Chris Loehmer Kincaid's Blog, page 3

Home - My Brother, part 3

        I wasn't going to write any more aboutmy brother – my mother would kill me for sharing all this personal stuff. Butas I mentioned here once before, if anything I say can give hope to someonegoing through the same nightmare, then it's worth the risk.

          So, the big day to move my brotherinto assisted living was July 1. For two weeks, I mentioned it every time Ispoke with him on the phone, and he kept asking why he had to move out of hishouse for a couple of weeks and why it was going to take so long to fix hiswater. But we just kept telling him our little fib about it – that to clean upthe iron in his well water, it would take the plumber that long, and hewouldn't have any water that whole time, and it would even cause poisonousgases to come out his water faucets.

On the last day of June, he calledmultiple times, and I think it was starting to sink in. The morning of July 1,he called at least four times asking about it again. I told him I'd pick him upat 1:00 and that he could pack a bag with his electric razor, a change ofclothes, and anything else he might want to have over the next two weeks whilehe was there. He was agreeable to that.

Then, when I got to his house at 1:00, hehad made a 180 turn. He didn't know why I was there, and when I told him, hesaid he wasn't going to go. I kept telling him it would only be for a few weeksand reminded him that they would feed him three meals a day and he could watchTV all day on the big screen TV right outside his room. I also asked him if heremembered talking to me earlier and if he had packed anything to take withhim. But he just gave me a blank look.

He finally gave up on that argument andswitched to wanting to buy a new vehicle. We'd been telling him over the previousweek that they couldn't fix his truck and he couldn't get it back, so he'dbeen saying he was going to buy a new one and that I had taken him to thedealership the other day and he had put a down payment down on a truck and hewanted me to take him to pick it up.

My brain searched all over my head for astory. But I finally told him that we'd need to get him settled in his new roomfirst, and then we'd worry about picking up his new truck.

I got him in my car and talked again abouthow nice this place was as we drove to it.

I walked him into the building and to hisroom. He said, "oh, I remember coming here before."

We had bought him a throw for his bed,which had a big whitetail buck on it because he used to feed the deer. Theywere half-tame, almost eating out of his hand. He laughed when he saw that onhis bed and thought it was great.

I spoke with a few staff members and askedif I could run to get more of his things and if they could keep an eye on him.I parked him in front of the TV in the lobby, and he was fine when I left.

I met Hubby at his house so we could loadup his dresser, an end table, and the rest of his clothes. We looked for hisrazor, too, but couldn't find it. When we got back to the place, he was stillwatching TV, happy as a clam.

I could NOT believe it! Who was this man,and what had he done with my brother?

He called me a few times that evening,asking where he was and why, and I told him the same story. He'd say, "Oh,yeah," but then he'd still call back five minutes later.

Then he started calling me at one o'clockthe next morning. When I asked if he was okay, he answered, "Yes, I justcalled to talk." After the fourth time, I finally told him it was themiddle of the night, and I had to get some sleep, that he should put his phoneaway and go back to bed, and it would be morning before he knew it. I turnedoff my phone, and in the morning, I felt guilty because he had called threemore times. I'm sure he was scared, even though he wouldn't say that.

He still calls a few times a day, butmostly to tell me that he's been watching TV all day or that he just got doneeating a meal, but when I ask him, he doesn't remember what he ate, just saysthat it was good.

But he seems sooo happy. I still CANNOTbelieve it. Thank You, God, what did I ever do to deserve this huge blessing inmy life?

Through all this, the only time I gotteary-eyed was the day after we checked him in there, and Hubby and I weretrying to clean up stuff at his house. In his back room, I found a brown paperbag with some underwear, a pair of shorts, a handkerchief, and his razor. Hehad packed a bag for himself that morning and had forgotten all about it. Idon't know why that made me feel like crying - just that dementia is such ahorrible thing.

Yesterday, when I went in to see him, Isat down on the couch next to him where he was watching Jeopardy. He was sopleased to see me, and we had the best visit we have had in a year. I told himabout the different people I had talked to who wanted me to say "hi"to him. And he seemed to remember these people when I reminded him who theywere (two cousins and someone he went to school with).

