The Veery

It took some convincing but I was allowed to drive, alone, to visit a very old friend at her cabin, the Veery, outside Great Falls. Although I hadn't seen Cyd since college we reconnected on Facebook a few years ago and she asked me to join her in Highwood, Montana.

If I had any sense of direction before my accident, the traumatic brain injury I sustained in 1991 wiped it all away. I knew I had to get myself to Great Falls first, somewhere in the middle of the state, but hadn't been there for years. I talked with Cyd on Facebook Instant Messenger to get directions and Dan worked his phone to look at maps and found an actual photo of her place on MapQuest. Yes, it's cool you can do that but my appreciation for the app pales in comparison to Dan's excitement. He printed out maps and directions and presented me with his MapQuest packet along with direction specifics so I was set, or so I thought.

The morning I departed, Dan reviewed the directions but as is the case a lot of the time, I assumed everything he said would be forgotten so I did not spare any effort there. Kissed him good bye and headed to Starbucks, my 1st stop (before even leaving town.) Once I was set with an iced coffee and an order of egg bites, I hit the road.

What I heard but forgot was that I was to use my map and directions rather than just have a voice from my phone direct me. We had trouble recently with our car's battery dying and they tried to link it it to our use of a charger so I hadn't used it since. The charger, that is. Right about then, leaving town, I should have thought, "Oh, my phone will die mid direction unless I plug it into my car," but I didn't. Didn't think it, didn't do it.

The phone did die, just outside Great Falls but I remembered the name of the exit I was supposed to take. I remembered it as I read it and was past it so I took the next exit. Twists and turns, like on and off ramps don't register correctly so I pulled over as soon as I could and shifted from phone to the package of maps. I was afraid to plug my phone in so I relied on my maps. Cyd left the cabin in search of me after my arrival time came and went and it was a good thing because I had missed a turn. I think I would've found it on my own but I was glad to see her happy face!

The Veery is a beautiful home wrapped like a gift by its surroundings so "cabin" is a misnomer.  I was happy to see that the Cyd who helped carry my bags in was the Cyd I remembered from so many years ago. We ate and drank and talked nonstop for a couple days. We sat in all the house's  key spots to enjoy the surrounding wildness as well as our wine and watched the sun set from the Veery's deck. 

The memories and feelings they bring will be with me forever so thanks Cyd!

The Walk II

  This was taken before the invasion

When I got out of the pool, filled with a squiggly mass of small bodies, I phoned Dan twice but there was no answer. I  wanted to take my teacher self away from the group and go home, which I could see from the pool. I decided to walk.  Yes, I chose to walk, an activity I dislike very much so now you know how ready I was. But I had to get there unassisted as I didn't have my trusty rollater; my walker on wheels. 

I packed up my big, plastic, yellow pool bag with my two large and now wet, towels, topped off with 2 noodles; big pieces of spaghetti that float.  I was delighted when the pool noodles fit nicely; horizontally just under the bag's handles.  I was set and my objective was in sight.

The distance to my house is only a quarter of a mile as the crow flies, but that particular route would take me through rough, not so level, empty building lots with rocks and stuff; definitely not very Lexie-friendly. I would have to stick to side walks once I navigated a grassy field. That field reminded me of my cross country coaching years when I walked the same kind of areas on a regular basis. Uneven surfaces have always been hard for me but the difficulty has skyrocketed. 

With those days in mind I set my first goal; the side walk that lead home. It was like I was listening to myself coaching middle school cross country athletes. Back then, my co-coach ran with the kids up front and I rode my recumbent three wheeler at the end as we snaked through neighborhoods and parks. There always seemed to be one kid that trailed well behind even the slowest kids. We ended up side by side and became buddies. We played games to survive the workout. 

We'd pick a landmark no more than two blocks away and that was our goal and once we got there they could walk. When we reached the spot we picked the next goal and so we plodded up the hill that was part of our daily run. I never had an athlete that quit to walk more than a few times. I coached them to pick them up and put them down in a slog; a slow jog.

No, I can't even slog so I set off on the walk home, walking. My bag was heavy and cumbersome. Walking unassisted, totally off balance was not going to be fun, but I knew I'd make it.

When I reached the my first goal, the side walk, I set another; the stop sign in the shade. I did stop in the shade but only to re assess  my handling of the bag and shifted it to my good side. I continued on, setting, reaching and resetting goals.

I made it home but it was not easy or fun. 

DNA, B and C

I had to do it. A niece did it and found no Native American stuff, at all, even though by my calculation she should have had some.

