Book Review - Take Charge of Parkinson’s Disease: Dynamic Lifestyle Changes to Put You in the Driver’s Seat

When I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, the one thing I did not do was read about it.  Quite honestly, I didn’t want to know what the future might hold for me.  At this point, five years later, I can say I’ve read two books about Parkinson’s.  One is Michael J. Fox’s book, Lucky Man, a book which helped me to find my balance after my diagnosis.  The other one is a book I’ve just recently read.  It is Anne Cutter Mikkelsen’s new book, Take Charge of Parkinson’s Disease:  Dynamic Lifestyle Changes to Put You in the Driver’s Seat.   

I was intrigued by this book when I first learned about it.  What attracted me initially was the focus on exercise and diet.  I’m a big believer in exercise for Parkinson’s and I want to learn more about diet changes that might be helpful.  I’m still not planning on doing a lot of reading up on PD, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at this one.  I’m glad I did.  I also loaned it to Paul Zeiger, my yoga teacher.  He read it, too, and I will include some of his thoughts as well.

Anne’s book is a combination of memoir, cookbook, and information about Parkinson’s disease.  I was initially a bit surprised.  This book wasn't exactly what I was expecting.  I guess with the words "take charge" and "dynamic" in the title, I expected to see a lifestyle change set out very specifically, telling me what to do and how to do it, all with great enthusiasm.  That it wasn’t like this at all, threw me a little.  However, I read on and was pleasantly surprised by the end of Anne's story.  

This is a gentle book, written by a cook whose husband happens to have Parkinson's disease.  The lifestyle changes are shown by their example and not shoved at us.  It's more of a quiet challenge that suggests that we create changes in our lives.  I especially appreciate the recipes and the information about antioxidants and what they do, and the section on spices.   Many of the recipes are simple, too, and use ingredients that I might actually have in my kitchen.  For the recipes and gentle stories alone, this book is worth reading and keeping on hand as a cookbook. 

We had a few minor quibbles.  Anne’s family has available resources that are greater than most of us with PD have.  I am grateful for their sake that they had these resources; it’s just frustrating at times to read about possibilities that aren’t really possible for most of us.  Paul feels the word choice of “Driver’s Seat” in the book’s subtitle is unfortunate, since many of us with PD need to get out of the driver’s seat! 

One of my favorite stories in the book is when Anne’s husband, Mike, is attempting to button his shirt and Anne hears him swearing from the other room.  As one who actually took swearing lessons from a friend after my diagnosis, feeling that this was a skill that was mandatory in my life with PD, I would have loved to hear more stories like this.  A few non-inspirational moments make me more comfortable and more willing to take seriously the lifestyle changes that are suggested.

Minor quibbles aside; this is a good book to add to our home library.  It will have a place of honor in my kitchen. 

Anne's book at Amazon

Yellow Birds for Parkinson's

Another Walk in the Park or Parkour for Parkies

Sometimes the timing is just right.  I am starting another exercise study for people with Parkinson’s disease.  This time, the goal is to learn about treadmill walking and the effect it has on keeping us Parkies folks in shape.  My goal is to learn to walk better.  As I said, the timing is just right.  Just after this study ends, I will be walking in our first ever school walk-a-thon, to help raise money for professional development.  I signed up to walk three whole laps.  Each lap is three quarters of a mile and that adds up to… let me see, that adds up to…

Okay, math has never been my strong area, but I know it must be at least twenty miles.  Dr. Barbara, PT, PhD, Dean and Professor of the School of Physical Therapy at Regis University, said they’d get me in shape.  With all those credentials after her name, I’m willing to believe anything she says. 

The first step was an evaluation of my current walking skills and balance skills.  Of course, they also have to throw in that annoying cognitive element; something called a “mini-mental” exam.  Fortunately, they warned me about it this time.   Who expects intellectual questions from a physical therapy evaluation?  I mean, really.  Where in my life has it been important to know how to count down from one hundred by subtracting sevens? 

