by jphilo | Mar 8, 2011 | Family
My husband Hiram is not the kind of guy who likes the limelight. He says his shyness is a natural response to life in Alaska way back in the homesteading days. He remembers being pointed to on the street by well-meaning parents who would say things like, “Sally, Billy, see those two little boys? Now you know what twins look like.”
But today is his birthday, and I think the world needs to know what a blessing he’s been to me and to many others. So here’s a post from March of 2008 which tells about a wonderful gift he gave to a friend of ours. Happy birthday, Hiram!
Good News at Our House
I don’t care that it’s snowing outside when the weatherman predicted rain. I’m not wearing sackcloth and ashes, though the latest news from Iraq warrants it. I’m not even fretting about our stocks and bonds, though the latest economic news is dismal.
In spite of those things I’m dancing because we had some very good news at our house yesterday. My husband Hiram, he’s the one on the right, had an appointment with his nephrologist (translation: kidney doctor) yesterday. He and the doctor were pleased because his creatinine (translation: amount of protein in urine which measures kidney function) was down from 1.9 to 1.6.
For those of you who don’t know, almost two years ago Hiram donated a kidney to our good friend, Brian. He’s the one on the left in the picture. Hiram passed all the screening tests with flying colors, though his creatinine was high normal, at 1.3. The Mayo doctors thought that was because Hiram has lots of muscle mass, which produces lots of protein.
The transplant went well, and Brian’s creatinine dropped to 1.2. However when Hiram went for his Mayo check up, three months after the surgery, his number had risen to 1.9. And the doctors told him that the biopsy done on the donor kidney revealed that Hiram had a kidney disease. Very surprising, because people with the disease exhibit symptoms before age 40.
So Hiram had to start seeing a nephrologist in Ames. The doctor believes that Hiram had a childhood version of the disease, now dormant, that affected his kidneys slightly. He predicts that Hiram’s remaining kidney will bounce back, just a little more slowly than expected. Yesterday’s numbers support that theory, so we are happy at our house today.
We’ll see if the trend continues after Hiram’s next check up in three months when the lab tech hands him another little cup. Until then, I’m focused on the silver lining accompanying this little cloud: since Hiram is a guy, peeing in the cup is a piece of cake.
by jphilo | Mar 4, 2011 | Family
Fourteen years ago today, my father drew his last breath and embarked upon a great
adventure.
After thirty-eight years trapped in a body weakened by multiple sclerosis, he found
release.
After fourteen years as an invalid who required total nursing home care, he was
independent once more.
After ten years of not recognizing his children, he could once again say our names.
After five years too weak to shoot the breeze with friends, his voice returned.
Fourteen years ago today, the man who modeled so many precious lessons about life
drew his last breath.
I remember
how he lived with dignity in the face of lost dreams,
found humor in a situation others defined as tragic,
refused to become embittered by his lost health.
I remember
how his twinkling eyes eased the discomfort of those put off by his wheelchair,
how his weak legs reminded others to cherish their ability to walk,
how his faith found confirmation in the sweetness of his spirit.
I remember
how peaceful his body looked as his breathing stopped,
how still it lay upon his bed.
I remember the truth that flooded my soul fourteen years ago today.
His grand adventure has begun.
My father is walking again.
In memory of Harlan John Stratton: May 11, 1929 – March 4, 1997.
by jphilo | Mar 3, 2011 | Family
Since Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis two-and-a-half years ago, the runnyness of her nose has increased in direct proportion to her declining memory. So her announcement yesterday, “There’s only one tissue left in this pack,” shortly after we embarked on a long list of errands, was alarming. One tissue wasn’t going to go staunch the flow as we toddled from library to bank to restaurant to hair appointment.
“Not a problem,” I assured her as we pulled into the library parking lot. “I’ll get the pack from my purse and give it to you.” I quickly got out of the car and unearthed the tissue pack, then ran around to Mom’s side and helped her get out.
Mom’s tissue lasted clear through the library and the stop at the bank drive up window. But when we were finally settled into our booth at the Chinese restaurant, it was a soggy mess. She waved it like a sail battered by The Perfect Storm. “I need a new one.”
“Oh well,” I said, “you’ve got plenty in the new pack I gave you at the library. Use one of those.”
Mom searched her coat pockets. “It’s not here,” she said. “But I found an extra tissue.” She extracted the prize and put it to immediate use.
I checked my purse again. The pack wasn’t there. Plus, I could visualize the blue plastic wrapper in my hand as I took it from my purse. What had Mom done with it? “It must have fallen out of your pocket in the car,” I reasoned.
But when we got into the car after lunch, it wasn’t there. Thankfully, her hairdresser has tissue boxes scattered throughout her establishment, so Mom stocked up. She made it through the appointment, home, and into bed for her nap without incident. I made sure she had a new pack of tissues in her purse and then headed for home.
I mused about the incident on the way. When would Mom’s hand find the missing pack in the place she’d absentmindedly tucked it? How would my brother spin the discovery so Mom would laugh instead of be frustrated by her failing memory? Then I got home, got busy, and didn’t give the mystery another thought. Until yesterday evening, as Hiram and I went out the door, and I reached into my coat pocket for my gloves.
My hand closed around a soft, crinkling rectangle.
The missing tissue pack.
I must have slipped it in my pocket in my hurry to help Mom in the library parking lot.
I sighed.
Which one of us has Alzheimer’s?
by jphilo | Mar 1, 2011 | Family
This morning I’m speaking to a MOPS group in River Falls, Wisconsin. It’s a “far piece” from Central Iowa, even a crazy investment of time and gas for a 45 minute talk. But, it’s not crazy to me, since my son and daughter-in-law live only an hour from River Falls, so I slept at their house last night.