Let's figure it out. My mom Shirley always claimed Native heritage because her father, John Baptiste Fournier, was 1/2 Assiniboine; Native Canadian. He thought of himself, a half breed and rightfully hated the words.  He was one of several children and because his single mom could no longer feed them, he was shipped off to an orphanage. I cannot even imagine how I would be able to make such a choice but she chose him as the oldest boy. Therefor one of his parents needed to be full Assiniboine.  I heard this 'story' throughout my life and I never imagined my great grandmother as a Native woman. If that's the case, my mother's father's father was Native. I'll have to ask my cousin, maybe she will know; but I doubt it.

The story goes, "Johnny ran from the orphanage and kept going." He eventually settled in Montana and opened the Coral Bar and Johnny's Barbershop which is now Moose's Saloon. Mom said he was French Canadian Indian, and described him as a 'dandy' who bootlegged his way to Montana during prohibition. The pictures of him I've seen prove this to be true; he was a man devoted to style, neatness and fashion and I thought he looked native.

If my grandpa was half native, my mom was a quarter and I should be 1/8th or 12 1/2 %. I am not. If I believe my DNA test then 43% of me is from England. Wales and Northwestern Europe, 22% is from Norway, 19% from Sweden and 17% from France.

I'll put that report away now.

Pool Shenanigans?

Most of my adult life, I have been involved in education. I taught for others, in my own classroom, worked as a Special Education Aide, coached three middle school sports and even worked as a crossing guard for a year.  My latest stint was volunteering in a kindergarten class. Bottom line is I've spent a ton of time around children.

The other day I went to the pool and very much enjoyed watching four preteen girls play. One was definitely in charge; acting as both writer and director of their skit.. She informed one friend that she was a wolf that had been raised by her, a human. Another girl kid was involved somehow but the fourth girl, who was obviously younger, was kind of left out of the story.

Her plan to work her way back into the group was to circle them, crying out that she was 'the baby.' She circled the wolf-child and the other two girls several times until finally the writer/director took notice. She told Baby that she had on water wings and was just learning to swim. Baby took her cue and did her take on baby-swimming-with-water-wings. The wolf and girls continued their game until Baby again interrupted. Writer/Direct narrated as Baby acted things out; she said, "Oh, now you take off your water wings and start to drown but I save you."  Baby, who had originally been left out, ended up lighting up the pool/stage. The kids' story ended and they soon left with their moms. 

I  wasn't expecting what happened next. Soon after the girls/moms were gone, a heard of children enter the pool area. As the group set up fairly close to where I sat, I watched. There was four to seven (they seemed to come and go) older kids who might have been 15-17 years old.  And with them was twenty or more smaller kids. They seemed to be toddlers up to about ten years old.

As the teens applied sunscreens to the children there seemed to be a plan. The tots knew who to go to for their lube job as each teen slathered up many littles. As the kid were dismissed by their applicators, they immediately got in the water. So far so good.

A few minutes in, a little boy, three or four years old, sporting a set of connected water wings scampered by me. Hopping around like he needed to relieve himself, the jumping bean approached one of the teenage girls. He told her several times he had to go to the bathroom. Finally, she seemed to understand and pointed in the direction of the bathrooms and  turned and walked away. 

The little boy was flummoxed. He followed the teen and told her again that he had to pee. She seemed as confused as the kid. She didn't know he needed the wings removed and that her job most likely included leading him to a toilet. He must have indicated that help was needed because she finally took off  his flotation device and led him to the restroom door. I was proud of her.

Then, when all the littles were in the pool, the teens applied their own sun screen. They appeared fairly responsible. But then I noticed a teenage boy who was playing with a young girl. She seemed shy and lucky to have the attention of one of the big boys but that good feeling soon vanished. The teenager was trying to engage her in a splash game but she didn't seem that into it. His banter ran non stop and he seemed to be telling her what she was feeling and how he expected her to respond. 

Conversation went like this: 

Teenage Boy: "Are you splashing me? I think you're splashing me. Do you want to splash me? I can tell you do. Just go ahead and do it."

Girl Child: looks confused, finally sends a weak splash in his direction

Teenage Boy: "You wanna water fight? OK!"

Then he pushed a wave a water forcefully into her unsuspecting face. She was flabbergasted! She was on the edge of tearing up but he laughed out loud and told her, once again, to splash him. She didn't seem to enjoying his company very much but he never left her side and his banter never stopped. Finally, she seemed to disengage and was able to join another group.  I was relieved. 

The teacher in me had wanted to intervene but I didn't quite know what to do. I may not have it in me anymore. I didn't even search for those kids when I got back in the pool to cool off. By then, there were so many swimmers in the pool I just sat on some steps in shallower water. I wasn't there long before I decided to call Dan for a golf cart ride home.  He was on the neighbor hood mini course but I was done with children and wanted to go home.

