life will be announced at a later date.

Rest in peace, Jim. You will be deeply missed and fondly remembered, always.

https://www.westmorelandfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Leroy-James-Minnick?obId=30693463

From shoes to uncles

There's an editorial in WSJ today from a woman who had been told by her doctors she had to give up high heels. There's a pay wall, but I know she finally opted for good health rather than be crippled. I was never a shoe fanatic, but I did wear high heels, probably 3" in high school and college, then 2" in my 40's, then sort of wedgies, and now flat Mary Jane's. After I retired in 2000 at 60 I was always well dressed when I went out in public--like to the coffee shop, grocery store or various club meetings. Until about 2010, I always wore high heels with my slacks. After exercise class I would go home and change clothes rather than appear in the grocery store in my athletic clothes. Somewhere after 70 I decided that was probably wasted energy. These memories are included in the blog I wrote in 2015 about "What I used to do and don't anymore." If I hadn't written it, I might not remember I ever wore high heels.

My grandmother Weybright held out as long as she could. Born in 1876 she was still wearing sensible high heels and a nice dress when I would drive her to cattle sales or the state fair (she managed her farms) in the late 1950s. Women were stronger and smarter in those days. I think she also wore a hat in public.

In the photo below (1949) my grandmother is in the back on the right and I can see she's wearing heels with a strap; her sister-in-law, Alice Jay, who was older is seated on the left and is also wearing heels. It was a terribly hot sticky day, and I was very uncomfortable as I can see from the look on my face.

  

The person taking the photo was my uncle, J. Edwin Jay, the retired president of Wilmington College in Ohio. I decided to check the internet, and found that a younger faculty member had decided to publish in 2015 Jay's story of his years at Wilmington on the internet from a typed manuscript he found in the library. So I looked up Prof. McNelis who had retired, and sorry to say he died about 6 months ago, so I can't thank him for that nice gesture. Uncle Edwin and I corresponded for years, and I made a special trip to see him before he died in Detroit in 1963. And we know all this because some journalist has given up her painful shoes.

James I. McNelis, III, Ph.D. (teachingtolkien.org)

James McNelis Obituary (2023) - Eureka, CA - Times-Standard (legacy.com)

History and Tradition - Wilmington College (Wilmington, Ohio)

Here's What "Trendy" Shoes Looked Like In Every Decade Of The 20th Century (ranker.com)

Inflation 1973-2023 in my recipe box

Today I was looking through my recipe box (sort of a historical archive now since I rarely bake) for something cobbler like/lite and found a recipe for cheesecake that serves 12 by my cousin Judy who lives in Winnebago, IL and grew up in Byron. It was dated August, 1973, so I have no idea why we were exchanging recipes. Our big family reunion was 20 years later and for that she contributed some from her mother, Aunt Gladys (d. 1976). Anyway, I'm not going to make a cheesecake, but on the back of the card I noted the prices. Things have changed a bit in 50 years. Pie filling (for topping) .59; Dream Whip .26; graham crackers .23; cream cheese .55. It seems I didn't count the sugar, eggs, and butter because I probably had that on hand (called homemaker math). It's in my handwriting, so I probably copied it to fit in this tiny box for 3 x 5 cards.

Some on FB are old enough to remember the nightmare of stagflation of the 1970s--high inflation, high unemployment, and low growth. In 1973 the average rate of inflation for food prices was over 13%. In August 1973 when I noted the prices, the food inflation rate was 18.2%! That may be why I noted the costs on the card. Compare that to 2023 food prices which was 5.8% for the year. The killer rate we all remember (and blame Biden for) was about 10% for 2022. I blame this primarily on the lockdown which really messed up all levels of the economy as well as health.

Data are from https://www.usinflationcalculator.com/inflation/food-inflation-in-the-united-states/? 

Bone health and falls

 I don't think a lot about fractures or bone health--until--a friend falls after stepping on a stone or sidewalk irregularity, or my friend Cindy fractures her thigh after taking the same med I do for osteoporosis, or Karen a woman I met at the gym fractures her foot playing pickleball, or Jim's wife falls over the leaf blower in their garage, or I fall in the shower.

