Reports of my Mother’s condition have been positive lately. Yes, she is frail and sleeps almost constantly. But her vitals have been good and she continues to take some nourishment. Some reports have her awake late at night watching TV in the lounge. Really, though, there is not much left of her but skin and bones.
Sleeping in the lounge
That includes her cognitive mind. She continues to be kind and sweet to those she encounters in the memory care unit. She vaguely recognizes my sisters when they go to visit. She remembers some events from her past but can’t remember her family. Sometimes, she hears from her Mother. Her Mother tells her she is ready for Mom to come home.
For me, Mom has been gone for a while. I’ve made my peace with in-person goodbyes a few times now. I haven’t been to Atlanta for nearly a year to see her again. In some ways it is difficult to say goodbye to her again. She doesn’t know the difference if I’m not there.
I miss my Mom! I keep wanting to call her but she has no, nor can she use a phone. Not for anything special. Just to talk with her like I used to, chatting about what’s going on in our lives. I am happy to have Cathy to share my life. And I enjoy talking with my sisters and brother on a regular basis. Sharing our children’s and grandchildren’s lives is a blessing. But it’s just different. I feel for all of you who have lost your parents, whether in their due time or prematurely. It is difficult to accept the braking bond between child and mother.
I have experienced the gradual decline of someone dear to me. The eventuality and inevitability of death. It hurts to go through it again. Fortunately, Mom is not in serious pain. Her dementia often alleviates her stress over losing her mind. It didn’t for a while, but its progression anesthetizes her from most thought. She seems content to stare at the TV. She also watches the hustle and bustle of others like herself and the staff that guards and keeps them.
Mom is well on her way to the age of one hundred one years. None of us thought she’d live this long. There have been several episodes within the past year when we assumed it was the end. Now, finally, I am planning to return to Atlanta to see her. Not to take care of her estate, nor for a celebration of life. Just another visit at the end of which I will have to say goodbye again.
So I continue to miss my Mom. I believe I will miss her even during the visit. I know I will miss her when she is finally at rest. She is the last of the family’s age group. Too quickly it will be our turn. In some cases, it already is.
Cathy and I got home from our honeymoon at Jackson Lake Lodge in the Tetons last Sunday. Since then we’ve been settling into our married life and working on all of the logistics of combining and consolidating our lives. Who knew there are sequencing issues with changing one’s name? I suppose, those of you who have had to change your names. Sorry!
Yes. We got married! It’s been a thrill and long anticipated. I asked Cathy to marry me on Valentine’s Day, in writing, on the card she gave me. She took little time to say yes. But she answered in writing the next day on the same card. I believe she is keeping that card.
The Tetons opportunity came up last November. A deal we could not resist. Little did we know then that it would be our honeymoon destination. But with upcoming anniversaries for the passing of our spouses in April and May, we decided to try to sandwich our wedding between May and the latter part July.
On July 21st we held a small wedding with some of our children and grandchildren, and a few close friends. We’ve been attending St. Stephen Lutheran Church in Urbandale for several months now. It’s a gracious and loving environment with a wonderful pastor. So we decided to invite Pastor Andrea Myers to officiate the wedding, at our new home. On Friday the 18th, Pastor Andrea informed us that she was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia. She needed to be in Rochester the following Monday (the 21st) for tests, and to begin treatment. Thankfully, Associate Pastor Chris Lang stepped in to perform the ceremony. Our thoughts and prayers continue for Pastor Andrea as she endures the first round of chemo regimens. And we pray for a speedy and complete recovery.
Cathy and I spent our teen years in the same neighborhood. Both of our last names began with “Ja”. Because of this, we were placed in the same homerooms for both Junior and Senior High School. We didn’t socialize back then. But we were aware of each other. We reconnected through our 50th reunion website. Cathy posted that she had lost her husband to a fast-growing cancer. I offered my condolences and empathy, having recently been through a similar loss. When we met for dinner in June of 2024, we quickly recognized our common interests. It didn’t take long for us to notice the attraction.