When I didn't reach him on a second attempt I decided to walk home and I did.

We Made It

I titled a previous post, "Boise or Bust," and am happy to report we did not bust. We did not, however, end up in Boise. We settled ten miles West in a town called Eagle. We bought the first house I found on the Internet, once my search had real intent behind it.

West Striker Lane is in a development with three nicely manicured and maintained, practice golf holes with pars of three, four and five. Dan plays two or three golf balls at once and plays the three holes several times. He likes it when I ride along in the golf cart but it is not just used for golf.

   

The Legacy development, has two swimming pools; one very close. That's where the golf cart comes in! Even though the pool is within site, it is too far for me to walk to comfortably so Dan uses it to chauffeur me.

I had all kinds of plans to make myself an exercise routine which included riding my recumbent bike and doing stuff in the pool (something I have done on and off since my accident in 1991,) but it has not happened. I have certainly enjoyed the time spent at the pool but have only actually exercised a few times. 

    

But I have an other exercise favorite; my recumbent 3 wheeler. In Kalispell I biked with my buddy Justin who is a very old friend. He is one of the reason I am such an enthusiastic triker. We started riding from Kalispell to Kila and the ant family, then from Kalispell to Somer's and Del's Bar for beers and cheese bread.

I sure miss him for our occasional long ride, drive in the mountains, or to out of the way places to see odd things like mushrooms pushing their way through very old asphalt on a country road. 

We rode going to the Sun in Glacier and came up the back side too. Our longest ride was around Lake Koocanusa, almost! We were asked to call it quits about 10 miles short of the end. We rode for several hours on the road, in the sun, but it was getting late. Glad it was their call, not ours.

No more Justin but I have been lucky to reconnect with another old friend Donna. We taught together back when I lived in Boise and now that I have a second recumbent trike it's been great to ride with her. The second recumbent is for Dan and that still may happen in the future but as of today he has made it out once. I won't give up.

Donna is in fact my new Justin. We ride, lunch and swim together often and I'm so lucky she puts up with me. No accidents, for either of us yet, but we wonder if we really are safe together. Neither one of us can read a map worth a dam but we bring Serie along for help.

But wait. That's not all! My daughter and her fiance Joe live around the corner. Yes, they age getting hitched so we are glad we're so close. 

Ideally, I would be located between my two Idaho kids but at least I am now only 40 minutes from my son and his gal Brittany in SW Boise so I've been able to see more of them.

Bonus: Brit and her mom are joining me to tie dye soon! I may post our creations.

C. Diff

It is a bacteria in my colon. For a long time I had diarrhea; loose stools several times each day. Pleasant, huh? But, but, but...I also have IBS. That's short for irritable bowel syndrome but it has been my normal for many years.I didn't know my elimination could or should be different. I have spent the majority of my life stopped up and/or not regular so I when the C. Diff reared its ugly head I thought two things. One was that a recent shift in meds was the cause and my body just needed time to reorganize. The second thought was, "This is a relief, kind of." Along with the multiple toilet visits there was a slight pinching, very specific pain in my lower left abdomen. The discomfort was just that; a slight irritation that I only felt occasionally.

A while back,  because the doc I usually see was unavailable, I saw someone else. She thought it was probably my I.B.S. and told me to take probiotics and fiber. I did for a few days but the my ugly symptoms seemed to worsen so I stopped. Time passes and the symptoms come and kind of lighten up so I think whatever might be ending.

My head injury kicks in when I forget how bad it's been and I take the good half day as signs of wellness. Then I get a cough. The cough is not because of soreness in my throat or chest congestion and I don't feel like I have a cold but I cough a lot. I know they are unrelated but after yet another explosion of my bowel I make another appointment.

This time I am told to catch my poop in the plastic hat that fits comfortably under the lid of the toilet and then depositing a small amount into four prepared containers. Each one is a test for a specific illness, I assume. My cough is discussed briefly but I can tell she has decided this appointment if for the other issue. I do my work with the poop the next morning as Dan stays out of sight. It is not a pleasant task. Dan deposits the bag of samples at the hospital's outpatient pharmacy on his way to work and that afternoon I get a call from my doc's nurse to tell me I have C. Diff, which is a bacteria in my colon that he explains is quite contagious.

I text Nurse Rachel, A.K.A. my daughter, with the news and within two minutes my phone rings. She explains it better than the nurse I had spoken with just prior. She explains the spores live a long time so I need to be extra careful to wash my hands good each time I poop. She also tells me to wash surfaces with bleach solution  and to use a specific bathroom until I am clear. So now Dan has a bathroom and I have one. Also,  we have a spray bottle of 10 to 1 water/bleach solution on my sparkling kitchen counter. I use it to clean everywhere, over and over again.