He pointed to the sign on the door to hisroom, which had his name on it. He said the maintenance man wanted to removehis name, but he told the guy he was staying for two months, so he should leavehis name on the door.

Two months! We'd been telling him two tothree weeks. I don't know where this extended time came from. But he alsodidn't ask me today when he would be going home. Well, maybe he doesn't have toask anymore because I think he is home. And maybe he knows that, too.

         I realize that he will probably still have bad days, that I might get phonecalls in the middle of the night or he might argue with me about somethingstupid. But I still thank God for the good days that he has had so far.

Chili, Hot Chocolate, and Fish

Journey of our Journeys

Chapter 7 -  Chili, Hot Chocolate, and Fish

Smeltfishing each spring was an annual event for our family, rather like Christmasand the Fourth of July. If you have ever lived in the Northwoods, you will knowthat that does not make us strange at all; it means we fit right in.

There was no question that Dad would packus all in the camper one Friday afternoon as soon as he got home from work, andwe'd head to Ashland. We never knew exactly when until Dad heard from someonethat the smelt were running. But it was sometime in April or early May,depending on the length and severity of the winter, I suppose.

We usually stayed at a little city park inAshland, Wisconsin, along Lake Superior. We'd always get there after dark onFriday, so Pat and I would wake up amazed on Saturday morning to find ourselvesparked next to the greatest of the Great Lakes.

One year, we camped in a different park ina setting of green grass, pine trees, and a pond. Instead of being greeted bythe majesty of the Great Lake in the morning, we found a swan lazily paddlinglaps in the tiny lake. Not that it mattered to us; my sister and I were kidswho found everything amazing.

During the darkness of night, Dad and hiscronies from the paper mill where they all worked would wade out into LakeSuperior. Wearing chest-high waders, they would trudge with their nets into thefreezing water, then pull the nets back in full of hundreds of three- tosix-inch fish, many of their undersides bulging yellow with eggs.

Or at least that's what I picturedhappening. Since this all happened after dusk and it was invariably cold out,Mom was reluctant to release us from the camper. Someone usually lit a bonfire,though, and occasionally, Mom would let us out to bask in its heat.

The most vivid smelt-fishing incidentinvolved chili and hot chocolate. Pat and I were sitting at the table in thecamper, sipping hot chocolate with Kenny Venzke, the son of one of ourneighbors. Mom was at the stove heating a big kettle of chili so the men couldwarm their insides when they had finished freezing their outsides.

The camper was parked in its usual spot,far from shore, when suddenly it started moving. Well, we were all stuckinside. Remember the "no further than the edge of the back of the dinettewhen the truck is moving" rule? Even Mom was not immune to it. One lookthrough the camper's small window into the cab of the truck told her that Dadwas at the helm. We weren't being kidnapped or rolling out of control down somehill.

Mom was understandably vexed, but shewould ride it out and see what Dad had in mind.

Then, he drove over a set of railroadtracks. These were not ordinary railroad tracks that might be on a downtowncity street. These were hideous tracks, compact car-eating tracks. If ATVs hadbeen invented at the time, their drivers would have loved the challenge ofthese tracks.

Though we kids tightly clutched our cupsof cocoa, we could do nothing to prevent their contents from making a quickexit and spilling all over the table. Of course, that was nothing compared towhat happened to the chili.

Tomatoes, ground beef, sauce sloshed allover the stove, the back wall, the ceiling, Mom. You name it, there was chilieverywhere.

When the truck came to a complete stop ashort while later, Dad trotted around to the back door to sheepishly apologize.He had decided to drive down to the beach to be closer to the action. He didn'tknow that the railroad tracks were that rough.

Watching Dad's innocent face through theopen door of the camper, we waited with bated breath to hear what Mom would sayin her fury.

I don't remember what she said, maybenothing. Or perhaps it was one of those things so awful that our subconsciousburies the memory so we won't be haunted by it for the rest of our lives.