That last fall happened a week ago, Christmas Eve morning.  I fell in the shower.  It wasn't the usual slip on the soap or not having a grab bar.  I had the brilliant idea that in order to protect the paint on the bathroom walls when I use hair spray, I'd spray my hair inside the shower stall where it could be washed off.  So, I was completely dressed, except for shoes--I was wearing light slippers.  My hair (which is thinning) was just the way I wanted it. I picked up the container and stepped inside the shower, which was still damp. It was a little awkward, but I could see the mirror and sprayed my hair.  Then as I stepped out--holding on to the door and the other hand on the opening with 2 fingers while holding the spray--the slipper stuck briefly on the floor of the shower.  That was enough for me to lose my balance and I went down. As I knelt there with my right knee on the slightly raised marble frame and the other pressed against the glass, I had to struggle to get up. My legs are weak but my arms are fairly strong--even so it was a long haul to get upright. A few bruises, but no sprains or fractures.  Whew!

Four other bad falls come to mind.  In the 1990s (I was in my 50s) I was walking briskly down the hall in the old Sisson building of the Veterinary College at Ohio State where I was the librarian. I didn't know that one of the labs on the second floor had a leaking faucet, and water had run under the door and into the hall.  The halls were not well lit, and as I hit that water (in those days I wore high heels to work), my legs flew out and I went splat landing on my back with one leg forward and one back.  It knocked the breath out of me, momentarily paralyzing me. The halls were empty--nothing to use to pull myself up and no one to help--so I just waited to catch my breath and then gradually using the walls for support and grabbing the doorknob to the lab stood up. Nothing broken, but I was so sore I could hardly move.  I recall looking into filing for Worker's Comp, but it was way too complicated, and I never followed through.

Then after I retired and we were spending the summers at our lake house on Lake Erie, I fell down the last four stairs in the basement carrying a laundry basket--probably in 2007.  I seem to remember the date because I wore the bruises to a class reunion. I was alone in the house (the last time I ever went to the basement without someone in the house). Again, nothing broken.  I crawled up the stairs, and into one of the bedrooms to lie down.  I eased off my shoes and my jeans.  I had bruises from knees to toes, and the shoestrings of my athletic shoes had left bruise marks on my feet in a crisscross pattern.

Also at Lakeside was my last bicycle ride when I was 70.  I was leaving a morning meeting at the hotel on Third Street, Fountain Inn, got on my bicycle (a no-speed from 1968), wobbled a bit, and fell--into a stop sign at Third and Maple, about 15 ft from where I got on it! The stop sign made a loud noise as I hit it--Boing, Boing. And people came running from their cottages to help the old lady on the ground. I lived just two blocks so someone (don't remember who) walked me home, wheeling the bike which I never rode again.

But the worst fall of my life wasn't actually my fall, but when my horse fell on me! It was probably 1952 so I was 12 years old, and had owned the horse only a few days. The bit was too tight (I figured out later) and the horse kept backing up, then started to rear, I began to slip off the back, but the horse lost his footing and fell--on top of me.  That REALLY hurt. The horse strolled away, and my mom came running out of the house. Nothing was broken, and I lay around for a few days, and today each time I get a back spasm I blame my horse.

Falls in the elderly statistics by CDC are all over the place and don't make a lot of sense.  Illinois elderly seem to be less likely to fall than Ohioans.  Whites more than minorities, women more than men, but the death rate for men is higher than for women. Of course, the statistics don't reflect the falls that are never reported--like mine--because I didn't get medical help.  Even so, 14,000,000 for people over 65 is nothing to be sneezed at.  The age adjusted fall death rated increased by 41% from 55.3 per 100,000 older adults in 2012 to 78.0 per 100,000 older adults in 2021. I personally attribute that to the fitness craze--people are taking more chances and think they are 40 instead of 80.