So I am staying home with my bleach until I am done with my heavy duty antibiotics. I suppose to make sure they've worked I am looking forward to another adventure with the hat.

Boise or Bust

When I moved back to where I was born and raised I thought it would be my last move but that doesn't seem to be the case. Dan retires in February and I'm afraid if we don't make a change then, it may never happen. Change is good and we are not done with this thing called life.

I came home for a variety of reasons and have enjoyed it all. This lucky duck found a new mate, learned how to coach basketball and cross country and mentored some amazing kids who taught me what is important and what is not. 

Let's just say I was here for about 20 years, the first time, and I'm close to 60. So for the past 40 years I've lived in six different places. If you do the math, it's time for me to move again.

1. Eugene, OR 
2. Spokane, WA
3. La Crescenta, CA
4. Lancaster, CA
5. Lynden, WA
6. Boise, ID

I've chosen Boise which will be the 3rd city I've lived in more than once. My kids are there, I miss them very much and I want to enjoy them as adults while I still can. Boise has grown a lot since I called it home, but it is still a very comfortable city.

When I tell people about our decision, I get the idea some think it has not been well thought out. Actually, most probably think we gave it no thought at all which is false. Hear this: I realize I won't see my kids daily and maybe not even weekly, nor do I want to. Also, I know they might move away as soon as we get there, and we're OK with that too. 

Winters are hard for me and Boise has a gentler climate. It does snow but the average is 31 inches per year in comparison to Kalispell's 56. That may not feel like a huge difference but it is for those who hobble. The snow rarely stays and does not build up. Moving to Boise the 1st time, I realized it was sunnier than any place I had been. On average, there are 206 days per year with sunshine in Boise and only 151 days in Kalispell. More sun and less snow result in a longer golfing season which Dan will like.

Housing options abound in Boise. Although there are beau-coup single family homes in many very different areas, there are also other living options. There are several 55 plus retirement communities. They are regulated by the U.S. Department of Housing which require that at least one person is 55 or older in a least 80 percent of the occupied units. The monthly dues usually include lawn/garden maintenance and snow removal along with fancy things like a pool, clubhouse, fitness center, golf course(s), restaurant and bar.

Currently I belong to the Summit where I attend 'old people' fitness courses both on the ground and in the pool. So theoretically I would not have to join a gym and all course fees would be covered by our home owners association fee. The a resale market would be smaller but the neighbors would be more like us.

There are also communities with pools and other fun stuff that have no age restrictions. These communities are likely to include families with kids and I have not decided whether or not I want kids around. Part of me loves kids, that's one reason why I coach, but then again, random children I have nothing to do with can be annoying.

Pictures of My Brain

Recently, I had an MRI done of my brain. Then, had some breakfast and took a bath. After that I met with my neurologist, who also happens to be a high school classmate. When I asked him if I could record him for my daughter, Nurse Rachel, he said, "Of course!"

I cannot call him Doctor so when he enters the room I say, "Hi Brett." He is the same Brett I remember from nearly forty years ago. At least the few memories of him I can conjure. He has a pleasant way about him. He angles the screen towards me and begins flipping through the images like slides. As he turns towards me, the flipping stops and he says that I was born with everything needed in the brain department or something like that. I imagined him saying the exact same thing to many patient o quell their anxiety. He explained what I was looking at from which angle and more or less told me what I had been expecting to hear. The white area or lack of it indicated the brain had been hurt. We looked at the area that appeared smaller than its counter part on the brain's opposite side and he said something about the image being reversed. In essence the left side of my brain is less than the right which makes sense. The left side of my brain controls the right side of my body which is definitely compromised and doesn't work quite right.

It has not worked right since my accident in 1991 but I was young then, just 30 years old, so I regained enough function to get me here. Over the past few years I have noticed a decline and since about a year ago I started dealing with extreme fatigue. That's why I was at my neurologist's to begin with.

"We ARE 57 years old, Lexie," Brett informed me when he suggested it was simply the aging process. I read somewhere that a traumatic brain injury automatically takes 10 years off your life span. When I think in terms of being 67, it makes more sense that I am tired, really tired. But my sister Wally explains it best when she says everything physical takes me twice the amount of work.

In the end, I am glad I had the scan because I saw the actual damage. It was something I had never seen. For some reason, it makes me feel better. I have spent years explaining why I am the way I am but now I have seen the proof that backs up my claims.

Nurse Rachel never did hear Brett's words because I did something wrong with my phone. It may be smarter than me.

