The River

I am sitting above a roaring river.  The morning sun shines brightly, reflecting off the swirling, white foam, reflecting the beauty of God’s world.  Watching the water pour over the glistening rocks and rush downstream gives me a feeling of hope.  Why?  Part of it is just an appreciation of the beauty; in spite of all the ugliness and horrors around us—just read the news—we have this incredible gift.  Perhaps the river can also be a metaphor for life or for our path in life.  As we float down our river we often hurry.  Sometimes we float smoothly over the rocks while other times we hit those rocks or get caught in between them.  But the river keeps flowing and eventually we are on our way again.  We may pass many wonderful sights along our journey but we rush right by.  At times the river slows and spreads out into quieter pools where we may pause a while.  Farther down we may be caught in an eddy which swirls us around, making us dizzy.  We may even get sucked down.  Our ride down the river may end sooner than others’.  Some may make it to the river’s end and some may not.  However, riding the river is an adventure.  I am full of hope at what I might see around each bend.  I bask in the sunshine and enjoy the quiet of the pools.  There is always beauty if I bother to look.  I realize I must open my eyes and enjoy the journey.

Written on 8/15/2013

Out in the Woods

I had been waiting for this all summer and now finally we were packed and in the car, heading out to go camping.  We have had some great trips this summer but camping out in the Idaho mountains is something special.  On top of that, our area is extremely smoky from local fires and there is a yellow air alert.  My eyes, nose, and throat have been irritated and my chest hurt.  One of our favorite camping spots also has poor air quality because of other fires so we made other plans.  While driving north we were elated when we finally saw blue skies.  Gradually my coughing and the pressure on my chest began to ease.

We reached a small, but popular resort town where we stopped for milkshakes before once again heading on our way.  Our destination was a rather remote Forest Service campground where we had camped several times before over 15 years ago.  We drove about 20 miles over a mostly gravel one lane road.

As soon as we left the town behind my spirits began to soar.  Through our open windows we could smell the fresh scent of the pine trees.  We passed a small, shallow lake and a few creeks.  Mountain peaks rose on each side of us.  We saw very few vehicles.  Of course, there was road equipment—you can’t avoid road work during the summer in Idaho—but the workers had gone home so it was quiet.  We felt like we had the woods to ourselves.  When we pulled into the campground, it was empty except for a truck with a tent trailer which had pulled in just ahead of us.  We had our choice of nine campsites—we chose one overlooking the rushing river.

We stuck our fee into the drop box then began to unpack the car.  Up went the tent, the dining canopy (for rain and sun protection over the table), the chairs, and the clothesline for towels.  Dinner was simple—sloppy joes and zucchini.  Unfortunately, dozens of yellow jackets (wasps) decided to join us so we built a fire and ate next to it—they don’t like smoke so it worked quite well.

What would a camping trip be without s’mores?  We roasted our marshmallows over the red coals of our campfire until they turned a golden brown.  We sandwiched them in between graham crackers along with a few pieces of milk chocolate.  As we bit into this popular camp dessert, the soft white center oozed out—oh, so good!

We watched the fire as it slowly burned down.  Stars appeared in the night sky until it seemed like a thousand diamonds sparkled above us.  The only noise was the popping of the fire and the roar of the river.  Quietly, I sang campfire songs that I had learned long ago.  A peace settled over me.

Written on 8/14/2013

Waiting for My Dog to Die

I’ve been through this before.  That doesn’t make it any easier.  A week ago we found out that our dog, Kozmo, is dying.  This was a huge shock because until the previous night he had seemed fine.  Even though he is 13, maybe 14 years old, Kozmo has been a very active dog.  He has had more than half his teeth pulled but other than that he has been quite healthy.  Kozmo is a go-do-it sort of dog, always ready for a walk, a ride in the car, a stroll out to get the mail or paper, or a treat.

We knew something was wrong when we sat down to eat our salmon dinner and he was nowhere to be seen.  He is always there for that.  We called him and he slowly walked in but had no interest in the salmon skin that Bob offered him.  He did eat a small piece of salmon that I gave him.  Kozmo was lethargic the next morning so Bob took him to the vet. 

Kozmo spent the day at the clinic while they ran tests.  Bob called me on my cell with the report.  The news was not good.  Kozmo has a large tumor on his liver.  The vet was offering biopsy, blood transfusion, prednisone, and even euthanasia.  I couldn’t hold back the tears.  Bob and I discussed options but I had questions.  We decided to pick up our dog at the end of the day and asked to speak to the vet.