That may not seem like a big deal, but spending time is something I don’t take for granted. A year after writing the blog post below, I am still mindful of God’s grace and restoration in our family. May the mindfulness never fade away.
Mindful – Recycled
I take so many things in life for granted: a warm home, a loving husband, more food than I need, education and job skills, freedom to travel, vacations, a functioning government, friends who stand by me, and the ability to pay our bills each month. These privileges are so commonplace I treat them as my due goes on and on.
But each time my children call, I’m reminded of a double privilege my husband and I never want to take for granted. We count it a blessing when they call, their voices full of confidence in our love for them, eager to talk about the events of the past week and dreams for the future. The blessing multiplies when they ask for our advice, consider our words seriously, and heed what we say.
I never dreamed of such a relationship with my adult children after growing up in the sixties watching the hippies and flower children denigrate and scoff the “establishment.” A bit young to participate in the rebellion, a bit of the ‘60s attitude managed to rub off on me. My parents’ advice was considered suspect until after our son was born, and we needed all the help we could get to survive his first five years.
So we never expected our children would value our advice before they became parents. And during Allen’s monastery years, we lost our easy relationship with him and believed it was gone forever.
God has blessed our family with restoration. We deserve this blessing no more than any other family. I fight back tears when our children, overwhelmed by the sweetness of God’s grace, acutely aware of families broken by strife, crippled by rebellion. I restrain the tears until after the good-byes and I love yous.
Then I let them flow as I pray, “Please God, make me mindful of your blessings. Don’t let me ever take them for granted.”
by jphilo | Feb 23, 2011 | Family
My mom discovered lasagna in the late 1960s, about the same time she discovered another Italian dish – pizza. We said I-talian with a long “i” and the accent on the first syllable, our pizza assistant was Chef Boyardee, and mom’s version of lasagna culminated with pouring cans of Campbell’s condensed cheddar cheese soup over ground beef and lasagna.
After those heady days as Iowa’s I-talian cultural ambassadors, I experimented with a number of lasagna recipes that didn’t have cheddar cheese soup in the ingredient list. Gradually, I perfected my recipe. Not too long ago, Anne asked for my recipe, which she refers to as “Mom’s Lasagna.”
In deference to Anne, here is the recipe for this mom’s lasagna. But if you have a good one, I’m willing to give it a try. Just type it in the comment box if you like. Unless cheddar cheese soup is one of the ingredients. I know what that one tastes like, thanks to my mom’s lasagna. It was way I-talian.
Mom’s Lasagna
1/2 pound ground beef
1/2 pound ground pork sausage
16 ounce can tomato sauce
1/2 cup chopped onion
1/4 cup chopped green pepper
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
12 ounces cottage or ricotta cheese
2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
8 ounces lasagna noodles
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Brown meat in a skillet. Drain and rinse to remove fat. Return to skillet and add onions and green pepper. Saute for 2-3 minutes. Add crushed garlic, Italian seasoning, salt, pepper, and tomato sauce. Stir well and bring to a boil, then turn down and simmer uncovered.
While meat sauce simmers, cook noodles according to package directions. Drain in a colander and rinse with cold water.
Spray a 9 x 13 pan with cooking spray. Arrange 1/3 of lasagna noodles in bottom of pan. Spread with 1/3 of meat mixture, 1/3 of cottage or ricotta cheese, and 1/3 of mozzarella. Repeat two more times. Bake uncovered for 1/2 hour.
(I always make a double or quadruple batch and freeze several pans.)
by jphilo | Feb 15, 2011 | Family
My, oh, my! This post from February 16, 2009 was a reminder of how much has happened in the last two years. My mother’s house sold 4 hours after it was put up for in March of 2009, during the worst housing market in decades. Our son now has a pick up, a job, a wife, a dog, and a bright future. Our daughter has a husband and will graduate from college in a few short months. Instead of cleaning a house this February, my sister and her husband went to London and Paris. The spare room is now Hiram’s office, and I’m busy with book rewrites.
But some things remain the same. My scrapbooking keeps getting pre-empted, God is faithful, life will look much different in two more years,and pride is a continual struggle in my life.
Pride Cometh Before the Mess – Recycled
Last Saturday morning, I felt pretty proud of myself. The house was back to normal after all our December excitement, and all the treasures bequeathed by Mom were in place. My schedule for the coming week was much clearer than normal, so I anticipated a highly productive writing week.
I was so pleased with my organizational ability, I was probably insufferable. But only lasted until my sister arrived around noon, and we went to Mom’s house to sort through her things so we can put the house on the market. By Sunday evening, Hiram had hauled several loads of new treasures to our house and put them in the spare bedroom. I was too bummed to climb the stairs and face the mess. On Monday morning, my sister’s parting advice was, “Don’t even look at it for a week.”
Good advice and I stuck to it, at least until Anne called before noon with a case of the February college blues and a great desire to come home this weekend. But she’s stranded because she loaned her car to Allen until he found a job and could afford his own set of wheels. I can’t pick her up Friday because we have a meeting about Mom’s finances scheduled that afternoon. So I called my son, who now has a job and will have his own truck by the end of the week.
About three or ten phone calls later, everything was arranged for him to pick her up and bring her home, leave her car in Iowa, and ride home with a friend who will also spend the weekend with us. Anne will sleep in her bedroom, Allen said he’ll take the couch.
This means I can’t take my sister’s advice. I have to clean the mess by the end of the week. It also means I won’t be scrapbooking this weekend as I planned. But it also means that by next Monday the spare room will be clean, Anne will have a way to get home for spring break, and I won’t be quite so insufferable.