Coffee Rant

In our coffee group we refer to one man as Eye-Candy and I bet you can guess why; he is easy on the eyes, at least for an old guy. He's one of the few men in our Flex and Balance class and I get the feeling it is his wife’s idea. I was a few minutes late for coffee but he was still going; on a rant he started just after class I assume.

Eye-Candy, his wife, another couple, my exercise partner/neighbor and myself listened intently as he finally came to an end. His anger was very apparent and the rest of us encouraged him by agreeing, with everything he said. In class, everyone has a folding chair, and it is as if they have been assigned.  As creatures of habit (and our habits are well set,) we stick to our set chair.

One female exerciser often rushes in once the class has started.  We don't necessarily like that but it can be done quietly. If our circle includes and empty chair, that is where the tardy sits. If there is no spare, the tardy retrieves a chair from the cart where they are stacked and squeeze into whatever extra space is available.

The chair next to Eye-Candy was vacant that morning so the tardy gal hustled to sit in the empty. Then she actually picked it up and moved the seat closer to E-C which invaded his personal space. She popped that imaginary film that keeps others out of our comfort zone. We all agreed his anger was valid. But the intrusion was not his only issue and his venting continued. It seems Tardy does not know her right from left and is often not ‘with’ the rest of us. Now we all are out of sync occasionally but he said that with Tardy it is continual. 

Eye-Candy’s wife pointed out that occasionally a member can be too chatty and we all agreed. YEAH, that bugs me too!"  Everyone shared how irritating talkers can be. I guess we are awful old people.

Now I know this all seems rather trivial but it is essential we feel free from anxiety when we exert ourselves because it is not as easy as it once was. Eye-Candy felt invaded and full up with angst. His rant ended with him saying he was not going back. Some in the group told him to continue and shared our suggestions to remedy those type of encounters. One idea was for him to choose a different spot. He didn’t like that, it would disrupt too many. On the other hand, he could counter her chair move with his own. Then he would be encroaching on other’s space, primarily his wife’s, which is not a good idea for any husband. Some other silly solutions came up but we ended up sharing our own uncomfortable class stories.

My neighbor and I both shared stories from our previous Silver Sneaker’s experience but I forgot one of the best tales. Once, an occasional exerciser came to class in with a gun tucked in his waistband. Eyebrows were raised, but nobody said anything. That is, until I spoke. I simply asked him why he had it with him. He gave a half hearted attempt of explanation, that ended up sounding like “Because I can." He never brought his gun again.

At the Summit, a no firearms policy is posted prominently at the front door, which makes me feel good but I realize violent people don’t necessarily follow rules. The exerciser with the gun obviously didn't. I’ll share that story with my coffee group at our next meeting, if I remember.

Just Coffee

I attended a coffee group recently for the first time and told one of my real long stories. I kept stopping to answer questions or laugh at reactions and then I'd say, 'where was I?' They'd remind me and when I couldn't remember names one of the guys would make one up' "Let's call this friend Tammy." Before we adjourned I indicated my desire to join the group. After a few snarky remarks I was awarded a membership and I breathed a sigh of relief that my extra long story did not dissuade them.

In my past, I have had coffee with coworkers, fellow teachers and sometimes groups of coaches meet up for an end of season adult beverage but this is my first coffee group. At least in terms of its objective which appears to be 'a place to socialize.'

A very nice couple from the Flex ad Balance class at The Summit invited my exercise partner and I to join them one morning. I guess we passed some sort of test because we had exercised with them twice a week for some time before the invite came. The group make up is interesting; a guy whose last name rhymes with bottle seems to be the leader and sometimes his quiet wife joins us. Also, the brother of a coach I am familiar with seems to be Bottle's wing man. And there is another exercise group member who is a kick in the pants. We laugh a lot.

They all seem to be long term Kalispellians except the people who extended the invite. They are from Maine and new to the area so we find ourselves explaining things the rest of us just know. Everyone is very nice and seem to intuitively know about my memory and physical issues. It may be because they read the article about me in the local paper. But, I prefer to think they are just nice people.

After watching my mother isolate herself as she aged, I realize being around other people is very important. Coffee with these new friends also helps with my depression issues as it gives me something to look forward to. Yes, they are all older than me because I am young to be retired. And you can bet I use that to my advantage whenever possible.

The Transition to the Summit

                                          
No, I don't mean the N. Korea Summit or the summit of peak. I'm talking about The Summit fitness facility. It opened when I was elementary school as "Second Wind." My best friend had a birthday party at their pool and I remember the ripping of gift wrap (it was pre gift bag) in the lobby-type area. Since then, the place has grown and it has been updated significantly. In 2009 when I returned to Kalispell I planned to work on my own physical well being, work in education, care for my mom, and perhaps coach, in that order.