The vet did an ultrasound so we could see the massive tumor—it is all through his liver and pushing on his lungs and intestines.  There is nothing the vet can do.  It appears that the tumor is bleeding which would explain his sudden downhill turn.  A blood transfusion would give him maybe an extra week.  Sometimes prednisone helps.  The vet suggested euthanasia.  I told him I just needed to take him home and love him for now.  The vet said they’d come to our home to euthanize him if needed—he left the catheter in.  Kozmo got a shot of steroids and we came home with 2 weeks of prednisone, which the vet didn’t think we’d need.  We rode home with my sweet boy on my lap.

It was hard to give my girls the sad news—this is their dog, too.  Like me, they cried.  And they live far away and will not be able to see him.

Kozmo was not terribly interested in his dry food but ate a little when we took it out of his bowl and handed it to him.  However, when Bob went into the kitchen, he ran right in along with our other dog.  Bob in the kitchen has always been a cause for excitement in our house—our dogs know something will be tossed their way.  I marveled at how normal Kozmo seemed at that moment, waiting for his treat and jumping to catch it.

I bought some canned food with meat chunks and gravy.  Kozmo gobbled it down.  He also drank a lot of water.  Prednisone increases thirst and appetite.  In between bursts of activity, he lies on his side quietly.  Since the vet indicated that he might not even make it through the first night, I have a tendency to check if he is still breathing.  A few nights ago, I barbequed chicken.  As Bob and I sat down for dinner on the patio, Kozmo and Piper were both there waiting for a taste of chicken.  The dog that was so still earlier was alert and waiting excitedly.  He even jumped when Bob tossed him the chicken.  Later, he was conked out on the floor.  What a roller coaster ride this is.  I have savored the moments of normalcy and even photographed them.

Kozmo has become noticeably weaker in the last two days.  This morning he was reluctant to get out of his bed.  However, when Bob grabbed the other dog’s leash, Kozmo got up and followed him.  It was obvious that he wouldn’t be going out to get the paper with Bob, something he’s been doing every morning.  He wasn’t interested in eating breakfast.  However, when he heard Piper out in the other room, barking in excitement about going for a walk, I had to stop him from heading out there too.  It broke my heart—he was so sad.

Later, when Kozmo heard me say I was going out (a magic word), he stood up and looked at me.  I brought him out in the front yard with me while I weeded and trimmed.  When Bob came out he followed him around a bit before lying down.  When I went back inside for lunch, Kozmo was spread out on the carpet.  When I pulled out the lunchmeat, both dogs immediately showed up.  I looked down at Kozmo’s big brown eyes and I had to give him some of my lunch.  Right now I would give him anything.  Later, when he is once again lying on his side, I will go over and pet him, telling him he’s a good boy.  Once again tears will stream down my face.

The vet called to check on Kozmo and told me to call if I needed his help.  Thanks, I said.  But hopefully I won’t need to call him.  Kozmo does not seem to be in pain.  He is trying to be normal and is puzzled and sad that he can’t do his favorite things.  Death is a part of life—it is painful.  We will give our love to Kozmo until he is gone.  It is difficult to watch a family member fade away—human or animal.  Pets become an integral part of our lives.  While I try to prepare myself for Kozmo’s departure from our lives, I’m struggling.  I am torn by conflicting feelings—I don’t want to lose him, but watching and waiting for him to die is so hard that I just want it to be over.  I don’t think we have much longer to wait.

8/6/2013

People We Met in Matzatlan

As we return home and I reflect on our week in Matzatlan, I think about the people.  Since we were there during the height of the Mexican tourist season, we were surrounded by Mexicans and the Spanish language.  There were lots of families at the resort, large families, all having a good time.  People were friendly and usually greeted us with an “hola” or “buenas dias” as they passed by.  I remember two boys, a teenager and a younger boy, who greeted me in English as they passed by on the back of a golf cart.  I could tell they were trying their English on me—they seemed quite pleased with themselves.

Since the Mexican families were busy with each other, we did not get the opportunity to visit with any of them.  Our encounters were with the people who served us.  The first person we got to know was Enrique, poolside waiter.  His English was excellent, and he was quite friendly.  He gave us great service—it probably didn’t hurt that Bob gave him a really good tip the first day (a pesos/dollar confusion).  We learned that he was from the area so we asked him how things had changed.  He acknowledged that the drugs and gangs are a problem but claimed that he wasn’t afraid to go out.  However, he did comment that there are elements/people that are such an integral part of the foundation of society that you don’t miss them until they’re gone.  Enrique is a family man with a wife and two daughters, ages 5 and 13 (going on 18).  On his day off his wife had a “to do” list for him.  He told me that it was a good day—he completed the list.  “Happy wife, happy life” he said.