Participating in studies is an interesting experience.  It’s much different from any other medical appointments.  First of all, they are happy to see me.  Secondly, they are on time.  I’ve never had to wait for my appointment when I am in a study.  Usually, there is a kind student waiting to escort me directly to the exam room/physical therapy room/lab.  There are often numerous students involved and they treat me as though I am one of their teachers, hanging on my every word and offering me a chair and refreshments if I look the least bit tired.  They know that I am a volunteer and I’m not getting paid to help them out.  I know that I’m getting therapy and not having to pay for it.  It works for everyone.

I did well on the balance part.  Dr. Barbara blames my yoga class for that.  The walking part was interesting.  There was an area taped off on the floor which was to be my walking path.  I was given instructions to walk forward, backward, fast, slow, normal pace, and with my eyes closed.  Each time I walked down the hall, I was timed so they could see just how slow I am.  If all these challenges weren’t enough, before one pass, they put a large cardboard box in my path.  They wanted to watch me get over the obstacle.

Now, lately I’ve become addicted to watching parkour.  Specifically, I’ve been watching “Jump City Seattle”, a program where four teams are competing with a combination of parkour, freerunning, and acrobatics.  Parkour, in its purest form, is the art of moving quickly and efficiently, using the most direct route over and around obstacles, and it’s NOT competitive.  Freerunning includes all those showy moves like doing a triple flip in the air when you jump off of a twenty foot high building onto the concrete below.  I like to watch this for several reasons.  The first reason is because one of our former students, Dylan Baker, is on the show.  The second reason is because I can’t move that well.  It’s amazing to see what the human being is capable of doing.  Thirdly, if I can’t get to sleep at night, watching a Jump City episode is sure to tire me out. 

Of course, if that was MY kid up there, jumping off of buildings and running across narrow steel girders three stories above the street with no safety net, there is no way I could watch. 

Back to the therapy evaluation, I eyed the pathway carefully, sizing up the obstacle.  I briefly considered the possibility of doing a superman flip over the box, ending with a dive roll.  I realized, however, that the goal was efficiency and safety, not showy moves, and I settled for a rather clumsy step over the box instead.  This is called “Parkour for Parkies”.

On Wednesday, I will begin my training on the treadmill.  We’ll see how it goes!  By May 7^th, I should be ready to do my laps for the walk-a-thon.  I have a few donations already.  If anyone feels moved to support my effort, please visit our walk-a-thon page at the Reinhart Family Pledge page.  We hope to meet our goal for fundraising for our teachers.  We’ve also had one friend who is pledging a donation for another cause.  That’s cool, too.  Wherever the donations go, they will encourage me to walk that extra lap.  If I slow down to a crawl and think about quitting, bribes for the benefit of the school should help.  I’m open to other bribes, too, like chocolate.

I’ve decided to go with the true spirit of parkour as well.  I’m going for efficiency, not flash.  I promise I won’t do any flips and I’m not planning on competing against anyone.

I can do this.  I will have had six weeks of training and Dr. Barbara says I’ll be in shape.  I might not even need bribes, either; unless it’s chocolate.  I might even walk a fourth lap for chocolate.

Donations may go to:

The Denver Waldorf School

The Boudha Shack Village

Videos about Parkour and Freerunning

Tempest TV

Team Rogue

Speak up!

One of my favorite scenes in the movie, "The King's Speech", is during a speech therapy session where the King starts swearing as he practices for the speech he has to give.  This pretty well captures my feelings about public speaking.

Even without a speech impediment, I was a quiet, shy child who would rather eat bugs than have to give a book report in front of the class. I was in a school play, once.  Well, twice, if you count my first role as a tree.  Trees don't talk. In my only speaking role, I was a bad angel and my one line consisted of three words, "Keep the money".  That the main character decided to listen to the good angel instead, may have had something to do with the fact that my lines could not be heard if you were more than three feet away from me. I came to dread the inevitable words from my teachers, my parents, and even my friends:  "Speak up!  We can't hear you!"  That's easier said than done.

As an adult, I worked hard to improve in this area, though I never was able to project well, because leading parent meetings and giving educational talks was a required part of my job. I eventually came to enjoy speaking to groups, as long as I was speaking about something that I was passionately interested in.

