About my twin and his town…

My brother called early last week.   He advised the time was now – right now – to visit mom, perhaps for the final time, and make plans for what will possibly occur in the next few months.   It made for a rough four day weekend in central Nebraska.  What a hell of a 14 months since our dad passed away.

Barb’s health and mobility have undergone a notable and steady decline; a non-reversable process that had greatly accelerated since my visit in the spring.  I was saddened beyond words at how fast her health had tumbled in the space of a few months.  Professionals in a better spot than us to estimate such things place the end-of-life time frame before year’s end.

The whole situation was covered in this week”s letter to Ellen and Reid; that note and some photos won’t be posted, however, until next week.

But even in the face of my mother’s predicament, this week is about my twin and his town.

My brother does taxi duty from the airport. He's a good guy - for a lawyer.

My brother, Ralph, has been attorney-like throughout much of our mother’s decline.  He’s has managed her finances, paid the bills, talked to the doctors, and kept her company.  It was at his insistence that mom was moved from Omaha to be near him.  That he lives in Grand Island (mom is in a care facility about 15 miles west in Wood River) doesn’t hurt.

Grand Island (GI) is a nice enough place.  A good spot to raise his family (wife Gayle and two sons – also lawyers – Andy and Joe).  He’s been an incredibly successful member of the bar, and don’t buy his ‘aw-shucks-I’m-just-a-country-lawyer” song and dance.  His clients apparently know where to send their checks.

A 102 car Union Pacific train breezes through Grand Island. I counted one train with 129 cars - literally one mile long. Most trains shuttle Wyoming coal to eastern power stations.

I took several long walks for the alone-time and just to see what drives the engine in my bro’s prosperous little burg of 70,000.  This chunk of Nebraska, and most of the environs around Grand Island, are table top flat.  If there was any elevation gain during my 3-4 mile jaunts, it was measured in the few feet of rise and fall as my path along the road momentarily elevated as it crossed twin sets of tracks that are Union Pacific’s major East-West rail artery.  The tracks run plum through the middle of Grand Island.  Incessant whistles warn motorists of the coming tonnage, but there is no stopping, and no slowing down.  Every 15 minutes, another unimaginably long train – the car count of one zephyr headed West: 129 – rumbles through town at just over 50 mph.

Ralph makes his money as you would expect in a small town.  Everyone knows everyone else’s business, and they bring their business to him.  Much of it is from Latinos, most of whom were drawn to town to work in the packing plants but they’ve spread their wings with all sorts of small businesses.  About one-third of GI‘s population is Latino or Hispanic and they’ve turned the

Dual signage on most buildings signals Grand Island's acceptance of its Latino population.

economic tide upward in central Nebraska and the town has had to adapt to a bilingual culture.  The Latino community is a portion of Ralph’s client base in part because he’s a Democrat in a very Red State and in part because he treats them fairly and with respect.  I don’t know what he does for fun when he’s not pushing paper since he doesn’t golf.  He played softball for decades but injury-riddled guys like him became an annuity program for orthopedic surgeons; he’s active in his church so that’s where a lot of his time goes.

The town chafes at its second-class status even in a small state like Nebraska.  But as I’ve told Ralph many times, locals still have high speed Internet, first-run movies, jets to whisk them out of town, a Best Buy and the same satellite/cable channels as anyone else, plus a Starbucks where the staff is incredibly friendly and polite.

All roads don't lead to Grand Island. They just sort of skirt it. But Hwy. 2 into the Sand Hills is the real deal.

GI sort of embraces its pioneer past, and real cowboys are seen throughout the city, mostly in the stores where they can buy goods they can’t get as cheaply in hamlets such as Loup City, Ord or Broken Bow (just northwest of GI along Hwy. 2 in Nebraska’s wonderful Sand Hills.  It’s a paradise for bikers and a shortcut to Sturgis).

The town formally celebrates its Western past at the Stuhr Museum of the Prairie Pioneer.   It is situated along Hwy. 281 across from Ralph’s house.   The high point is a resident bison (buffalo to the rest of us) and old period buildings that look the pioneer part.  I walked from Ralph’s house across 281, hopped a short fence,

A dust bath isn't such a bad gig for a bison on a hot day in Nebraska. My presence was a non-event for the beast.

and in a few minutes was next to the bison empoundment.  The big guy (or girl, since I couldn’t know for sure because it never stood) was rolling in a dust hole to rid itself of annoying bugs.  He/she saw parasites as more of a threat than my nearby presence.

Grand Island has been a good enough spot for my brother.  It has fulfilled all his needs, and then some.  As for me, I’m not sure I could live there.  It’s a nice place to visit but if he wasn’t there and if mom wasn’t close by, then Hwy. 2 would be the best, and fastest, route through town to points West.