Ladders are really dangerous. According to the CDC each year in the U.S., more than 500,000 people are treated and about 300 people die from ladder-related injuries. The estimated annual cost of ladder injuries in the U.S. is $24 billion, including work loss, medical, legal, liability, and pain and suffering expenses.

It’s National Ladder Safety Month | Blogs | CDC

Nonfatal and Fatal Falls Among Adults Aged ≥65 Years — United States, 2020–2021 | MMWR (cdc.gov)

Hip Fracture Overview - StatPearls - NCBI Bookshelf (nih.gov)

Falls and Fall Prevention in Older Adults - StatPearls - NCBI Bookshelf (nih.gov)

The risk of falls among the aging population: A systematic review and meta-analysis - PMC (nih.gov)

Lifestyle Approaches to Promote Bone Health - Bone Health and Osteoporosis - NCBI Bookshelf (nih.gov)

Nutritional Supplements and Skeletal Health - PubMed (nih.gov)

Vitamin K as a Powerful Micronutrient in Aging and Age-Related Diseases: Pros and Cons from Clinical Studies - PMC (nih.gov)

Christmas Eve dinner

I was setting the table for Christmas Eve dinner using the hand painted gingerbread boy plates and thought the silver looked really dark, so I flipped to my blog for my silver cleaner recipe, which I'd forgotten (only 2 ingredients). I came across this blog from 2010 written at the Lake.

"At our summer home on Lake Erie in Lakeside, Ohio, we wash and dry the dishes together. At home we have a dishwasher. This is such a pleasant, companionable task we often say we'll do it in Columbus, but we never do. And as he washes, and I dry, my husband says the same thing every evening, "How can two people create all these dirty dishes and silverware?" So, I go through it piece by piece--this fork was used for cat food, this spoon was for the Cool Whip, this spoon served the main dish, this one the vegetables. It's like talking to a toddler who asks "why," you explain, and he then says, "but why?" "

Our menu tonight:

bratwurst

potato salad

cauliflower soup

corn, frozen fresh in summer 2023

fresh fruit--green grapes, cantaloupe, blueberries, strawberries

Time travel with memories

We've both been trying to remember the name of an electrician from Cleveland who was on Bob's Haiti team and was a friend on Facebook (until he blocked me because he was a Democrat).  But so far, we have not come up with a name.  But we will.  Long after we need it.

A few weeks ago, it came to me that I was forgetting a lot of names, faces and events (duh!), and I should write down a list of all the names of the people I remembered. What a dumb idea, I thought, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. I kept seeing a list in categories.  Forreston, Mt. Morris, church, Lakeside, college days, So, I finally started one in word processing, although at first, I was going to hand write it. I decided if I did it in the word processor, I could alphabetize, and use the "find" feature if I didn't remember where a name was. It's now up to about 12-13 pages. 

 I do have some printed church directories, our school annuals, our Lakeside property owners' directory, some club directories, etc. to use as guides. I also have the Mt. Morris Past and Present, and the Mt. Morris War Record. If there are photos, I look at them, and try to remember if or when I've ever really "known" the person. It's been interesting. I can remember many faces of the class of '52, but not '58 or '59. Some people I still know on Facebook like Dick Butler or Jim Isenhart. Then I have a little symbol next to the name if they have died and put in the death date if I know it. I remember a lot of the parents of friends, like Nancy's, and Lynne's, and Sylvia's. So, I'm adding those names too. I remember the people on our block on Hitt St. in Mt. Morris from when I was 4 or 5, because I use to walk into their houses and talk to them! For some I have to find sources for first names because they were, "Mrs. Aufterbeck" or "Mrs. Duncan," since we didn't call adults by first names. I knew so many adults from when I worked at the drug store and at the town library, so I'd better write down the names while I can still remember. There were a lot of farmers who came into the drug store, some all the way from Polo, and most of those names I've forgotten. I used to babysit a lot, so I'm trying to recall those names. There was a Jewish couple who lived on N. Hannah, I think their name was Fishman, but I've forgotten their first names, and their kids' names. Maybe it will come to me--in the middle of the night! :-)

Anyway, it's something to do when it's too hot to go outside. Who knows if I'll ever finish it.