That changed when Parkinson's disease became a part of my life.  Even before I was diagnosed, I started having more difficulty with speaking.  My voice became quieter and I started stumbling over my words, sometimes freezing in the same way I freeze when I move.  This was my first indication that I needed to leave my teaching job.  Doing this once during a parent talk was embarrassing enough as I would totally forget what I had been talking about.  I would do this repeatedly.  I didn't want the parents to think I was totally stupid.  Before that year was out, I let my colleagues know that I would not speak to groups at evening meetings. 

Once I was diagnosed and my medications stabilized, things got better.  I don't freeze as often either in speech or while walking. As with most everything else with my Parkinson's, evenings are always off times. I am not articulate in the evenings. Difficulty with speech is also one of the symptoms that immediately comes back as soon as my meds begin to wear off at any time of the day.

I'm not teaching anymore and I'm not required to speak in front of groups.  My friends and family understand that it takes time for me to find the words I need and they are usually patient with me.  So, why, as the King would say, should I give a shit about how I speak?

There's a good reason to care about this.  My family and friends might be used to me but I've found that people respond to me very differently depending on how articulate I am at any one moment.  That includes my doctors, even my neurologists who specialize in seeing people with Parkinson's disease.  If I am having a good day and speaking well, my doctors are more likely to take me seriously and treat me as an intelligent adult.  If my speech is slurring a bit or if I stumble for words, it seems to me that my doctors are more patronizing. 

We tend to equate articulate speech with intelligence.  This is one reason I find writing to be so therapeutic.  I don't slur my words when I write, or at least when I type.  My handwriting I can't guarentee.  If I stumble over what I want to say next, there isn't anyone around to get impatient with me.  I can take all the time I need.  When my first neurologist started reading my articles, she suddenly began relating to me more as a person than a patient.  She treated me as an intelligent adult.  I'm not saying that she treated me badly before; it's just that when time is limited, we all tend to go with our immediate reactions and judgements.  I don't know many doctors who have the time to really get to know all of their patients. 

At the end of the movie, the King has given his speech over the radio, with his speech therapist standing nearby.  He does well, stumbling a bit at the beginning but ultimately delivering his message in a heartfelt and beautiful way.  Afterward, his therapist looks at him and tells him that he still stumbled over the w's. 

"That's okay", the King says, "I had to throw in a couple of them so they'd know it was me."

If a king can do this, I guess I won't worry too much about stumbling over my words from time to time.  Maybe one day, I'll take advantage of a speech study for people with Parkinson's disease. Until then, at least when I stumble, you'll all know it's still me.

Never Put Birthday Candles on Lasagna

It’s a tradition in our house, on the night before a birthday, to set the table beautifully, with nice china plates and our best cups or glasses.  We have a candle or flowers as a centerpiece, and a birthday card waiting on the table.  Sometimes we even drink our orange juice out of wine glasses.  Birthdays are important days and need to be celebrated.

Patrick’s birthday was on Saturday, the day after the end of the first week back at school.

As a teacher, whenever we came back to school after a holiday, it was an adjustment.  Teaching takes an enormous amount of energy, which if fine, once you’ve gotten used to it, but until then, tired doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel.  At least, that’s how it was for me.  One of my colleagues tells me that I should never say I’m tired.  That’s too negative.  I should instead say, “I’m relaxed”.  It’s a way to turn it into something positive, he says. 

I don’t buy it.  When I’m tired, I’m not relaxed.  My Parkinson’s nervous system takes over and my muscles have their own agenda.  They don’t consult me to see what I want to do because they know I’m going to want to sleep, or at least rest.  That’s not in their plan.  When my body is tired, I don’t have the strength to stop my muscles from doing whatever they’re going to do.  My medications don’t work when I’m tired, either.  I have no choice but to go with the flow… or in my case, the jerks, shaking, and occasional collapsing onto the floor.