I found my education job and it wasn't long before I started to coach; girls' middle school basketball, then cross country and finally track and field, hurdles, both boys' and girls. Oh, and I did the morning crosswalk duty at Hedges one year. My mom laughed when I said one of the reasons I came home was to help with her as she aged. She told me she was just fine, then.

As my love for coaching grew and my mother's decline began for real. I retired from my classroom job but continued coaching the running sports; cross country and track. More time went to my mom, then. We took great outings, shopped, saw doctors and physical therapists; first quite often, then less and less. Shirley passed recently so Mom-duty is done and the single season I coach is only six weeks so I have loads of time to fill.

Now, exercise is what I do even though I'm not training for a race. My personal fitness routine is for different reasons and I am in charge of how and when I do it. As an athlete I have always had a coach. Physical therapists worked with me to overcome injuries but now I am alone in my quest to stay fit.

Exercise, now, is to maintain my regained abilities. As a former pretty-good collegiate athlete you would think exercising would be second nature but I have never really liked it. What I did like was winning so that's why I trained.

Prior to joining a gym, I attended a Silver Sneakers exercise class in the basement of Sykes, a local diner that's been here for eons. Attendees were mostly older than me, no, they were all older than me. But when the instructor decided to take her life in a different direction and classes ended, I decided to join The Summit.

Since my head injury my go-to exercise has been water aerobics. I feel free, submerged in water, and can actually run although it is in slow motion and there is no finish line. Plus, if I fall I don't get hurt. The Summit has two pools so I joined.

The Summit has been a delight and has added to my life experiences positively. I go to the gym at least 3 days a week but have a specific class I can attend each day, me with my rollator (better known as a walker.) My high tech rollator is a badge of honor in the gym because others are automatically impressed that someone with, what appear to be, life long issues still "tries." No one wants to be the one to trip me up because how would that look? Not good. Patrons give me ample room!

Carol, my neighbor turned exercise partner, did Silver Sneakers with me and also joined The Summit so we remain partners. Companionship in these situations leads to more accountability for sure. They offer various classes for all levels of fitness and, as in my case, different capabilities period. We started with a Flex and Balance class because it was similar to Silver Sneakers and we knew we were capable of that.  Also, after caring for my mom, I see how important it is to remain social. The partner thing covers that issue as well as the people we have met.

Another class I do is called "Foam Roller."  My neighbor-exercise partner tapped out after trying it once (she doesn't like getting on the floor) so I enjoy that alone. The formal name for fumbling on the floor with a long piece of foam is self-myofascial release; a fancy way to say you are massaging your own self to release muscle tightness. I like it because the lights are dimmed and it is relaxing. And, because of my oddities, the majority of my upper body muscles are tied in double knots just like those I used to tie my toddlers' shoe laces.

To round out my exercise routine at the gym I do water aerobics a couple times a week. While still in the hospital my physical therapist put me in the pool and I loved it. In water I feel free and if I fall I can't hurt myself.

So that is Lexie, right now. Flailing about in chest deep water trying to move to a blasting beat, chair exercises to work on my declining balance with retired seniors that include my 4th grade teacher, a Catholic nun who taught my older brother and a kind couple who got me involved with my first coffee group!

East Grandstand at Hayward Field

The east grandstands at Hayward Field are going to be removed, as I understand, to make way for an ultra modern stadium surrounding the famous track. I ran on this track during my college years in the early 80s.

     


Competing as a Duck, I trained on that track daily for four years; both winning and placing. I took victory laps just inside the rail and even set some school records there. But my tie to those east stands is not very strong. One particular memory of those stands is crystal clear. I see my coach Mark behind the waist high wall, his long, skinny self leaning out, seemingly over the outside lane. I heard his cheers both at the start and mid race.

I was running the 800 meters as a rabbit during an evening Prefontaine classic. My best event was the 400 meter hurdles so maybe they thought I could lead them out fast for the first lap. I knew the rabbit usually drops out after they do there job but that was never discussed so I finished. Finishing last was not what I was use to but as the rabbit that's the way it went.

The other memory I have of those stands is of the men's team and Coach Dellinger. A couple of us "girls" were training for the first half of the 400 meter hurdles directly in front of those grandstands. Dellinger and some of his athletes approached us and without pause the famous coach shouted to get off his track so his men could work out. Although we were angry, we moved to the other side of the oval. I can still hear his words.

I saw the throwers coming and going from what I assumed were the rooms below those old, decrepit stands but the sprinter/jumper/hurdler part of the team did our non track work under the newer stands across the track. We had a long jump pit, medicine balls and hurdles under our stands but I never saw what was below the East stands.