  

  

 

A touching love story--guest blogger, my nephew Brandon

"I think we should get…HIM.” Katie said, pointing to one of the smaller poodles of the litter.

 
He looked like a blur of beige fur, like the head on a mop. I was still looking at the largest, shyest one, trying to convince myself that I’m right.

It's May 18th, 2013. Less than a month since we've successfully been married and honeymoon-ed. We're in Zebulon, Georgia, of all places, in what seems to be a puppy-mill in training. Katie is fixated on the one rambunctious pup that continues to do low-flying circles in the grass and dirt. He ends up being the only puppy of the ones present that seem eager to meet us.

As with most things -- Katie was right.

We named that little guy Amos, inspired by one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Amos Lee.

In the ten years since Amos and I became inseparable, Katie would be quick to remind me: One, I didn't want a small dog and two, Amos was not my first choice.

Again, she was right. It wasn't that I didn't want Amos. Growing up, we really only had large dogs (aside from Droopy). The only small dogs I was familiar with, were small, yippy, nipping dogs that were full of energy, hard to control and had Napoleon complexes. Amos was Katie's first real pet and dog, and she had her heart set on a toy poodle. I said: "Just so long as he doesn't have a poodle haircut." At that time, I thought talking her into getting a dog would be much much harder. Are you seeing a pattern here? I am wrong a lot. It’s a gift.

Not only was getting a dog her idea, but it turns out her first and only pick that day would steal our hearts.

Amos quickly became the center of our family. He was the star of Christmas cards, and the center of attention when friends would come over. He and I wrote songs together. He rode in a basket on Katie’s bike. Two years in, he would have to contend with the first born, Gibson and before that a new house. Then four years into his tenure, our second son, Nash Corbett. He kept a watchful eye over both of them as they grew.

He was the same, happy go lucky little guy for seven years. But in April of 2020, we knew something wasn't right with him. A week long stay at the vet would result in Amos' diabetes diagnosis. I was heartbroken. I was afraid this was the end. Our veterinarian explained that with care and routine, Amos could still live a full and virtually uninterrupted life. All that was required was a regimented routine of regularly spaced feedings and me becoming an insulin injection specialist.

Three years into Operation: Dog Diabetes yielded Amos’ next brush with pancreatitis. Thankfully, he recovered and with the help of our vet, he was back to being himself. Katie discovered that most dogs don't live much longer than a few years after their diagnosis. "Not Amos," I thought. By all accounts, he was the model patient and I the model caregiver. With Katie's nearly perfect record in the back of my mind — I shuttered to admit that we might not have much longer with our boy.

Dogs are the perfect companions. They love us unconditionally, and require very little of us. A head scratch, some treats, a walk here or there, a place to lay their head. Popcorn. Maybe a piece of bacon. Why not? While their love comes unconditionally, what we really trade is a little piece of ourselves. They accept us as we are. Deeply flawed, and hard to understand. And in return for that piece, they give us everything they have. Trusting us to protect and care for them.

Dogs are a little bit of us, and uniquely their own. They become a part of us. A piece of us and yet a beast that is untamable. They aren't people but they fill all of the gaps in our hearts that people can't. We leave, we come home late, we spend our days at the office, we send them to the vet to board for a week — and yet they are as happy to see us as ever. They sit with us in our quiet moments — while we repeat things to them, asking them questions in a language that they only feign to understand. Do you want to see the boys? Mommy's home. Do you want a treat? Do you want to go for a ride?

You have the photos, videos and key memories of them. What you can never duplicate are the quiet moments between you. You check on your kids, dog asleep at their feet. You come home late at night, he greets you at the door, loud enough to wake the entire house. A yelp, a bark in the middle of the day, as the mail truck passes. The sound of the doggie door. The quiet push of your office door, as he checks to make sure you're still there. The expectation that any time you try to sit down, or take a nap, your stationary legs make an excellent bed.