School started again and I’m teaching an art class every afternoon.  By the time Saturday and Patrick’s birthday came, I was…tired.  The table was not set nicely.  There was no birthday card.  We had one present for him, but the book we had ordered hadn’t arrived yet.  I felt awful.  What a terrible mother I was to neglect my son’s birthday celebration.  So what if I was tired. 

I decided I would make lasagna and bake a nice cake. 

At noon, I was gathering ingredients together.  That’s when John and Coco and the baby came to bring Patrick’s birthday present, have lunch, and visit for awhile.  I hope they didn’t think I was being rude.  I was too tired to talk much.  I hardly even noticed when Mattheus learned how to open the glass door of the book case where all our breakable knickknacks are kept.   I did enjoy their visit, however wonky I was feeling.  It’s always good to see them. 

By the time they left, I knew I wouldn’t have the energy to make lasagna and cake.  We decided to hold off baking the cake till the next day when we would have a big family gathering with the Reinhart clan.  Then everyone could celebrate together.  It made sense.   I still felt awful but at least I could make a nice big gluten free lasagna; a good birthday treat for Patrick.

When I helped with the afterschool program, I always celebrated birthdays with the children.  However, because I rarely had warning of when a birthday was coming up, I learned how to improvise.  We had candles on muffins, cookies, and even once on a rice cake that had a thick layer of cream cheese spread on it.  When you sing “Happy Birthday”, there must be candles.

This is why we ended up with candles on the lasagna.  At the time it seemed like a good idea.

I served Patrick first, of course.  He was the birthday kid.  I put the candles on his generous helping of lasagna and set it at his place.  It looked wonderful!  Then I served the rest of the family and we sat at the table.  I had just instructed everyone that we were about to light the birthday candles and sing to Patrick, when I saw that he was taking the candles off and putting them on his plate. 

“Why are you doing that?” I asked.

Patrick picked up a candle.  “They’re melting,” he said, and I could see the rest of them slowly sinking into the very hot lasagna. 

In the end, Patrick lit one candle and held it while we sang.  He was gracious about it, as he is with most things, and even ate the little bit of wax along with his meal.  He didn’t have much choice about that.  Today, Sunday, we’ll have leftover lasagna with John and Coco and Mattheus.  Our big family gathering has been postponed due to the snow but we’ll celebrate here.  We’ll even have a cake.  It’s done already and cooling in the kitchen. 

I think, however, I’ll wait awhile before I put the candles on top.

Happy birthday Patrick!!

New Year’s Resolution

Dear God,

For the New Year, I resolve to believe in you.  I don’t say this lightly as there have been many things I have struggled to understand over the past few years.  During this time, I have assured myself that, if you do exist, you wouldn’t mind my struggling and questioning.  If I had died at a time when I refused to acknowledge you, I know you would not have held this against me, either.  If I was asked to believe in a god who was that mean spirited, I would refuse and spend my days in atheistic bliss.

I don’t promise to understand you.  Many people have tried to teach me about you and it gets confusing.  Some people tell me you are one god.  I can see this.  Most of the world is so beautiful that it’s hard to imagine that it could have been created by committee.  If there were many gods, I’m sure they wouldn’t agree on everything.  It would have taken longer than seven days.  In fact, we’d still be waiting for you to finish the landscape and create us.  I don’t count out the possibility of many gods, however, especially when I look at certain animals, like the daubentonia madagascariensis or the proboscis monkey or even the alpaca, which, when shorn, looks like a cross between a camel and a Dr. Suess drawing.  Either there was a lot of compromising going on or one of you has a bizarre sense of humor. 

I prefer to let you be who you are and I won’t worry about the details.    

Some say you have all sorts of rules that we need to follow.  Of course, I have yet to find those who agree on what those rules are.  There are people who insist that you’re interested in our politics and we need to vote for the one YOU want in office – another rule.  I don’t get this at all.  Why would you go to the bother of creating intelligent beings if you don’t expect us to think?  I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in politics, anyway.  Your have enough to do, just keeping the universe in order.  I suspect you have more trust in us than we have in ourselves.    