Attending the 2012 Olympic Trials, I walked behind and kind of under the structure, and was shocked. It was clean, there were concessions and the grandstands themselves felt far more sturdy than they had when I ran as a Duck. I sat in those East stands alone, about five rows up and it was pretty cool. The spectators were so close to the competitors; you thought you might be able to reach out and touch the runners. I had little experience as a spectator, but I knew this track was special. The next day, I sat in the cordoned off area reserved for important people. My friends, Kip and Jody, somehow got Duck teammate Lisa, and I "in." Sitting there to watch the races was great but I preferred the home stretch and my last day there I found someone willing to let me sit near the start. There was a handicapped section above the 100 meter and short hurdles' start line and the woman observed my knee brace and hobble and determined I was indeed handicapped.

My next experience at Hayward was in 2014 when my husband Dan and I walked onto the track and into the infield just to look around. Soon after our arrival we were approached by a coach type person who told us it was a closed facility and we needed to leave. I was at loss for words but Dan simply said that we were on campus because I was to be inducted into their Hall of Fame that evening. I'm sure the coach had no idea who I was or had been but he backed away telling us to enjoy ourselves.

Yes, I understand wanting those old stands to remain as part of the up date, but I also understand the desire to modernize. I feel fortunate that, when it is all said and done, I'll be able to say I ran at Hayward, in the olden days. It is home of the best track fans in the country and I feel fortunate to have been on those receiving end of that encouragement.

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling

I was on Legends Football Field's today for the first time because that's where our last track and field meet of the season happened. I coach the hurdles and we run two events; the first race (100 meter hurdles) of the meet, then the second one (the 200 meter hurdles) is towards the end of a meet. So I have a lot of down time between them. I cheer on other athletes at the jumps and on the track but I get restless. During this time yesterday, I saw a group of girls doing cartwheels and round offs and being generally goofy so I decided to join them.

After hobbling to where they were I asked if they wanted to see what I could do. Now, they all know I'm disabled because of my rollator (walker on wheels) but I like to make them laugh. After shouts of encouragement I carefully lowered myself to the new surface which seemed very clean and semi soft. Then I tried to turn a somersault but fell sideways. Still they all cheered and clapped. But the sense of failure made me come up with something I could do. I have rolled with them down hills so I tried the same thing. It took some doing but I got good at rolling fairly fast. That brought more hoorays!

Then I said, "Let's lay head to feet in a line and then all roll sideways s together so we look like a snake!" We did that and then someone suggested a race. This time, we all rolled towards a finish line but I could not finish but that was OK because they all laughed hysterically.

About and hour later I encountered a coach from a neighboring city who told me she had seen our rolling riot and loved it. She said, "And that's why we coach middle school, right?" Continuing, she said that the kids will remember the silliness maybe even longer than the races they ran. My coaching self felt good that my silly actions drew positive comments. And I knew I'd be back next year.

Our Mom

A 2nd compression fracture in her back, it seems, was the turning point. At that point, some months back, our weekly outings ended. We shifted the responsibility of getting meds into her system to others. We moved her from independent living to level one of the assisted system. She had been eating less and less until it was only a few bites a day. Reminders from her two daughters did nothing. She was week as a newborn kitten and had dropped to 91 pounds and we began the process of getting her into hospice care.

I happened to see her entire leg as I helped her from bed and it was almost entirely black. Even though she was entering hospice we needed to address the discolored limb. A CAT scan gave us the reason. The prosthetic ball entered her thigh bone and the bone surrounding it was actually crumbling away. The joint was so unstable that she could bare no weight on it and she didn't know why. She asked me, over and over, why she couldn't walk and I explained the situation inside her hip and how another fall would be ugly. She hated that she had to call for help for the simplest things; going to the bathroom or to the deck to smoke.

She finally agreed to wear the call button they had given her upon admittance but because she had no patience and little sense of time passing she would not wait for assistance. While she still had the strength, she would hobble to her walker unassisted. Her decline continued and she decided
if she could not walk, she would simply crawl. I'm sure her thought process was, "Damn it, I'll just do it myself."

They moved a hospital bed into her bedroom and it was nowhere near as attractive as her queen sized bed. We told her it was safer and I understand why she hated that reasoning. People have used it on me since I had my head injury. Most of the time it is helpful but not always. Anyway, a morning towards the end I found mom asleep with her legs hanging off the bed, almost to the floor which shows you just how safe the bed was. I tried to reposition her but as tiny as she was, I wasn't able to do much.

I transferred from bedroom to living area to play solitaire on my phone, waiting for her to wake up. When I listened for the shuffling-of-bedclothes noise coming from her bedroom, I realized her no-more-than-a-minute weight would make no noise. When I walked back to her room, her eyes were open and I saw recognition register on her face. As she spoke, her lower dentures were floating, unattached in her mouth, however and I could not understand a word she said. It took some time but we finally extracted them. Finally, I understood her ask where the boys were.