Whatever she said or did next, over the followingyear, she found more tomato sauce to wipe up every time we went camping.

(The picture is of Lake Superior at Ashland, taken when we were at a cabin up north in 2020. Not sure how close this was to where we camped coz things have changed so much up there in the past fifty-plus years.)

What Have You Been Called To Do?

Doyou remember where I left off last Sunday? Saul, who had been persecuting thefollowers of Jesus, had been struck blind on his way to Damascus.

Today,we’ll first meet Ananias, whom God had chosen to heal Saul’s blindness.

There was a believer in Damascus namedAnanias. He had a vision, in which the Lord said to him, “Ananias!”

“Here I am, Lord,” he answered.

The Lord said to him, “Get ready and go toStraight Street, and at the house of Judas ask for a man from Tarsus namedSaul. He is praying, and in a vision he has seen a man named Ananias come inand place his hands on him so that he might see again.”

Ananias answered, “Lord, many people havetold me about this man and about all the terrible things he has done to yourpeople in Jerusalem. And he has come to Damascus with authority from the chiefpriests to arrest all who worship you.”

The Lord said to him, “Go, because I havechosen him to serve me, to make my name known to Gentiles and kings and to thepeople of Israel. And I myself will show him all that he must suffer for mysake.”

Boy,I sure wish God would be that direct when He wants me to do something. Or maybenot.

It’seasy to ignore the little nudges you might feel when you’re wondering what todo in a certain situation. But when God calls your name and says, “Go” – well,we still tend to ignore Him or make excuses, don’t we? All I can do is pray forHis strength to do His will.

Butwhat happens next with Saul?

So Ananias went, entered the house whereSaul was, and placed his hands on him. “Brother Saul,” he said, “the Lord hassent me—Jesus himself, who appeared to you on the road as you were coming here.He sent me so that you might see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Atonce something like fish scales fell from Saul's eyes, and he was able to seeagain. He stood up and was baptized; and after he had eaten, his strength cameback. (Acts 9:17-19, GNT)

Andthat was only the beginning for this man Saul, who would be known as theapostle Paul and go on to preach the Gospel to hundreds of people and write thirteenbooks of the Bible.

Whenwe think about what God called Ananias to do, his assignment was much less thanPaul’s. God called Paul to totally turn his life around, accept Jesus as hisone true Savior, and share his testimony everywhere he went.

Whathas God called you to do?

Warmth One Winter

 

Journey of our Journeys

Chapter 6 - Warmth One Winter

 

Shortlyafter my parents married in 1945, my dad got a job at the Owens-Illinois papermill. At the time, it was by far the best place to work in our town. The paywas good, and the work was steady, even if it was noisy and smelly.

         Dad worked in the maintenance department, so he wasn’t stuck with the swingshift like many others. Instead, he clocked in from 7:30 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.,Monday through Friday. He did have to take call, though, so he would go intowork in the middle of the night or on weekends if a piece of machinery neededemergency care.  

         This also meant that if needed, he would travel across the country to one ofthe other mills owned by Owens-Illinois.

         Years before I was a twinkle in his eye, my father worked for an extendedperiod of time at the Valdosta, Georgia, mill. Mom, Tom, and Judy went withhim, living in company housing and dealing with the joys of submitting theirnorthern-born bodies to the hot, humid, bug- and snake-infested south.

         Near the end of October 1967, Dad and some of the guys from his crew wereneeded at the mill in Orange, Texas. What a paper mill was doing there, alongthe Gulf of Mexico, was a mystery to me – and still is. Isn’t Texas a stateknown for ranches and wide-open spaces? Where do the trees that are needed tomake paper come from?

         In any event, Dad took the camper to Texas with Tom Allory, Red Wurl, and a fewothers. When they got to Portage, Wisconsin, Dad took a wrong turn. Instead ofcrossing the Wisconsin River at the new Highway 51 bridge, he took the Merrimacferry. Although there are 1,200 miles of dry land between home and Orange, wewould always mention how Dad took the ferry there.