I don’t promise to be religious.  Church ceremonies can be beautiful, but I don’t want to be a part of an organized religion.  They think they know exactly who you are and that makes me nervous.  When I look at history, I see that there has been too much violence in this world that is done in the name of religion.  Much of what is done in churches doesn’t seem to have anything at all to do with you.

I will get angry with you.  I try to believe that everything has a purpose and that the purpose is ultimately for our good, regardless of what it seems at the time.  I can’t always do this.  You’ll have to give me a little leeway here.  Karma and reincarnation make sense to me, most of the time.  I’ll get angry when things seem to go overboard and people start to suffer needlessly, as least in my opinion.  I think you’d prefer I get angry rather than wishy-washy. 

Just because I’ve decided to believe in you doesn’t mean I need to talk about you.  When I was young and believed in you for the first time, I talked about you a lot.  That’s like any friendship, isn’t it?  I still do that whenever I make a new friend.  It undoubtedly drives my family nuts, but there’s something magical that happens and it’s impossible not to share that joy.  You and I, however, have had a relationship for many years already.  It’s a different kind of relationship now, quieter and more realistic.  There’s no need to talk about it all the time.  I won’t brag about what you do, either, or expect you to help with all the little things in my life.  You’ve created me with a heart and hands, as well as brains.  I can struggle and figure some things out for myself. 

It’s the least I can do.

Happy New Year,

terri

Christmas Boogie

Christmas traditions are important.  We have many family traditions that we need to teach our grandson.  It’s our job as grandparents.  I try to discuss this with him, but he’s not too interested.  He just wants to play fetch.  Mattheus doesn’t play catch, he wants me to throw the ball so he can crawl to it as fast as he can, grab the ball with his hand, and bring it back to me, grinning.  Some children grow up to be doctors or lawyers or teachers.  Our grandson is growing up to be a retriever.

Baking is one of my most cherished holiday traditions and I was making my annual Christmas truffles the other night.  Before I could finish them, I needed to make a trip to the grocery store.  I wanted these to be good.  So, off I went to purchase dark chocolate, more cream cheese, and almond extract. 

It was 7 pm and I should have known better.  Attempting to go anywhere and accomplish anything after dinner is not the best idea.  No matter how the rest of the day has gone and no matter how well my meds are working, I do not function in the evenings.  I was determined to have truffles done that night, however, and I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. 

I made it to the store and took myself to the baking aisle.  The choices were overwhelming.  What should I get?  I stared, glassy eyed at several shelves filled with different types of chocolate.  After an hour or so, I decided to get two each of the Hershey’s special dark, premium, ultimate, incredible chocolate chunks and the Ghirardelli’s unique 63.725% cacao, gourmet, we want you to know we are chocolate experts, extra large chocolate chips, just to make sure I wouldn’t run out.  Now I only had to pick up the cream cheese and almond extract and I could go home.  No problem. 

I said No problem. 

I was stuck.  My brain made several attempts to send communication to my feet, but all were returned with the following note from my central nervous system:  “I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following addresses.  This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.” 

A service dog would have been helpful.  There are dogs being trained to help people with Parkinson’s disease when they find themselves in just this situation.  The dog would have come close and put its paw on my foot.  This gives a cue to the foot somehow.  Maybe they act as a canine courier to make sure the messages get delivered.  These dogs are also trained to help counterbalance when their owners start to stumble.  I’ve heard that Great Danes are good for this purpose. 

I didn’t have a dog with me so I had to try a different tactic. 

Music.

Of course!  The store was playing Christmas music.  Using movement methods learned in Yoga class and old high school socials, I started to listen and move to the music.  The hope was that if my upper body was moving, the lower body would soon start to worry that it was missing something and decide to catch up.  Ignoring the other customers in the baking aisle, I started to jive.  Sure enough, the feet suddenly started paying attention.   Great!  I could move as long as I was dancing through the store. 

I danced to the spices and grooved my way over to the dairy section.  On my way to the checkout, I stopped briefly to see what bargains were in the sale bin.  I nearly panicked then because my feet froze once more.  I also realized that the music had stopped.  Someone must have reported an odd customer dancing to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and the store decided to take precautions.   I would have to provide my own music and sing as well as dance, if I was to get home before morning. 