• Lexie: What boys?
• Shirley: The little boys you brought with you.
• Lexie: No little boys, sorry Mom, just me.

I watched mom go from the vital, fun-loving, extra cool and up-to-date artist she once was, to what I saw then. I love my mother and wished she wasn't dying but, at that point, all anyone could do was to make sure she was not in pain.

Brother Royce, arrived from Alaska and joined sister Wallis and me in the 'make sure mom is cared for properly' presence. We decided she needed one of us with her 24 hours a day and Wallis took the first nights as she was the only one who fit on mom's extra short couch. When work at the Saloon called, Royce took over the night shifts.

After my brother arrived I realized she may have been talking about her own boys. It seemed like this stage lasted a very long time and I was very anxious but Royce was able to put things into perspective for me. He told me he planned on being here as long as the process took and that was a huge relief and what I needed to hear.

I had pictured him leaving at some point and Wallis and I being alone which I knew meant I would be spending days and Wallis would stay nights. Nobody could or would tell me how long she might last. And me, with the head injury, deals in black and whites so not knowing was hard.

She stayed in bed for three days and we thought, "This is it," but when she saw three of her 5 children at her bedside something told her to keep going. She rallied and spent two days in her chair, feet on ottoman lapsing in and out of consciousness and even ate breakfast. While awake she asked to be taken out to smoke. Why not, I thought, and called to have her transferred to the wheelchair. The 1st smoking adventure had me lighting and then holding the cig to her mouth. I even tapped ashes. The 2nd time, things looked better as she was able to hold it herself, smoke and take care of the burnt end.

One day she asked for a beer but settled on wine rather than the juice or water offered. I had told myself, when she moved to the Terrace, I would never open/pour her wine but over time I found myself not only opening it but pouring a glass and delivering it to her in her chair. Well, in her final days I saw myself pouring the diluted wine into her mouth. I delivered, what she called her vices. A couple of days before she passed, she said she wanted a beer. She only drank beer in a pinch, and wine was her first choice. I delivered the beer the next day and she drank it with a straw.

That last evening, in her chair and heavily medicated for pain, she sat with the three of us and talked about earlier times. She smiled and giggled and then said, "Let's talk about Rollins." Rollins is where we spent summers in our cabin on the lake. We laughed, sharing memories of long-ago times, until  she got too tired. She was positioned in bed just so, and she never moved again; sleeping peacefully for more than 30 hours.

Royce called Sunday Morning and when the phone rang I knew she was gone. She would have guffawed and said, "I guess my 'journey' is over." When people referred to death as a journey she always laughed. At one point she said, "Well, my journey is almost over but this last part sucks."

She had often said she was lucky to have lived such a grand life. She liked that word 'grand' and it makes me wonder if my kids will remember any specific term I use. She missed travel, she missed having her fashion sense recognized and she missed her car. She missed the Shirley she remembered and felt that person was gone. And she did not want life to be differently than it had been. It was if she had never considered getting old, relying on others, being tired and unable physically to do what she wanted.

We planned a reception to honor my mom at the Hockaday Museum of Art. Because it was not scheduled until the end of the following month I spent several weeks of limbo. Mom didn't like the phrase, "Celebration of Life," so I called it a reception. It went off without a hitch and she would have loved it; friends and family gathered over wine, hors d'oeuvres and art. I saw good friends and the parents of friends who were part of life growing up on 5th avenue and later in Somers. I saw many of the folks whose names always meant "Kalispell." It was closure, of a sort.

My grief surfaces at random times. When I look at the mountains, if sunshine lights them up, under clear blue skies or rolling clouds, I hear her say, "We live in such a beautiful valley, I don't think I've ever seen them this lovely!"

When track at the middle school started and I had more to do than just sit around feeling sad. Track meets with children, however, will always remind me of my mother. She came to the vast majority of my own meets across the state and then the country.  When I first started coaching at the high school in Lynden, Washington, my parents even came to watch me coach! A few years ago, Mom came to a Kalispell Middle School track meet. It is the same track I ran on a child competing as a a Timberette, waving to mom in the stands, She sat for hours on her walker in the infield and cheered for all the athletes and loved being there.

The ceremony honoring my mother is over and we are closing in our last meet of the season. I look forward to spending time in Flathead lake and maybe taking a trip or two and I know the memories will continue to invade my space but I'm OK with that. Overall, I am coping with her death fine and my sister Wally reminded me that for us it may be easier. We saw her entire journey and am happy she is no longer in pain.