———————

August 22, 2011

Ellen/Reid: The paper said this morning that we have to keep an eye on a developing hurricane that could be headed this way toward the end of the week.  What that would mean here is plenty of rain and some gnarly winds, maybe.  They tend to publish the hurricane forecasts but in my time here there’s only been one that pushed its way this far into the Piedmont, and it dumped a lot of moisture on us for a couple of days.  It’ll be worse over by the coast; that we’re inland about three hours doesn’t hurt us too much.

Your mom said there’s an apparent buyer for the house on South Shore.  That’s been a while coming.  That was a good spot for you guys vis a vis that point in your lives.  Plenty of room, nice yard, good location.  I told her I miss poking around in the yard (there’s a difference between poking around in the yard and heavy duty yard work) and I suppose where I am now is a direct anti-yard reaction to maintaining that big spread.  What I liked most about it was the garden and the deck and I recall you (mostly you, Reid) grilling with buddies and just hanging out.  We all just kind of dissolved away from that place so its sale isn’t that wrenching.  But I do miss elements of it.

It looks as if we can unfortunately begin to see the final miles of the long downhill road for your grandmother.  When I got up Saturday morning there was a voicemail from your uncle that came in just after midnight local time.  I knew that could mean no good.  He and I talked a fair amount that morning and the consensus among the doctors is that the event is not imminent but that it isn’t that far off, either.  The predictions range from three to six months although there’s no certainty to any of that.  It’s the None of us can really know what’s going through her mind right now.  I wonder how she’s handling all of it or if she can piece together the events of the past three or four years.  Mom and dad only came down here once and that was enough to know to enjoy them while they are still here and have all or most of their abilities.  Your aunt and uncle have borne the lion’s share of the duties and for that I am grateful.  It would be great to be out there much more often, and right now I’m figuring out a way to visit Grand Island in the pretty near future.  The whole situation brings up a lot of emotions held over from last year with your grandfather.  It’s a mixture of sadness, and to some degree, hopefulness that she won’t suffer like he did.  I just wish we knew with any degree of certainty that she wasn’t in any major discomfort or mental anguish.  That’s all I want to be assured of.  It does make one fast forward to their own end-of-days and I need to get off the snide and get my legal stuff in order so you two don’t have to worry about that aspect of things when the inevitable time arrives.  I’m trying to stave off the early grieving process.  It’s hard for anyone to truly know how to react in these circumstances.  We’ll just have to do the best we can and remember her as she was, not as she is.  As news develops you will know pretty quickly.

My friend in Des Moines, Brian the Harley rider, and his girlfriend Nancy were injured on the way to Sturgis when their Ultra blew a tire at highway speeds on I-90 in South Dakota and flipped several times.  The highway patrol said their injuries weren’t life threatening but he doesn’t remember her and he’s still in the hospital.  She has some facial injuries.  Lucky they were wearing helmets.  In that respect they were fortunate because a lot of riders don’t make it through those crashes.  Many folks ditch their helmets once they get in South Dakota since it’s not a helmet state.  We wear ours all the time, even when we ride in South Carolina.  Felicia has taken a sudden aversion to riding on the Interstate although I think its way safer than the twisty two lane roads down here.  You can never say never, but I’ve always been a defensive sort for the most part.

Okay, over and out.  Talk to you soon, be good, work but have fun.  Reid, I will make T-Day plane plans this week.

Enthusiasm tempered…

Pinedale's web cam shows plenty of snow on the back peaks - precisely where we are headed. Nothing like a July snowball fight.

Last week’s letter held a lot of anticipation about the trip to Wyoming; Ellen and Tim will both be there and the heavy snows in the backcountry appear to be melting.  It was all good.

But these have been a rough stretch of days for Felicia.  The deep seven inch gash on her calf continues to split open; she cannot hike.

The band of backpackers will forge ahead minus one.  It’s greatly distressing to me, but as the two of us have talked about, there’s always next year.  I was hoping there would be better news for this, my 200th post.  Better tidings will have to wait.

————-

July 11, 2011

Ellen/Reid: I don’t know that I can contain my excitement about the trip to Wyoming.  There hasn’t been this much anticipation since I don’t know when.  This is one of those trips where money is no object.  We could stay in the Ritz for a week and eat caviar and sip Dom Perignon for what has been dropped so far on this venture.  But that is of no consequence to me.  Too bad Sundance isn’t closer because I’d make the side trip to get the newspaper your grandfather used to work on, the Sundance Times and Crook County News.  Reid, you and I made a side trip years ago to the newspaper office when we were driving to Montana to fish.  When I’d ride to Sturgis, I’d always drop in to get a copy for your grandfather.  He often said it was the best job he ever had.  They sure loved that part of Wyoming.  Just think, if my mom’s doctor in Deadwood hadn’t told her that her delivery of your uncle and me would be difficult, I would’ve been born a South Dakotan.  That’s when your grandmother rode the train to Omaha where her mother lived.  The rest is, as they say, history.