         At some point during his absence, Mom packed up Pat, me, a lady named Mrs.Lane, and two young men in the military and drove to Texas for a few weeks. Forsome reason, we left at four o’clock in the morning. It was pitch black outsideand freezing cold that November.

         We arrived in Texas the next day to a warmth we never dreamed of in November.We were amazed that we could go outside without jackets or scarves. The motelwhere we stayed had an outdoor pool, which was still in use. Of course, Momwouldn’t let us use it, but no decent mother of the time would let theirchildren go swimming outdoors in November, no matter what the weather or whereyou were.

         Our jaunt to the Gulf of Mexico was rather chilly, more seasonable for us, witha stiff breeze coming off the ocean. Mom made us wear our jackets and scarves.Our plaid cotton scarves, with fringes, were almost extensions of ourselves, tobe worn at all times unless the weather was extreme. Extreme cold was what wehad left behind in Wisconsin that November, requiring a home-knit cap pulleddown around our ears. Extreme heat was the month of July, those four weeksduring the Wisconsin summer when the temperature consistently stayed above 45degrees.

         Two of the souvenirs we brought home were silky scarves with a picture of theLone Star State printed on them. Pat’s had blue trim, mine red. Mine is stillat the bottom of one of my dresser drawers, threadbare and wrinkled, but stillbearing the Texas logo.

         The other item I remember Mom purchasing was a play cowboy whip for my16-year-old cousin. I cannot fathom why she thought that was an appropriategift. As soon as she gave it to him, he chased Pat and me around my aunt’s yardwith it.

         Free souvenirs are sometimes the best. Dozens of seashells found their way intothe camper only after Mom had inspected them to ensure no animals were lurkinginside.

         “You know that animals do live inside those shells, don’t you?”

         “Yes, Mom,” we obediently answered and immediately thought, “Wouldn’t it becool if one of those animals made it all the way home before crawling out whenwe took the shell to school for show-and-tell?”

         We really wanted to take the jellyfish to school. We found one washed up on thebeach, its long transparent tentacles trailing into the ocean. It waspositively unearthly.

         “Get away from that thing,” Mom shouted before we could get within ten yards.“That thing is poisonous.”

         “But Mom, it’s dead.”

         “It doesn’t matter. It is still poisonous and can still sting you.”

         So much for extraordinary wildlife.

         Dad packed us up in early December, and we headed home together in the camper,stopping at the Astrodome on the way. It was the eighth wonder of the world atthe time, a mechanical feat of engineering ingenuity. Opened in April 1965, itwas still new when we visited it two years later. And for many years, it wasone of a kind—a structure to rival the pyramids of Giza. Even the Astroturf wasawe-inspiring. Over the last twenty years or so, the space had become archaic and fell into disrepair. 

         The only thing good about returning home to the frozen tundra was that I got toshow off all sorts of neat stuff to my kindergarten class.

What Happened to Saul

          In the meantime Saul kept up his violentthreats of murder against the followers of the Lord. He went to the High Priestand asked for letters of introduction to the synagogues in Damascus, so that ifhe should find there any followers of the Way of the Lord, he would be able toarrest them, both men and women, and bring them back to Jerusalem.

Inlast Sunday’s blog post, I mentioned a guy named Saul. He was born between 5 BCand 5 AD to a devout Jewish family in the area of Tarsus and was a Romancitizen by birth. He was well-educated in Jewish law but became a tentmaker bytrade.

Asbelief in Jesus as the Messiah spread through his area, Saul, along with manyother Jewish leaders, began chasing down these new believers. They harassed,arrested, and tortured the men and women who attested that Jesus Christ wastheir Savior.

Andthen something happened.

As Saul was coming near the city ofDamascus, suddenly a light from the sky flashed around him. He fell to theground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul! Why do you persecute me?”

“Who are you, Lord?” he asked.

“I am Jesus, whom you persecute,” thevoice said. “But get up and go into the city, where you will be told what youmust do.”