I tried several songs before hitting the right one.  “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” was definitely too slow.  “The Holly and the Ivy” would have been just right, but I couldn’t remember all the words.  I settled for a simple rendition of “Jingle Bells” and went dashing through the store.  I paid for the groceries as I hit the chorus and waved aside help to the car with an “Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh”.

When I finally made it home, I was faced with a new challenge.  The messages being sent to my limbs were obviously getting jumbled en route because I found myself walking places to which I had no intention of going, like straight into the wall.  Then ricocheting off the wall, I sidestepped to the counter, where I bumped and propelled myself backwards into the doorway.  The Great Dane would have been helpful here, if he could have figured out where I was going to go next. 

I’m not planning on getting a dog.  Not in the near future anyway.  Maybe I’ll just have to wait till Mattheus is a little bit older and taller.  He might not mind helping his grandma out a little.  He could come close and step on my foot for me.  If he continues to be as tall for his age as he is now, he would eventually be able to be my counterbalance when I stumble. 

Or else we can just play fetch. 



Being Thankful

‘Tis Thanksgiving again and it’s time to be thankful for things like turkeys and cherry pies and all the lovely people in our lives.  There are so many things to be thankful for, I hardly know where to begin.

First of all, I am thankful I don’t deliver newspapers.  The newspaper with all the ads for Black Friday had to be hoisted onto a dolly before I could wheel it into the house.  I am also grateful I am not in retail sales.  Imagine trying to recover from the holiday and be polite to customers at the same time.

I’m thankful that I am not teaching anymore, as much as I miss it most of the time.  This is the time of year for parent/teacher conferences. 

I’m grateful that my husband and kids slept in and I got a couple of hours to myself this morning.

I’m thankful that lima beans are not a part of a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

I’m thankful for long walks with Chris, mornings with Mattheus, and Saturday night dinners with the whole family. 

I’m grateful for scrabble games, youtube videos, crazy art projects, and my studio.  I’m grateful that Chris puts up with my crazy art projects.  I know he’s thankful I have a studio where I can put most of them.  I’m also grateful for the modern medicine that makes it possible for me to do my artsy stuff.

I’m grateful for long talks with John and Coco, thrift store shopping excursions with Emma and Patrick, and quiet moments, sitting on the tailgate of the pickup and chatting with Chris.

I’m thankful for the alarm on my cell phone, which alerts me to take my medicine on time, and is the signal for Chris and me to spend a moment dancing together.  The alarm plays music.

I’m grateful for our school community, which has been our second home for more than twenty years.  I'm also grateful for email and Facebook, which have made it easier for me to connect and reconnect with family and friends.

I’m thankful for our garden and all the animals and birds, even Napoleon, who doesn’t crow too early in the morning. 

I’m grateful for my friends, too many to list!  I could say much more.  I’ll leave it that I am so, so lucky to have such wonderful, beautiful friends.

I’m also so, so lucky to have John, Coco, Teo, Patrick, and Emma.  I’m a happy mom and grandmom. 

Last, but by all means, not least, I am so grateful for Chris.  Again, I could say much more.  You, dear Chris, are my anchor, my partner, and my favorite person in the whole wide world.  I’d do almost anything for you.

I’d even serve lima beans for dinner.

Respite

My husband, Chris, had the opportunity to hear Lonnie Ali speak in Denver a couple of weeks ago.  Lonnie Ali, in case you don’t know, is the wife of Mohammed Ali, the former prizefighter who now has Parkinson’s disease.  The talk was about being a caregiver and how important it is for caregivers to take care of themselves.  While Chris was at the talk, I was taking care of my parents.  I’m both a caregiver and a care-getter.  At that moment, I was a caregiver in desperate need of a holiday. 

My chance to get away came in a way I would never have expected.