We showed up for a Spanish class one day.  However, even though it was on the resort activities list, no teacher was there.  A cute girl named Marifer, age 17 going on 18, ended up teaching us—her first class.  During the class we asked her about herself.  She learned English at age 4 from her father who lived in London and has returned there.  (Her parents are divorced.)  Her family is from Veracruz but they moved to Matzatlan so they could care for her grandfather.  Her mother stays home with him and her 10-year-old brother so Marifer is the sole support of her family.  She is very proud of this.  She goes to high school at night and will be finished soon.  She is using a couple online courses to learn Japanese and French.  We were impressed with this bright, personable girl.  Our friend, Don, commented that she will go far.

One morning Bob and I went for an early morning walk around the resort.  We ended up sitting on a couple lounge chairs on the beach.  One of the workers, a man named Ariel, walked up and started a conversation, first in Spanish then in English.  His English was flawless—we learned that he traveled in California quite a bit when he worked for a travel agency.  He told us he was from the Yucatan and to look at his nose—Mayan—the ugliest people in the world, he laughed.  Ariel is 71 years old with an 8^th grade education but it was obvious that he’s an intelligent man.  He grew up as one of five children and he knows what it is to be poor and to work hard.  He was extremely critical of the Catholic Church and blamed it for many of the problems in his country.  Ariel said people had too many children—more than they can provide for.  Some workers at the resort only make ten dollars a day but have five children.  “How can they provide well for that many children?”, he asked.  Ariel stressed the importance of a good education.  He only had one son and made sure that he went to a top school.  Unfortunately this son no longer talks to Ariel because he divorced his mother.  The wife became very religious and it was not the life he wanted so he divorced her.  He gave her the house and everything so now he has nothing and works for a living.  I didn’t get the impression that he regretted his decision.

Every morning a maid named Rocio came into our suite to make our bed and clean up after us.  She also made delightful shapes with the towels.  Sometimes we were gone, and a couple times we were out on the deck and tried to stay out of her way.  However, one day Bob returned to our room and she was there.  He struck up a conversation.  He told her we’re from Idaho and she mentioned California.  It turns out that she lived in Palo Alto for a while.  Bob told her that he had lived there too.  What a small world.

We had other shorter encounters with people who we enjoyed—there was the cab driver who took us to old Matzatlan and the waiter at Pancho’s who gave us a great show making flaming Mexican coffee.  I look forward to returning to Mexico and meeting more of its interesting people.

Written on 7/27/2013

33 Years Ago

Today, as our week in Matzatlan comes to an end, Bob and I celebrate our 33^rd anniversary.  While I marvel at how many years it’s been, I can no longer say that our wedding day seems like only a short time ago.  We were so much younger then—I was younger that my older daughter is now.  We have changed, grown older.  The world has changed. 

I had always wanted to get married in the redwoods and I got my wish.  We found a beautiful county park not far from the coast.  Relatives gathered at our house—we had to dress there then drive about 45 minutes to the park.  It was a warm, sunny day, unusually so for that area and people sat on the seats at the edge of the amphitheater to stay in the shade.

I wore a Gunne Sax dress, as did my sisters, and Bob and his brother wore Mexican wedding shirts.  My dad and I walked down the aisle, sidestepping the little block of wood that normally supported a projector.  A band called Swallowtail, which we found at a Palo Alto restaurant and bar, serenaded us as we walked.  Our pastor led us through our vows.  I still remember the feeling of the warm sun on my shoulders as Bob and I gazed at each other.

After the ceremony our guests joined us in the group picnic area for a catered meal, music, and cake.  Photos were taken by a family friend, a professional photographer for Standard Oil.  His son, my brother’s friend, helped take photos.  My request was for lots of photos of guests.  I am so grateful for those now.  Many of those people are no longer with us—Bob’s dad, my grandmothers, my great-uncle, our pastor, the photographer, family friends. . .

We drove from the park to Pajaro Dunes, right on the ocean, and stayed there for a couple of nights before returning home to family still in town.  About a week later we flew to Hawaii for our honeymoon.  We thought of that this morning as we watched the waves on the shores of Matzatlan.

The years have brought changes.  Three years after our wedding we moved to Idaho—we have been there for 30 years.  Our two daughters were born and raised in Idaho.  Bob and I have had our ups and downs but have always been there for each other.  There is comfort and security in knowing another person so well that they almost seem like an extension of you.  And there is love. . .

Written on 7/26/2013