But I digress.  Already the fidgeting about the meal menu has started.  I’m trying to steer people clear of non-perishable food.  I worry that with the increased bear sightings that anything that is overly odiferous will be cause for a grizzly or porcupine to stop by our campgrounds.  By default our cuisine will feature a lot of pasta and rice with exotic dried sauces you mix with water, plus the obligatory instant oatmeal for breakfast and energy bars.  I’ll also make a ton of gorp (peanuts, raisins, M&Ms) for each of us to tote on the trail.  All of the provisions, sans the sauces, will be purchased in Jackson.  Ellen, tell Tim that I will probably steer clear of dehydrated food because if it’s not hydrated properly, it takes it’s liquid from your body and that can stop people up.  Trust me, I know that very, very well through painful, clogged experience.  But that’s another story, too.  One of our members, a good guy, will cook his own food, and that’s okay.  Tell Tim, too, that he will be a meat fisherman for a change.  As far as can be determined, only he and I will have flyrods.  We will be highly dependent on Tim to advise us on the flies to us.  Another guy will have the rough equivalent of a bamboo pole.  The wife of the minister is a bonkers fisherwoman, too, and we may rent her a rod for the duration.  I am so excited.  Reid, you’ve been there before a few times, but it would’ve been great if you could’ve pulled up stakes in Chicago for a week to join us.  There will always be next year – hopefully.

Felicia just this morning reported bleeding from the seven inch gash in her leg.  It should have enough time to heal in the next 10 days or so, but we will still tote a fully-stocked first aid kit with enough bandages, tapes and medicines to fully supply a triage center.  That includes ample amounts of mole skin and a liquid that dries on the skin to prevent blisters.  New Skin, I think they call it.  I’ve told people to bring some Tevas in the event they get un-curable blisters.  Reid, you might recall the woman on an earlier trip who had quarter-sized blisters after the first of seven days and she pressed on thanks to her Tevas. 

One of the things I like most about a trip like this, and this goes back a few years with you and me in the Bridger, Reid, is that it’s a foundational thing to get you guys into the natural world.  Although we didn’t get as many chances to head for the hills when you were younger, it means a lot to me to introduce you to this sort of adventuring.  There’s nothing wrong with testing your mettle and sleeping on the cold, hard ground and eating dreary camp food every once in a while.  It’s good to help you develop an appreciation for this end of the environment.  At the rate we keep screwing it up, there may not be many more decades to enjoy it.

Okay, I’m down from the soap box.  But there are worse things to badger you about.

On the mend from another surgery…

For the second time in three weeks, my Midwestern road trip continues; today it’s off to Des Moines for my friend Steve’s wedding and to box and ship my side of the family’s items held over from my parent’s home in Omaha.  Most of it will be sent to Ellen and Reid.  Some will be shipped to Charlotte.

I sent a letter – the fifth mailed to him since last July – to my friend Bob to apprise him of the trip details.  He’s on the mend from yet another surgery for a self-inflicted texting injury, his second bout with this over-use malady (de Quervain Syndrome, aka mother’s wrist).  Apparently he can open envelopes but not much else.

Bo strikes a post-surgery woe-is-me pose. At this pace he may have to start texting this his toes.

————-

April 27, 2011

Bob: By this time next week Jane Hemminger will have had her fix, albeit temporarily, of party hosting.  Her invitation was just a scream.  I have to shake my head every time something arrives in the mailbox or the front door that has her name attached to it.  I tried gently to stave off this event, but Dave dissuaded me knowing that it wasn’t a battle worth escalating all the way up to her.  It will be fun to see everyone although I don’t know who those people will be just yet.

I blast into town late Thursday and commence with packing boxes right away.  That will consume more of Thursday night and well into Friday.  I don’t know precisely how much stuff there is to send but no doubt it is a pile.  It is a guarantee that none of it is Harley stuff.  Kathy has whittled down things as she’s prepped the house for sale although she has had some viewings but no takers.

Your Key West vacation with your girls sounded like it was a hell of a lot of fun.  You have this knack for finding just the right travel outlets.  Coincidentally that is the one place Felicia says she would like to go but as of yet I’ve not summoned the effort to search for airfares and lodging.  When I’m in DSM you will have to remind me of just how in the hell you found the place you stayed at.  That sounds like a pretty good gig.  I’ve been grossly negligent in using my timeshare points to rustle up places such as the place you stayed.  This is where your life trumps mine in that you travel around all the time on these little adventures and you use all the Internet sources at your disposal to find deals and doings.  Me, I still look for newspaper coupons.  You’ll have to be my life coach.