Obviously, there is so much that happened between June of 2024 and July of 2025. I might get to some stories about us in later posts. Here I will say that our upbringing, our common neighborhood and school, and our years of life experiences have all led us to each other. Our love is for each other, as we are. Sharing our remaining years together is our passion. Yet we are always mindful of our losses of Pam and Craig. We have mutual respect for our grieving. We embrace each other’s loved ones and friends as we move forward into our future. We are truly blessed.
I like this song. Though it is a bit sad. The music is great – I began thinking about blogging again this week. It’s been since the middle of March when I suggested I would be coming out with something big. It was supposed to be a commemoration of five years of wutjavia.com.
But life continues to unfold in unexpected ways. We all know change is inevitable. Whether a function of the times or of age, the speed and frequency of changes seems to be accelerating. Thus, I have been away from here for a while. And the post reminiscing about Wut Javia will have to wait. For now I turn my attention to the near future while keeping connection with my recent past.
The third anniversary of Pam’s passing is approaching. I have many reminders of its coming. I have many thoughts about its arrival.
When I left the bridge on May 12th last year, I told Pam I didn’t know if I’d be back. I had no idea what direction my life would head. I knew only that I was planning to move forward. Keeping Pam, and our past, in my thoughts and heart.
I have written about or alluded to some of the ways my life has changed since then. I moved closer to my son. I began a relationship with a woman. I vaguely knew Cathy from my past. She lost her husband just over a year ago.
Cathy and I have grown close and are making plans for our future together. It’s a good thing! We share many things in common. Our high school experience, the neighborhood where we grew up. Past acquaintances and friends. We also share much in our present. By far the least of which is the loss of our spouses.
As we learn about each other, we realize that former influences shaped who we are. They developed a basis for our compatibility. Our personalities jibe. But with enough differences to keep our relationship interesting. We enjoy music and nature. We contemplate God and the universe. We keep each other on our toes, so to speak.
I relay these things to you as pretext to what is soon to come. Cathy just experienced the first anniversary of her husband’s death. I am about to experience the third anniversary of Pam’s. Thus, I have asked Cathy to join me at the bridge in Nebraska. Three years ago, I poured Pam’s ashes over the bridge, into the stream that runs into her family’s heritage farm. Cathy enthusiastically agreed to come.
As Pam was dying, and after she did, I promised her that I would live the rest of my life. Not merely exist in grief. It is fitting that I share this solemn, heartfelt time with Cathy. In some sense I hope that it is a loving transition from my past to my future. A future that Pam told me would be. One I didn’t think was possible. On where I could love again.
Hello, it’s me. I still love you. I still think about you. I am moving ahead with a life without you in it. A life I know you would want for me. Your life too early ending.
Walking the apartment building hallways during times of inclement weather is a benefit of apartment living. The scenery is decidedly less exciting than walking along a “normal” neighborhood. Yet there are interesting sights and sounds to stimulate the senses. The beeping of the elevator, barking dogs. The sound of video gaming or music behind closed doors.
Instead of concrete sidewalks traversing double-wide driveways, apartment building hallways are nearly void of obstacles. There are the occasional unique identifiers for various residences. Just like those encountered along the streets of a former home. Mostly door mats along with hanging wreaths and signs.
Door mats give a glimpse of the lifestyle of the neighbors who live within. I found this one either funny or disturbing depending on your outlook on life.
Signs and wreaths suggest religious, cultural, and social proclivities of those who dwell within. And so with walking the streets of my former neighborhood. Seasonal holiday lights and yard ornaments delighted, and sometimes disgusted me. Apartment strolling evokes much the same emotions. Some door ornaments are normal and expected. This one surely seems appropriate at this time.
Like the door mat, signs can also vie for attention.
As does this holiday wreath. Though certainly not my style.
This ones seems out of season, though still enjoyable on the whole.
Others are curious and have meanings that escape me. Like this contrasting wreath. Though it, too, oddly enough I like.
As with single/double family dwelling neighborhoods, apartment buildings have other business going on. I don’t see for sale or for rent signs here. But evidence of comings and goings abound. Houses are sold. Movers move. Upgrades abound. Maintenance is ongoing. Apartment buildings have their own evidence of changing occupancy.
I’m probably guilty of nicking sheetrock corners during my past moves. But most of the time I see “professional” movers here. I wonder if management gets upset, or just figures S**t happens! I found this patchwork on every floor.