The men who were traveling with Saul hadstopped, not saying a word; they heard the voice but could not see anyone. Saulgot up from the ground and opened his eyes, but could not see a thing. So theytook him by the hand and led him into Damascus. For three days he was not ableto see, and during that time he did not eat or drink anything. (Acts 9:3-9, GoodNews Translation)

Ifyou are familiar with the Christian faith, there is a very good chance that youknow how this story ends. But let’s stop here for a minute and pretend we areviewing this cliffhanger for the first time.

Whatwould be going through your mind if you were Saul and were suddenly blinded? Ifa voice without a body was speaking to you, asking you what you were doing andwhy you were doing it? If the voice answered that He was the One who Hisfollowers believed in? And you remained blind and didn’t eat or drink for threedays? What would you believe?   

(The picture above is from my third trip to Kenya, in 2015. Maybe the road to Damascus looked a little bit like that.)

My Brother, Part 2

Last Friday, I shared with you the sadstory of what my brother’s life is like now. And on Wednesday, I alluded to histime in the service. Here is the rest of that story.

My brother, Tom, served in the US Armyfrom 1965 to 1967. As you may have read in my post from earlier this week, wedrove to New York in June 1967 to visit him when he was stationed at WestPoint.

Somehow, he dodged the bullet which tookso many others to Vietnam. But before his cushy job as an MP at the militaryacademy, he was dispatched to the Dominican Republic, where he did dodgebullets.

Ever since I could remember, the onlymilitary conflict I heard about my entire childhood was the war in Vietnam. Butother places in the world were also embroiled in tension.

The Caribbean paradise of the DominicanRepublic was a mess for many years. From 1930 to 1961, it was ruled by aruthless dictator who used repression, torture, and murder to keep the massesin line. When this guy was assassinated in 1961, you would think things wouldsettle down, but not when his son and other relatives tried to keep control.After several coups and many deaths, the US deployed troops to the island inApril 1965 to keep the peace.

And my brother showed up early thefollowing year. His role was that of a driver; whether driving militarydignitaries around or picking up the payroll at the airport, it was the job ofTom and his partner to get it done.

As Tom has told the story, one time, theypicked up the payroll and were driving back to base with it. The payroll wasall in cash, in American dollars, so that the servicemen would have quickaccess to it. Also, I thought all military bases had their own airport, but inthis case, the airport where they picked up the payroll was several miles away.

As they drove out of the airport in theirJeep, local rebels started following them. They could only assume it wasbecause the rebels knew what they were carrying. When these guys with machineguns began shooting at them, their assumptions proved to be correct.

I don’t remember if Tom ever said who wasbehind the wheel, but one of them drove like a madman back to base while theother kept firing rounds at their pursuers.

They made it safely back to base, and theheavy chain-link gate slamming shut behind them was music to their ears.

Tom even got a commendation for it. Maybehe didn’t serve his country in Vietnam or fight to keep the communists at bay,but he still served the men and women on that base, all of them, just doingtheir jobs in the name of freedom for someone.

But what is heartbreaking is that we had to take away his truck to keep him from ever drivingagain.

A Really Big Waterfalls

Here we are on Chapter 5 of my Journal of our Journeys. Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures of the really big waterfall from that trip. This snapshot of my favorite falls, O-Kun-de-Kun, will have to do.  

Thefirst big trip we took in the new camper was to New York State. We visited mybrother Tom, who was stationed as an MP at West Point, and then we went to seeNiagara Falls. It was June 1967. I never realized until many years later howclose this journey took us to New York City.

As a kid, I was wildly in love with the TrixieBeldon mystery series. I thought the coolest thing would be to livewhere the Beldons, Wheelers, and all their friends lived in the Hudson Valleynorth of the Big Apple. I never knew that I had actually been through the areawhere my childhood fictitious heroine lived. I’m sure this information wouldhave freaked me out when I was twelve and reading about another girl’sadventures. Now, I’m just amazed that I was that geographically challenged.Didn’t my parents ever show me an atlas?