So, when is this text-induced surgery (your second) supposed to take place, and how long will you be on the shelf?  You are reminded that this is prime golf season that you will be taking off.  Are you sure this couldn’t wait until the colder months so you could ride the bike and swing the clubs?  I don’t even need surgery to put my clubs away.  My swing continues to deteriorate and the game isn’t as much fun as it used to be.  The problem is completely between my ears.  A friend in my singles golf group says to just let it go and to let it be what it will be.  She’s probably onto something with that.  I need a golf shrink.  But it just kills me to have such anxiety issues.  Ask whoever is doing your slicing if a two-for-one deal might be available.  We could be on adjoining tables, you getting your wrist whacked and me getting a frontal lobotomy.  Maybe that’s the cure I’m looking for.

I’ve wondered how things are progressing on your home front.  Let me know how all that is going.  Your ready supply of $1 bills has been shrinking by the week but hopefully I’ll be able to make a deposit into your account in the relatively near future.  Well, I’d best sign off for now but you’ll get me soon enough next week.  I’ll text you when I land, and let’s hit Grounds and the Wave early Friday morning before I get to boxing in earnest.

The week that was…

As birthdays go, mine could have been a damn side better.

Birthday cake and candles were replaced by four days in a hospital gown, a “Murphy” drip and CT scan.   The kids got the details today.   All things considered, however, I am still here after the week that was.

Last week’s letter foreshadowed the more recent turn of events.

—————–

February 7, 2011

Ellen/Reid: The Super Bowl was pretty good as Super Bowls go, although that didn’t stop me from snoozing during the final half.  I saw the highlights and post-game breakdown after my extended nap.  Why they don’t play the game on a Saturday when people can really get down is beyond me, given that people have to get up and go to work the next day.  You can tell the commish that.

So Reid, your statement for the New School looks pretty good.  What is the ETA for their decision?  You’ll be on pins and needles until that time.  Here’s hoping they give you the green light.  I still have a hard time envisioning you as a New Yorker.  Then again, I never fathomed you as a Chicagoan, either.

I wish there were better news about your grandmother.  To hear your aunt and uncle describe things, she is fighting to make a recovery from the persistent infections that have ailed her.  My guess is that at her age it’s difficult to rebound from the near-continual setbacks that she’s had.  Her strength is sapped and her mobility very limited.  It looks as if she will need a higher level of care than she gets now, so the decision has been made to move her to another facility in Wood River, about a 15 minute drive from Grand Island.  I’m not sure how that particular spot was located but Ralph and Gayle seem to think it is the best option for her and I’m not one to argue from all these miles away.  I’m just glad your grandmother is not in Omaha.  It would really be tough on everyone.  I think back to this time last year when she was zipping around her neighborhood with her walker, and now she can hardly stand on her own.  That is how fast things can crumble when it comes to health.

I suppose all of this makes one think of their own future.  If it doesn’t, it should.  With your uncle and me quietly surpassing yet another dreary birthday in terms of years, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that the planning for eventualities had better be well down the road.  One of the things that I have to accomplish in the very near future is to get a will down on paper.  In a nutshell you guys will split my meager belongings down here and those that are in the care of John, and when it comes to health, there will be no over-the-top end-of-life efforts to keep me around just to keep me around.  Things have gone pretty well for me on the whole up to this point.  I’m fulfilled enough.  You have my permission to pull the plug to save me suffering and you suffering.  Your uncle has a term to describe such legalisms and he’s lectured me no end about how states like North Carolina treat estates in the absence of a will and testament.  That’s code for ‘the state will take most everything you own’.  But this will-thing is something I’ve mulled over in the last several months and I’ll need to get it done quite soon.  As they say, all of us are only a heartbeat away.

As you’ve heard, Charlotte gets the Democratic National Convention next year.  How the city will cope with it is anyone’s guess although this state is becoming redder all the time.  No doubt the anti-Democratic forces will hold multiple Tea Parties with all the drivel they spout.  One in five of us lives in poverty and tens of millions are without insurance, and yet they’ll whine about ‘values’ issues and the like that do nothing to add jobs, make us more secure, and really help us move ahead with real issues.  I guess I whine, too.

Okay, Ellen, I’ll consider a trip in April to help you with your garden (lettuce and peas can go in the ground probably the final week in March and while April is too early for tomatoes, at least we can get the rest of your good black soil ready to go.  We’ll plant some Heritage raspberries, too.  Those were just the variety you and Reid used to eat by the handful when you were little kids.  None of those little rubies ever made it inside the house, but that was okay with us.