I suppose every neighborhood has its demonstrations of human nature. There are occasional abandoned vehicles, yard clutter, unsightly yards and landscaping. Apartment buildings have their own style of individuality.
Months ago, my neighbors across the hall started putting their garbage bags outside their door. They left them there for days before taking them out to the dumpsters. Not only were they unsightly, they often began to smell. Maybe they were trying to keep the garbage away from the dog. This dog often barks at me when I leave or enter my apartment. I finally put a sticky note on their door, “PLEASE TAKE YOUR GARBAGE OUT!” It was all caps because that’s how I often write anyway.
That seems to have worked. Occasionally I find a bag in waiting. But it doesn’t stay there very long. Unfortunately, another frustrating exhibit manifested. It’s been about three months since what appears to be a uniform showed up outside their door. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t moved since.
A pair of boots sometimes keeps the uniform company. Though only for short visits. I wonder if these clothes are lonely or feel neglected sitting outside the door all the time.
I gave up trying to do anything about this neighbor. I will, however, inform management if their droppings once again start to smell!
One last thing before I go for another walk around my neighborhood. I might see something similar in any neighborhood. However, I am aware that the majority of the tenants here are much younger than I. People enjoy life. They party too fervently. I get it. The difference here is that the rain doesn’t wash the evidence away! I wonder what their apartments look like inside. No, not really. I don’t want to know!
Apparently the cleaning crew only vacuums the hallway carpet. They must not even spot clean at all. For a few weeks now, I have been stepping around this neighborhood landmark. I suspect I will see it again when I am done writing today and once again go walking the hallways.
Last Minute Addendum
As with any neighborhood, drama takes place in various ways. Often it comes in the form of sirens and emergency vehicles. Though no sirens sounded, excitement came to within feet of my apartment door yesterday morning.
I opened the door to leave for the grocery. Two uniformed policemen stood in the hallway between me and the stairwell. There was also a woman who I did not recognize, wearing a long winter coat. None seemed in a hurry or too anxious. One of the policemen walked into the stairwell, then turned and walked back. I asked if it was okay to use the stairs and was assured there was no problem.
On to the grocery and back again. I saw a fire rescue vehicle and fire truck now parked in front of the building. Another two policemen on the first floor hallway. “Is it okay to be in here”, I asked. “Yes. No danger.”
Up the elevator to the fourth floor (no stairs because I was carrying groceries in my cart). An EMT and another policeman met me as I got off. But no worries. Then, I turned the hallway corner. The original pair of uniforms were still outside the door across the hall and down one unit from my apartment. Asking again if everything was alright, one said, “I really can’t discuss it. But there is no danger.”
If I remember correctly, an older man lives(d) across the hall. I suspect this all began as a welfare check. Apparently it turned out to be more than a check.
There is a fire station just a couple blocks from here. There was a fire station on the same street as my former home, just about a half mile away. Sirens and emergency vehicles are commonplace for me. Sometimes they stop in the neighborhood. This, too, is now a part of walking the hallways.
Last week we were in Wisconsin. Chosen, at this time, for the opportunity to experience the rolling, tree-covered hills along the Wisconsin river, which led us to good friends near Madison. Thankfully, they accepted the self-invitation!
We were not disappointed. We seem to have picked the peak week for tree watching, so to speak. Earlier, we would have likely found too few multi-colored wooded knolls. Next week, with its cooler temperatures and frosty winds, the same vistas could be somewhat emptied of foliage. Saturday’s drive back through the hills, valleys, and riverways of Wisconsin and Iowa also kept us entertained.
As the leaves change to their reds, oranges, and yellows, thoughts turn to changing seasons. Those who reside in Iowa are fortunate to live in an area where we are treated to all four. I happen to like the times in transition from one season to the next. Though I love Autumn, my enthusiasm is dampened by the prospect of the long, dark, cold Winter ahead. I do like snow. It’s just the bitterly cold times of January and February that make Winter my least favorite time of the year.
Transitioning from Winter to Spring, well, we all know there are so many emotions, hopes, and dreams that accompany the revitalization of flora and fauna. The greens are so bright and vividly contrast the brown fields and grasslands still to be planted and sprouted. Fresh, (hopefully) moist air replaces the dry scent of winter. Pollens, though pesky for some of us, enhance the fragrance on the Spring breezes.