Anyway, the trip took us through Indiana,Ohio, and Pennsylvania. I remember next to nothing of West Point and absolutelynothing of my brother’s role there. He was 21; I was just a kid, a punk, noteven in kindergarten.

A lifetime later, when I mentioned it tomy husband, he was impressed that my brother had gone to West Point. I hadnever thought much about it. So what? Tom was at the prestigious militaryacademy. As a kid, I didn’t know what West Point was and never thought moreabout it.

Well, no, he wasn’t a cadet there.Heavens, no. He’d been sent to Fort Bragg for basic training and then to theDominican Republic to drive around important officers and deliver the payroll.From there, he worked for the military police on the West Point campus.

But I knew none of that at the time.

I do remember Niagara Falls, though. I canstill hear the thunder of millions of gallons of water rushing over the edge ofrock eons old. The ground underfoot shook from the power of it. I can see thelights they turned on at night, illuminating the falls in a rainbow of color.

Dad took my sister Pat on a trip under thefalls; I was too little to go. The story of my life was being left behind withMom while Pat did something cool with Dad. Pat was all excited about it, butshe never admitted until 20 years later that it had scared the wits out of her.

We returned via Canada, crossing intoOntario at Niagara Falls and coming back through Michigan and its UpperPeninsula.

It became a quest during the 1980s and1990s for my sisters and me to visit every waterfall within a two-hundred-mileradius of where we lived. Even the tiniest trickle of water tumbling downstreamwas a fascination and a photo op. The smaller waterfalls were usually thebetter ones, with fewer people, often no people, just lots of peace andstillness, except for the hypnotic sound of water. If we had to climb atreacherous trail or slide down a slippery slope to get to that waterfall, allthe better. We were always game.

Niagara Falls was certainly the biggestwaterfall I’ve ever seen, but would I return there? With all the congestion andcommercialism? I will take a ten-foot waterfall in the woods in the middle ofnowhere. But the passion of it all may have begun for me at that New York statetourist trap.

The Martyring of Stephen

        

           Stephen, a man full of God’s grace andpower, performed amazing miracles and signs among the people. But one day somemen started to debate with him. They were Jews from Cyrene, Alexandria,Cilicia, and the province of Asia. None of them could stand against the wisdomand the Spirit with which Stephen spoke. (Acts 7:8-10, New Living Translation)

AfterStephen shared with these men about their Jewish heritage, from Abraham toMoses to David, he finished with the following verses.

“You stubborn people! You are heathen atheart and deaf to the truth. Must you forever resist the Holy Spirit? That’swhat your ancestors did, and so do you! Name one prophet your ancestors didn’tpersecute! They even killed the ones who predicted the coming of the RighteousOne—the Messiah whom you betrayed and murdered. You deliberately disobeyedGod’s law, even though you received it from the hands of angels,” Stephen said.(Acts 7:51-53, NLT)

 

Andthis was their reaction.

          

The Jewish leaders were infuriated byStephen’s accusation, and they shook their fists at him in rage. But Stephen,full of the Holy Spirit, gazed steadily into heaven and saw the glory of God,and he saw Jesus standing in the place of honor at God’s right hand. And hetold them, “Look, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing in theplace of honor at God’s right hand!”

Then they put their hands over their earsand began shouting. They rushed at him and dragged him out of the city andbegan to stone him. His accusers took off their coats and laid them at the feetof a young man named Saul.

          As they stoned him, Stephen prayed,“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” He fell to his knees, shouting, “Lord, don’tcharge them with this sin!” And with that, he died. (Acts 7:54-60, NLT)

Beingstoned to death must have been horrific. I can’t imagine how terrifying andpainful, but Stephen’s faith did not waver. Could any of us continue to testifythat Jesus is our Savior as we fell to our death?

Stephenwas the first of many believers to be martyred in the Bible, and many morewould follow, many at the hands of this man Saul. Do you remember him? And whohe became? 