I went to my cousin’s funeral in Fleming, Colorado last Saturday.  This was a hard one for me as my cousin Dick was the one who taught me how to drive a tractor.   He also pushed when we were on their incredible home-made swing-set/merry-go-round that was better than any amusement park ride, as long as Dick was pushing.  He had us going so fast that we were flying almost horizontal to the ground.  It probably wouldn’t pass the safety standards now days, which is why we loved it so much.  Where’s the fun without a little sense of danger?

I was not going to miss this funeral for anything.  Since it was a long drive and since I was in desperate need of a little get-a-way, Chris and I decided that I would drive up on Friday morning and have the day to myself before the service on Saturday morning.  I would then be well rested for the drive back to Denver on Saturday afternoon.  I felt a little funny using Dick’s funeral as my rest and relaxation holiday, but I thought Dick would understand.

Preparing for this trip, I made sure to take plenty of things to do.  My son, Patrick, sent up numerous DVD’s that I could watch on my little Toshiba DVD player.  Chris made sure I took my knitting with me.  I’m almost finished with the pair of kilt socks I made for his birthday.  I took my needle felting with me, too, just in case a blizzard rolled in and I’d be stuck in Sterling for a week or so. 

I arrived in Sterling and savored the afternoon and evening, taking photos of different landmarks in town:  my grandmother’s house, the court house, and Clarence’s Corner.  Clarence’s Corner was our favorite place to hang out when we were kids.  Clarence sold popcorn, snow cones, and candy.  Because he was somewhat disabled, he also drove around in an electric car, something we thought was incredibly cool. 

In the evening, I watched “Black Adder” episodes while knitting and felting.  I had dinner when I wanted it and I didn’t have to clean up.  I stayed up as late as I wanted to and made it almost to 10 pm.

The next morning, I drove out to Fleming and St. Peter’s, the Catholic Church that had served this farming community for many years.  I arrived way too early, simply because I was so afraid I’d get lost.  The only directions I remembered were:  drive to Fleming and turn right.  I didn’t remember which road I was supposed to turn on but I made a guess and took the one that was paved.  I drove on for another 10 minutes or so, saw the sign for the church, and arrived at St. Peter’s with 45 minutes to spare. 

The service was nice.  Leo Pimple gave a beautiful eulogy.  Dick was truly an amazing individual, much more so than I had ever known.  The church and tiny cemetery at St. Peter’s are on the prairie. It’s wide open prairie and the wind is cold.  I wish I could have gotten a photo of the priest standing by the open grave, reading from the prayer book, his stole blowing in the wind, with the prairie behind him.  I will never forget that picture. 

I saw cousins I hadn’t seen for years.  I would have needed several more days in order to catch up with everyone.  As it was, I was able to visit briefly with them and briefly with my aunt Maribelle.  I was saying goodbye to my cousin.  She was saying goodbye to her son.  I cannot imagine having to do that.  I was also introduced to many a number of people whose surnames I recognized instantly.  I was probably related to most of them, but I couldn’t tell you how.  It was a bittersweet morning.

I left reluctantly, stopping in Sterling to take a few more photos.  I wanted to get on the road early enough so I wouldn’t have to drive in the dark.  It had started to snow and I thought it wise to keep ahead of the weather.  Had I known that through most of the trip I would be driving through blowing snow with extremely poor visibility, I would have stayed an extra night in Sterling.  As it was, I finally pulled off the highway at Roggen.  I was certain that I had seen a “lodging” sign posted by the exit.  Three miles down the road, I realized I had missed the town altogether and had no idea where I was going.  The cows in the pasture, which I could barely see, were no help, even when I stopped, rolled down the window, and asked for directions.  I sat in the car for a few minutes, close to tears, wondering if I would have to spend the night in the car. 

Backtracking to the town of Roggen, I finally saw the “Prairie Lodge”, a small one story hotel with boarded up windows.  It didn’t look terribly welcoming, so I went back to the highway and decided to brave the weather.  At Roggen, the snow was coming down so thick that I could barely see where I was going.  Thirty seconds after starting back down the highway, the snow suddenly stopped and it was clear.  The rest of the trip was easy and I relaxed and listened to a cd of Neil Gaiman reading his short story, Chivalry. 

I arrived home just in time for dinner.