I like Summer! Longer days and the sun’s radiant heat bring richer shades of green, in the fields as well as the trees. Skies of azure blue show as mirrored on lakes and ponds. The heat bothers me less than the cold of Winter. Humidity typically feels better in my lungs than the dryness of Winter air. Though both extremes keep me inside at times enjoying conditioned air!
Once again to the return of Autumn. And though we know what’s coming with every change of season, each is unique in its manifestation. How vibrant will the patchwork of leaf colors be? How will moisture, or lack of it, affect plants and harvest? And if I be a bit concerned and political, how is our changing global climate affecting – everything?! I hope, for all of the earth, that we do what we can to keep the seasons, well, seasonal.
Happy leaf-watching!
P. S. Two Simon and Garfunkel songs came to mind as I began to write this post. I include them only as footnotes here because neither is particularly happy, at least by song’s end. I have enjoyed playing April, Come She Will for many years. Though I rarely play it anymore. The Leaves That Are Green tells another rather melancholy story. I will leave both to your listening and judgement.
Traveling back and forth between central and eastern Iowa so many times this last month (moving to and from) has provided me with ample opportunities to enjoy the magnificence of its Summer landscape, various farm crops and animals, and wildlife. Rolling on a hybrid of four-lane and two-lane highways brings me closer to nature than does the interstate system, while getting me to my destinations in a reasonable amount of time.
I was accompanied this past Tuesday by Ben, my son’s stepson, for company and assistance in packing and transporting some of my belongings. As a tall, strong thirteen-year-old, I knew he could handle laborious and heavy tasks that I either could not or did not want to tackle by myself.
A huge brown owl provided our first surprise entertainment when we had to backtrack to help out my son’s being stranded at a car rental store. It launched itself from a large tree just right of the two-lane, flying directly overhead as it crossed the road. Magnificent! I rarely see owls, even while hiking in the woods. They blend in so well and perch so still as they survey the forest floors for the many rodents that scurry through the undergrowth, brush and fallen leaves. What a sight to see with wings extended in full regale!
Having crossed over the Iowa River at Coralville Reservoir several times over the past few weeks, I was aware that this is the time of year for the late summer pelican migration. There is an Audubon outlook on the north side of the lake, on the road to East Amana, with plaques that describe these huge, majestic, white and black wetlands birds, and their migration patterns. If you are reading this and in the area, Sunday is the Annual Pelican Festival that takes place at the outlook.
On Tuesday, as Ben and I were crossing over the reservoir area, I began to describe the festival when we spotted between 50 and 100 birds at water’s edge, while some flew low and slow as they glided in for their landings. And if you have ever seen a pelican squadron soaring high above the earth, you know how they shimmer white, then disappear against an azure blue sky, only to reemerge as the entire squadron changes direction, white wings fully extended and synchronized, reflecting the light of the sun. It is truly an amazing sight in nature.
Now fully loaded with boxes and totes, we backtracked our route to central Iowa. A very routine drive is interrupted only by a five mile stretch of two-lane on a four-lane highway under construction, and the periodic threat of rain or storms that typically build out of the west.
This day was different. Not far from where Mr. Owl surprised and excited us several hours earlier, a Red Tail Hawk flew just above car level and across the road in front of us pouncing on an unsuspecting rodent in the median just to my left. If you’ve ever witnessed such an event, you know how the hawk appears to revel in its victory and upcoming tasty feast – unless it is saved for its young in a nest perched somewhere in a dead or dying tree.
Birds, and particularly birds of prey, are a highlight of any day during which I have the blessing of witnessing them soaring, hovering, and hunting. The majesty of pelicans, cranes, and herons exemplify the wonder of regal flight. The kind of flight I have only dreamed of, mastering the breezes, pondering our magnificent world below. I can hardly wait for my next magnificent bird adventure.
So says a billboard somewhere on the back highways of Alabama.
Its intended purpose is to persuade men to vote against women’s right to choose, against any abortion. It is indicative of a Southern religious mentality that pits the right wing, freedom from government control of their lives groups, against other’s views of freedom being about letting people make their own personal decisions.
