Hoosier

This bulldog mix fell in love with my yellow lab.  He took up at the house and wouldn't leave.  I didn't want him.   He was a pit bull.   I was afraid of them in a sense.   Didn't want to take a chance.   I tried very hard to find his owner.   He had a blue collar on.   He seemed nice enough, but I was still on guard.     After a couple weeks I decided that perhaps my dog really wanted to keep him.   I told my dog, Buddy, that if he wanted we would keep him but it would be his dog.   So that is when I said to this stray, "Whose your DAddy?"   That is where his name, Hoosier, came from.  It is more like Who's Your?  

Those two dogs were really in love with each other and I was glad of it.    Hoosier didn't like cats and he didn't like some men.   He would sneak up behind them and try to nip them.   Never drew blood.   Didn't bark, didn't growl.   It caught me off guard the first time and I had to put him up when men came to visit.   He liked my lady friends.    One day Buddy died.   Suddenly and unexpected.   He died in the kitchen while I was picking the chicken off a carcass.   It was awful.   I was so upset.   Poor Hoosier he was too.   He and Buddy slept together and it was so hard for him to be alone.   I felt sorry for him and so I let him come sleep with me in my bed.   First time ever a dog had slept on my bed.   I still was a bit standoffish, but after a while I realized all we had was each other and so I was able to accept him as my dog.   

Hoosier is 15 now.   He was probably about 2 when he came to my house.   He is a good dog, other than the man thing.   I like that he has short hair.  I never want a long haired dog again.   

So that is the story of Hoosier. 

My special friend is slipping away

 Tonight I am a little emotional.   I have a dear friend who has dementia.   He is 74 and has no family.   I and another dear friend of his, along with other people and support people from the VA have been helping him to remain in his home.  Helping him to stay home and function as best he can for as long as he can.   The decline has been gradual, but tonight a few minor things happened that let me know it's progressing to another level.   It has left me feeling sad, tearful, grieving and powerless.   I can tell when he looks at me, his gaze is more vacant.   He still knows me, his friend John and a few other people.   He doesn't remember most peoples names.  He has very poor short term memory.   I am grateful that he still remembers me and sess me as the person he wants to be around most of the time.   He doesn't want to be alone anymore.    If you have ever been around a person with dementia it is a horrible thing to live through.   ortunately he is able to  to let me help him.   He is grateful for the help.  He is easy to please.   I know it could be so much worse.   I fear that it will be.   

He has been a wonderful friend to me.   He is unusual.   He doesn't like to spend money.   He has no concept of the realities of life when it comes to the cost of things.   Overall he is a good man .   He is a very loyal friend.   He has been there for me in many ways.   He is a stabilizing force in my life.   He is a constant.    He wants to help me, but there isn't much he can do.   I try to find simple things that he can do and it makes him happy.   He keeps me from feeling alone.   He is like a brother, or a companion, or a special friend.   I will miss him.   I will miss him so much.   I am already missing him.   

Goodbye Phyliss

 My dear friend Betsy text me today that her mother, Phyliss had passed away this afternoon.   We expected it, but maybe in a day or two.   Phyliss was 100 years old.  She had lived a good life.   She was one of the most talented people I had ever met.  She was humble and unassuming.  She was demure.   She was an excellent seamstress.   I had known her since college days, as Betsy and I have been very close all those years.   She maintained good cognitive skills up until near the end.   

When someone lives that long, there is always the question of how much longer will they be able to endure.   Sometimes it feels like they will live forever.   Betsy has been her primary caretaker for years now.   This has been a journey that we have talked through and supported each other through.   Her Mom always made me feel special and loved.  I had such admiration for all of the things that she could do.   She made such beautiful garments.   She was an exceptional quilter.  She was such a good Mom and wife.   Betsy had a sister who died a few years ago,   Kathy had ovarian cancer and for a while she lived with Betsy and her husband Ron.   There were so many years where all of Betsy's life focused on taking care of others.  Taking care of her sister, her husband and her Mom.   Now she is free.  Now she can focus on herself and get through her grief.   I wish I could be closer to her.   this journey has really deepened our faith in God.  We both have pushed ourselves to study spiritual things and to ask the tough questions about what we believe and how we can manifest these beliefs in how we live our lives.   

I know it sounds crazy, but Betsy's Mom was the last living MOther of my close girlfriends.   It makes me so much more aware that we all are closer to dying.   It's ok.  There are things worse than dying.   

 My goodness.   2017 was the last uear i made posts.  Now it is 2025.   I think it is amazing that the blog is still here.    Im not sure how I want to use the space now.   I do want to write more.   Sometimes I think I could be a writer.   I certainly have done a lot of writing in my day.   Working as a therapist required writing about the conversations  you had in therapy with them.  Documentation is a big part of the job.   I also did a little mit of my own diary.   However when I think of being a writer, I am more thinking of wirting a book.  That kind of writing.   I wonder what I should do to explrore this more.   I wonder what I can do to get clear about whether I want to be a writer.   It is kind of like art, ainting.  I have  heard so many artists say that when it comes to art, the more you practice the better you get.  I think some of that probably applies to writing.  When I was in high school I was a pretty good writer.   I was actually entered in a national writing contest by my teachers.   It was a writing assighment that had something to do with selecting a book and talking about why it is meaningful.  I can't exactly remember the directions, but I do remember I selected the book., Johathan Livingston Seargull.   I knew it wasn't very brofound or classic.   A popular recent  novel that was actually touching peoples hearts and sould.   I didn't win, which didn't surprise me.   I took an English class of some kind in College.  The college course was actually a dual enrollment class for high school and college credits.  It was in a local community college in South east Florida.   The Professor gave the class an assignment for a short story of some type.   My first paper only yearned a C with soem pretty specific critisicms.   I was amazed and devestated!  I had never gotten less than an A in any english or writing class.  I  read the remarks on the paper and I thought I understood them, so on the next paper I actually tried to apply them,  the result was 180* improvment.   A perfect paper.   

The next major writing advneture was a Dissertation in my doctorate program.   I really had to challenge my self to get through that.   That kind of writing is also very difficult.   It took a very long time for me to get the handg of that kind of writing.    

Maybe I will give some thoughts to what I would write.   Or perhaps I can just free flow for a while.   I guess one of the questions i have is what would I write about and then would people be interested in it.   I wouldn't want to write and it be a bomb.   I would want someone to be honest with me.   I know authors get rejected multiple times.   Thats ok.  I could handle that.   

Well let me know if you read this.