Saul was one of the witnesses, and heagreed completely with the killing of Stephen.

A great wave of persecution began thatday, sweeping over the church in Jerusalem; and all the believers except theapostles were scattered through the regions of Judea and Samaria. (Some devoutmen came and buried Stephen with great mourning.) But Saul was going everywhereto destroy the church. He went from house to house, dragging out both men andwomen to throw them into prison. (Acts 8:1-3, NLT)

Hopefullyyou’ve already heard of this guy Saul, and if not, you can read about himhere next week.

My Brother Tom

 

          I've wanted to share this story for a while now, but it's been too close tohome, too raw. Every day, sometime between ten a.m. and two p.m., it feels likethe scab gets ripped off, and I'm left bleeding again.

         I've been praying, sometimes pleading, with God to lift this burden and grantpeace to me and those surrounding me in this struggle. And just when I wasready to throw in the towel, God gifted me with a miracle.  

         As you may know, my brother Tom is fraught with dementia, and I'm struggling tokeep him – and myself – together. Once he gets up for the day, between 10 and 2, he could call me six to eight times to tell me the same thing, or to tell me eight different things. We've decided that he has to go into assisted living, and hismedical providers wholeheartedly agree.

         I visited a facility here in town last week and thought it would be a good fitfor him. In the past, I've mentioned to him that we should get more care for him and that maybe he isn't safe at home alone anymore. He hasmet those suggestions with angry defiance.

         Tuesday afternoon, we had an appointment for him to tour this facility. Myheart banged against my chest when I picked him up to drive him there. I didn'ttell him where we were going until we were on our way.

         I opened with something like, "Tom, I have to tell you something, and youare not going to like it, but I want you to just listen."

         So, I reminded him that the plumber had been to his house the day before, thathe needed his well worked on, and that his water wasn't safe to drink until itwas fixed. That was the truth.

         Then I told him a few fibs - long stretches of the truth. It would take acouple of weeks for them to fix the problem, and he would not have any waterduring that time. And that they would have to clean out all his water pipes inthe house, which could cause poisonous gases to be in the air.  

         He agreed, mostly saying that they have to do whatever they can to fix hiswater.

         I continued, with words as slow and even as I could. He would need to move outof his house then for a few weeks until the plumber was done, and I had foundhim a nice place to live, where he would have his own room, his own TV, and asmall refrigerator to keep his Mountain Dew. This place would prepare andserve him three meals a day, and even wash his clothes, clean his room, andhelp him shower once a week. (Not showering has been our biggest point ofcontention, as he claims it is NOT healthy to be clean.)

         He actually listened to everything I said. And when I was done, he answered,"That would be great."

         Tears popped into my eyes. I couldn't believe it. Praise God, praise AlmightyGod in heaven.

         We toured the place, and he picked out a room just inside the lobby, where a TVwas only steps away. He said he wouldn't need a TV in his room if he couldwatch that one. He asked how much the meals were, and we assured him they wereincluded in the price. And how much is this place, he asked. I told him it wasbeing taken care of, between his monthly social security check and money fromthe VA through their Aid and Attendance program.

         All the way home, we talked about it, and he still seemed on board.

         When I got him back to his house, though, he asked when his truck would be donein the shop (where he believes it has been for two months, waiting for repairs,when it has been in my yard most of the time).

         I told him that once his water is safe to use again, in two weeks, maybe histruck would be ready too, and he could move back to his house and drive histruck again (which is NOT going to happen, but if you've dealt with anyone withdementia, you know it doesn't pay to argue with them; tell them what makes themhappy and move on).

         He was fine when I left him that afternoon and has been in a good mood sincethen.

         A miracle. An answer to prayer!

         But then God said, "I'm not done yet."

         Shortly after I got home, Hubby's orthopedic surgeon's office called. He hadbeen scheduled for shoulder replacement on June 10, but it was bumped back toAugust 12 because of an infection in his tooth. We were worried that surgerythat late in the summer would mean he couldn't drive the bus yet when schoolstarted a few weeks later. Plus, he's been in a lot of pain and just wantedthis shoulder fixed.