Our society is based on a set of laws that is meant to ensure that all persons are treated equally, that we steer clear of laws that limit government control while providing for the safety and welfare of everyone within our borders.
“Hang on, hang on, hang on.” So said Eric Clapton during an Unplugged performance of Alberta on M-TV many years ago. I recognize that I am in no way knowledgeable enough nor qualified to write about this subject. I can only try to communicate how I feel and how such expressions, i.e. billboards, affect and affront me.
I am pro-life AND pro-choice. Of course I/we want people to have children. It is not only wonderful, but innate for our survival as a species. But I cannot fathom being forced to carry something growing in me that I neither meant to cause nor want! If it were men who had to carry a fetus in the womb, I think they’d be singing a different song.
But what I simply cannot understand is how the very people who want less government control of their property, their money, their “freedoms” are the same people who want to control others’ bodies and thoughts because a god, or any other socio-religious entity says it’s the only true and right way! The same people who truly believe that some humans are more human than others, or less so, think that the only sustainable race profile is white, Christian!
As I read what I am writing I know that I have now gone off the diving board into the deep end of opinion at the risk of upsetting those I have tried so hard not to. All in hopes that you “like” what you read. I feel bad if that’s how you feel. I respect it. I understand if you think you must divorce yourself from this blog. But I do not apologize!
Maybe next week I’ll get back to the wading pool with warm fuzzy topics like travel or music, family and friends. But not today. Today I am taking a stand (or a dive, not to mix metaphors)!
While visiting family I find myself not only in different surroundings, but with different stimuli while on an elevated deck contemplating the universe.
My first encounters were with subtropical weather. High humidity, higher heat, the build up of rain-filled clouds during afternoons and evenings, sometimes precipitating overnight. Everything is lush and green, not unlike home, but in the hills of Georgia, tall trees are prevalent, reaching for the comforting embrace of the firmament, surrounding the houses and streets, hiding much of the sky that I normally see at home.
As I looked up between the towering foliage I saw the sky – our atmosphere – in a way that I don’t remember realizing before. Like a 60-mile thick blanket it warms us. It cools us, nourishes us, and protects us from external universal forces that would otherwise make life on earth impossible.
As the building, billowing clouds mixed with the azure sky framed in tall pine and tulip trees, I somehow understood our earthly blanket’s lifegiving significance. At the same time I felt that it, as other living beings on earth, is threatened by how humanity treats this unique, amazing phenomenon. It left me simultaneously in awe and in fear.
Returning to the deck on another afternoon, life touched me in a very different way. A dragonfly landed in a potted orange tree next to me. I was struck not only by its beauty, but also by the complexity of its body, by its wing structure, transparent and framed in blue , and the attachment to its torso. Its eyes and mouth (basically its face) conjured human-like attributes. What an amazing being. What an amazing manifestation of life on earth!
When I moved it flew, only to return in seconds to the same or nearby branch, staring at me and I at it. So I spoke to it. It seemed to nod in understanding as I expressed my appreciation of its beauty and life force. Again it flew. Again it returned. I decided to approach it directly from ahead. I extended my hand. It stayed. I touched its hair-thin black legs. It stayed until I tried to lift them in hopes of having it transfer to my finger. It flew.
Walking away to the other end of the deck I felt so in touch with life on earth. I thought, wouldn’t it be wonderful to become so aware and connected to life on this earth that, in the end, I would simply fade away into it, mixing my energy with the plants and animals, the air and the sky. Finally, I would be one with life on earth. Maybe I already am.
My ears were subjected to a cacophony of sounds as soon as I opened the car door. I knew immediately that it was cicadas. I’d heard a few at home, but nothing like the constant noise I heard from the parking lot at Squire Point. Returning after several weeks of on and off travel, it was great to be back. But the sound!
Having donned my boots and trekking poles, I set off to enjoy the trail. Last autumn’s prescribed burn coupled with ample spring rain allowed the undergrowth amongst the trees to flourish in stature and color. Patchy sunshine filtering through the majestic, aged trees dappled shades of greens and browns on trees and undergrowth alike.
But the sound. It didn’t take long to identify three distinct types of cicada music. The constant background of whining permeated the forest. Difficult to identify, it was something like a mechanical whirring of mid-range tones, like that of a fan in need of lubrication. Its volume changed only as I ambled through the woods. Clearly there were areas of higher cicada concentrations in the trees. But the sound never abated while I was outside of the car.
