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.

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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.

A ray of sunshine…

My twin brother Ralph and I used to go back and forth at each other on just about anything.  We couldn’t push the needle in far enough or often enough.  I’m surprised our parents didn’t give up on parenting at an early age.

But all of that good-natured sparring changed quickly this summer (indeed, most of the past 24 months).  Our daily conversations held little room for levity as we inevitably shifted from care for two aging parents to how we would tend to our widowed mother.  Ralph has carried virtually all of the load when it comes to watching over mom.  He’s shouldered it all; medical appointments, her move closer to him in Grand Island, plus his daily visits and short weekend jaunts to get mom out of her pleasant but cramped room.  It’s worn on him.  I can tell.

But as you might have seen last Friday (November 12) there is a ray of sunshine.  Mom is feeling better, her moods have flattened out, her medications fine-tuned to her needs.

I haven’t written Ralph about all that’s gone on, notably on his end.  But I did last night before I left work.

———————

November 16, 2010

Bro: It is just amazing to see the photos of mom and the other oldsters that Country House e-mails to family members.  It is just incredible to see her smiling and having a bit of fun for a change.  Was that a shot of her drinking beer at some establishment?  At least they don’t have to check their IDs before serving them.  Dad had his MGD and mom has whatever it was she was having.  Good for the staff to get them out of that place for a little while.

That’s been a great move to get her out of Omaha and closer to you guys.  Not that Lakeside wasn’t nice enough but it just didn’t put her close to the remaining family that she has.  It would’ve been extraordinarily tough for you and Gayle to traipse back and forth to do the errands and such.  You already had put enough miles on your cars.  I wish I could be closer to help out, but I’m not.

I don’t know what strings you pulled on the medications, but you pulled all the right ones.  She just looks calmer, happier, and more even.  What the hell was the concoction she was on?  I’m still not sure what she was taking or how dad or Lakeside kept track of it all, but something is apparently going right at this point.

I’m still up in the air about Christmas.  If it is at all possible, I will get out there somehow, some way.  Things look to truly be drawing to a close here, and if that is the case then I very well may bolt early and drive out.  There just isn’t much of a future at the bank.  They’ve had their fill of me I’m sure but the extension has been good.  Mapquest shows it as a shade over 1,200 miles and that’s really doable in a couple of stiff days.  I suppose it will be weather dependent in part.  Probably 700-800 miles one day and 400+ the next.  That would get me into GI around dinner time on whatever day it will be.  I’ve got to figure out a way to make a stop in Omaha to remove the belongings from Pete’s place and get it over to Des Moines at Kathy’s house.  She still owns it although her time is really in California now.  Things can stay snug and secure there until the kids have adequate time to claim it.

Reid seemed to enjoy his time with Andy and Steph and your grandbabies out in Palo Alto.  He seems to be warming to that place but the cost of living would be well beyond him right now.  I wouldn’t put it past him to try to figure out a way to shift his life West.  I keep thinking his stake is firmly in the ground in Chicago, but as I found, there is life beyond the borders of the Midwest.  I haven’t seen any photos of the birthday party but some will probably surface sooner than later.

I am excited about St. Paul for Thanksgiving.  Ellen has had a tough go in the school system.  As Gayle knows, it’s not so much about teaching but about preparing for tests.  That’s been a real drag for her and she spends a ton of time at the school prepping for things or doing obligatory paperwork.  Tim seems to keep her pretty grounded although his 3M job keeps the boy moving all the time.  That’s okay.

Well, I’m gonna sign off.  It’s 7:15 here and I’m ready to leave the office.  You guys be good, and thanks for all you’re doing for mom.  My guess is that she appreciates it, and I know I do, too.  Go Big Red.