The decision to say goodbye to our Amos was the toughest decision we’ve had to make as a family. I have doubts. I have the regret that his last days were spent in a vet kennel and not at home. I I tried everything I could to hold on to him. I didn’t want to let him go. I would've done anything in my power to keep him with me — with us. But after these ten years, and everything he gave to us -- I couldn't let him suffer anymore.

In his last days, in addition to not eating and stomach issues, we found out that his heart had grown in size. Not only from our love, but from the beginnings of congenital heart failure. I looked into his little black eyes — cloudy with cataracts as a result of the diabetes. I no longer saw the young, bouncy, lively pup that we had known all these years. I saw eyes that were suffering — tired but could not sleep. His knees were worn from years of compensating on moveable knees caps. Knees sore from chasing the boys, jumping on couches, beds and up and down stairs. My heart, my head and my guts were all screaming that it was time. Please. Can’t I be wrong this time? Just one more time.

Before the doctors came in, he desperately tried to crawl to me, and lay his head against me. His breaths — pained, rapid and shallow. I haven't cried like that in my entire adult life. I held him close in his last moments and told him everything would be ok. That I would miss him and that I loved him.

Scott Van Pelt, in his 2022 tribute to his dog Otis, said this: "Nothing we do could earn what dogs give away to us for free." And: "If this hurt is the cost of the transaction, for being on the receiving of a mighty love that I got to know — I'd pay it again with enormous gratitude.” I couldn’t say it any better than that.

It is with the deepest hurt in my heart that I write this now. I can't begin to quantify in gratitude, and in love what I owe to our sweet Amos. I would gladly pay again and again, with the piece of me I gave, and the pieces now of my broken heart, just to have his head rest against my chest one last time.
If our lives are but a blink in the span of time, a dog's life for us is a blazing, beautiful shooting star. A shooting star where simultaneously a wish is made and a wish is granted. It is one of life’s cruelest truths — that we get to love them, caring for them and them us so deeply but that they live such a seemingly short amount of time.

It bears repeating. Katie couldn’t have been more right — about everything and especially Amos. I've never been more glad to admit that I was wrong.

Amos -- we love you always. The boys miss you. Katie misses you and said you can share her blanket. There’s not a moment that I don’t miss you. Thank you for sharing your brief, but beautiful life with us. I’ll hold on to your memory forever.

Today's photo--Romena church in Tuscany, Italy

Romena church in Pratovecchio Stia, Tuscany, Italy was the photo (not mine) that came up today as I opened my computer. We've visited many countries after I retired in 2000, and Italy for beauty, history, and spirituality is still my favorite. 

"The Tuscany region in central Italy has been romanticized, and rightly so, for its rich history of art, music, literature, and cuisine. Add to that laudatory list the sheer breathtaking beauty of the place—Tuscany is simply one of the most scenic places on the planet. Our image captures a lyrically sublime sight of the region."

It took me back to our travels with the University of Illinois Alumni Society in 2008 in Italy. Here's what we did/saw/experienced.

Day One: Leave Chicago for Naples
Day Two: Arrive in Naples, get on a bus for Sorrento, 
Day Three: Motorcoach along the Amalfi Coast. Visit Positano. Back in Sorrento attend lecture and discussion.
Day Four: Pompeii. Meet the folks of Sorrento to hear about their lives.
Day Five: Isle of Capri.
Day Six: Discussion--that's all I see on the program.
Day Seven: Motorcoach to Orvieto. Wine tasting event
Day Eight: History of Orvieto and Umbria and Italy. Focus: Etruscans, who were there first. Walking tour. Cathedrals. Cobblestone streets. Discussion of Renaissance Art.
Day Nine: Walking tour of Florence. Architectural highlights.
Day Ten: Perugia and Assisi.
Day Eleven: Free day for sightseeing, shopping, etc.
Day Twelve: Motorcoach to Rome (which we won't see except the airport). Fly home. Based on previous tours, the only place we won't hear understandable English is the O'Hare Airport.

Travel is/was the joy of early retirement.  I'm glad we didn't wait too long, since it is difficult at this age.

Positano, Italy