I passed smaller swarms of the bumblebee sized insects along the path. Their sound was more like the incessant buzzing we are familiar with. Louder than the constant whirring throughout the forest, the chatter undulated at different decibel levels as I passed, louder then softer, then louder again in a coordinated symphony of winged instruments.
Closer, I could hear individual cicadas in the nearby trees extending their invitations to females in hopes of completing the mating act during their short, 24 hour adult life. Watching the path below and ahead as I often do, I saw the remains of those who’s time had passed. In some cases, I saw only a pair of wings. Other forest critters having hauled off and feasted on the other remains.
Traversing Squire Point and entering Woodpecker Trail, there was actually a fourth sound. I thought it might be a nearly silent drone or some kind of electric bike, barely audible compared to the singing (not really singing, but…) bugs. I turned to look and saw a single cicada flying, then landing on a nearby fern. Such a delicate contrasting sound, and enlightening new experience!
Winding my way back along the matted dirt and naturally mulched path, I found myself hearing something different. Smaller, nearby cicada swarms were absent. For the first time this day I could hear the breeze high up in the trees. Its cooling refreshment barely reaching pathway level. Now that’s a familiar sound. But short-lived. Hike a few meters forward and back into the din.
Nearly five miles later, I was back at my vehicle. Take off the boots and put on shoes. Stow the trekking poles and drink the rest of my water. Looking down I found a wayward interloper at my feet. Yep. A cicada.
Above the twig, just below my thigh
Time to go. I got in and shut the door. OMG!!! It’s quiet! I didn’t realize just how loud the cicadas were.
As a side note, I was driving along the back roads east of the reservoir last week and thought my hearing devices were malfunctioning. I kept hearing a faint buzzing come and go. Since I have had a similar problem with them in the past, I took one out, and then the other. But I could still hear the noise as I meandered along the narrow, unmarked asphalt roads. I finally realized that, from time to time, I was passing swarms of cicadas. Who knew?!
Another thing I realized while on my hike today. I’m going to miss this natural world when my time comes – hopefully not soon.
“I guess this probably qualifies for meaningful and thought-provoking ;-)”
Not even my backlog list of topics yields a subject to write about. I’ve even been toying with the concept of writer’s block. But that’s not the sole reason for the lack of a post last week. I was gone for three days during the week and spent two days prior preparing for the trip.
I do enjoy writing this blog and appreciate the positive Likes and Comments. They give me courage to continue. But I also feel a commitment to meet my self-imposed deadlines and to write content that is meaningful and though-provoking. I’m not sure this qualifies. But maybe…
I continue to hold back. Yes, I have dabbled around the surface of controversial topics. But I am afraid of scaring off some readers. I can also admit that I am fearful of reprisals. Not so much from those who follow the blog. More from any entity that may interlope into this site. What a condition of current culture, that we have to tread so carefully.
No. Damn it! Not this time.
My son and I were discussing politics while camping with his family at Maquoketa Caves State Park a week ago. It is not typical to have internet access or cell service away from cities and towns. Yet we did, and our phones buzzed and lit with the news of Tridiot’s convictions. The discussion evolved to what ifs.
It was then that I verbalized that I might take a stand against an authoritarian regime if he manages to get elected. I/we simply cannot allow a faction of bullies who want to roll back time and eliminate social and political freedoms for any one or group who does not agree with them to do so – by brute force!
I am scared just to say it and write it. But I am at a stage in life where I have less to lose by waging the battle (figuratively speaking). Future generations are at stake. History does repeat itself. The parallels in political design to those of Germany in the 1930’s are clear. Today I was reminded how the Nazi takeover was not with a coup in one fell swoop. Hitler came to power legally, by election. Then he installed his henchmen in positions of power and dismantled the government to execute his malevolent plan.
I’m not sure what form my resistance would take. I am frightened just to consider. Better, though, would be to make sure that Tridiot and his henchmen do not come to power. So, I will battle my fears of reprisal and work toward that end. Please join me in this effort.
I guess this probably qualifies for meaningful and thought-provoking 😉