          The woman on the phone said they wouldhave to cancel his surgery in August as the doctor would be out of the office.

          "Okay," I numblyreplied. 

          And God was about to chime in,"Gotcha!" when I heard the words, "But we can move the surgeryup to July 30 if that would work for you guys."

          I said, "Yes, of course, thatwould be perfect," and wanted to add that you could have opened with that.

          God chuckled and thought to Himself,"I'm still not done."

          This might sound so minor, but itstill means so much to me.

          While I was on the phone withorthopedics, I had another call. When I checked messages, it was Home Healthcalling to schedule an appointment to visit Tom. But this justwasn't any nurse; this was a woman I had frequent contact with when I worked atthe clinic. Anyone who has gone through stress like I have over the last twomonths knows that a familiar name and voice can make such a difference.

          There you have it. I have rambled onfor long enough. But I need to let you know that there is a loving, caring God,Who listens to your every prayer, Who knows what you are going through and willlift you out of your despair when the time is right. Don't ever give up onHim. 

(The portrait was taken in 1991, as a Christmas present to our parents from my brother, both sisters, and me. Before ugly sweaters was a thing.)

 

The Dells through a child's eyes

Chapter 4 - The Dells

Ourfirst trip in the new camper was a weekend getaway to Wisconsin Dells.Now, it is known as the Water Park Capital of the World, but in 1966, it was acalm, restful place for parents to let their young children discover all thatis kitschy, while Mom and Dad try to absorb the natural surroundings of rockand water.

          Henry Hamilton Bennett is creditedwith putting the area on the map. In the late 1800s, when the Dells was calledKilbourn City, Bennett began taking photographs of the natural wonders alongthe Wisconsin River. He experimented with new and innovative photography andchanged many aspects of how pictures were captured. As word spread of theamazing photographs he sold, tourists began journeying to Kilbourn City to seethese places for themselves.

          H. H. Bennett Studio is still on MainStreet, and as part of the National Register of Historic Places, it serves as ahistorical museum.

          In the 1920s, enough Americans ownedautomobiles that they could truly flock to The Dells. In the first half of thetwentieth century, the beauty of the Dells themselves, the rock formationscarved by thousands of years of the rush of the Wisconsin River and the work ofglaciers were what people came to see. The famous ducks, amphibious vehiclesengineered and first used by the military, would ferry tourists across land anddirectly into the water for scenic views of the area beginning in the late1940s.

          By the 1950s various entrepreneurs sawopportunities to expand the tourist attractions. One of the first suchattractions was Storybook Gardens and Mother Goose Land. These beautifullylandscaped grounds had life-size figures from all the beloved fairy tales of myyouth. There was a little cottage with statues of the three bears, waitingto greet any girl willing to be their Goldilocks. There was the wallHumpty Dumpty sat on precariously. There were three men in a tub in the middleof a pond. Many more settings from children's stories dotted the grounds.

          When my family visited the Dells in1966, Pat and I ran from one fairytale scene to the next. We pretended toeat porridge with the bear family and carried on imaginary conversations withsome statute children outside a giant shoe. We climbed the crooked ladderto the roof of the crooked home of the crooked man and his crooked wife andslid down the crooked slide.

Storybook Gardens closed in 2010, and thelocal fire department burned down the big boat at the entrance the followingyear as part of their training exercises. It's a shame that today's childrendon't have the chance to live out fairytales like my generation did. It's ashame that their idea of fun is going down the waterslide over and over againwithout using any imagination. Do they even know about Mother Goose?

          For me, though, since I can't swim, itwould always be enough to frolic in the grass and pretend that I was Little RedRiding Hood.

Anyone who has seen any pictures of Wisconsin Dells, has seen these iconic formations. When H.H. Bennett started photographing the area, he took pictures of his son jumping across this space. Now they have a German Shepherd do it. And there is a net underneath him. I took this pictures in October of 2021 when Hubby and I spent a weekend in the Dells.