Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: scary things


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Sheltie soaker

Katie here. I know, I know, you just heard from me, but that was back when I was thankful and right now I’m not feeling very thankful at all! Mama got home from her big Thanksgiving adventure and you’d think she’d be so happy to see me that we’d go to my park and celebrate.

But nooooo.

And it’s even worse! I have a little boo-boo on my front leg that I like to lick in the evenings when I’m bored. Mama and daddy keep telling me to stop and sometimes I do, sometimes I ignore them — it just depends how I feel about following directions. I am a princess you know.

They took me to two different vets and this last vet is going to do a little surgery on me soon to take it off. But meanwhile I keep licking it, and daddy noticed some pus coming out of it while mama was out of town. He called the vet and they gave me some medicine and told him to soak my leg in Epson salts.

Huh! Like that’s going to happen, right?

Well, now that mama is home they decided to try. First mama tried to train me to put my front leg into a big pot. She was giving me treats and saying ‘touch!’ Sure, I’d touch it with my nose but I’m not going to put my foot in that pot! She cooks in that thing, what is she thinking?

So I guess they decided to go big time. Tonight they filled the laundry room sink with warm water and salt and then they put me in it! All four legs!!!! With water up to my tummy!

This is not fair at all!

This is not fair at all!

I wanted out! I tried my darnedest but they were right there saying ‘no baby’ and pretending to pet me but really they were holding me down!

It was sheltie abuse!

After a little bit though I kind of thought that the warm water was nice and I sat down. I kept my ears flat and my eyes big, and I gave them a combination of the sheltie stink eye and pathetic poor baby eye…when I’d look at them at all. Mostly I just kept my head turned away.

I was mortified.

I had to sit in that warm water for ten whole minutes! Then daddy rinsed me off with more warm water. Geeze. I already went to the groomer last week! I don’t think I needed another bath!

After that mama lifted me out and bundled me up in a couple of big fluffy towels and I got rubbed all over. Don’t tell them but I sort of liked that part. Then I shook the rest of the water out of my fur all over her. I think she was more wet than me when we left the laundry room. Plus she had to clean up the floor. And the door and the cabinets and some of the walls.

I don't like being wet mama!

I don’t like being wet mama!

I looked pretty bedraggled when I finally got away from her, and I don’t know if I can forgive them. I’m making mama play a rousing game of piggy tonight to make up for getting me all wet.

And I think I deserve some treats while I'm drying out!!

And I think I deserve some treats while I’m drying out!!

She said something about the vet telling daddy to soak the boo boo every day for a week. I can tell you right now that tomorrow night is not going to go nearly as smoothly as tonight. Oh no. I know what’s up now people and I refuse to allow any sheltie soaking to occur ever again!

It’s war now! An Emsom salt war!

And you can bet on me to win. Shelties always win. And I’m a princess too so it’s guaranteed that this is not happening again.

Stay tuned.

Throw the pig mama!

Throw the pig mama!


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Giving Tuesday

Dad at my wedding in 1990

Dad at my wedding in 1990

Today is Giving Tuesday, a day to remind people to donate to charitable organizations. I’d like to plead the case for donating to the Truck Safety Coalition.

Many of you already know this organization because of all my posts about Dad who was killed by a tired trucker December 23, 2004. We’re coming up on the anniversary again, and though it’s twelve years now, it seems like yesterday that my family’s world was turned upside down.

Back then we weren’t sure what had happened to us, or why, but we knew it wasn’t right. And the more we learned, about the long hours truck drivers work, the conditions they work under, the more we realized it was something we wanted to help fix.

Just like Dad always fixed stuff for us.

TSC is the only organization singularly devoted to supporting victims of truck crashes as well as the families and friends who have lost a loved one in a truck crash. I encourage you to go to their website to learn more about all the supportive programs and advocacy in which the Truck Safety Coalition is involved.

Please donate to TSC this Giving Tuesday by clicking here (http://trucksafety.org/get-involved/donate/) to help make a difference in the lives of people dealing with tragic crashes and to help save lives by improving highway safety for everyone, including those driving commercial trucks.

If you were to talk to any of the families volunteering for TSC they’d tell you that they work for safety to honor their loved ones and to keep other families from suffering the same tragedy they cope with every day.

Please join us as we stand for safety.

And thank you very much for all the emotional support you’ve provided my own family over the years. We couldn’t have made it through without all of you.

Grew up to be my Dad.

Grew up to be my Dad.


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3 Quote Challenge: Day 1

“There is a plan and a purpose, a value to every life, no matter what its location, age, gender, or disability. — Sharron Angle

I’ve been nominated by Carol at Wanderings of an Illusive Mind. (For a smile and a look at something beautiful, go check out her blog header…she paints with alcohol inks and the horse you’ll find there is stunning!)

Life here is pretty busy at the moment, though I suppose it’s busy everywhere now that the holidays are upon us. Here in the US the combination of politics and holidays don’t seem to go together very well, especially this year.

But I don’t want to talk about that.

I’d rather talk about the value of a life, regardless of the age or location of a person. Especially because of the age and location of a person.

Our elderly family member is settling into a new home, one she wishes she didn’t have to accept. She lived in her own apartment until she was 101 ; that’s longer than most of us will ever live alone. But her legs and her heart just aren’t strong enough for her to live alone any longer.

She knew that someday she’d have to move into a nursing home. Still, now that the time has come, it’s hard.

It’s hard on those of us watching her struggle with emotions as we struggle with ours. It’s hard telling her over and over that she can’t go home again. It’s hard to listen to her voicing her objections to her new location. And it’s hard to leave her there after each visit.

It’s hard to tell her the sky is a brilliant blue and the air is warm and see her sad eyes at the realization she can’t see out the window on the other side of her shared room. It’s hard to listen to her talk about the noises made by other residents at night without having an acceptable resolution. To think about her never having her favorite cinnamon raisin toast again because there’s nowhere to toast it for her. To realize that her space is too small to give her fresh flowers, that she never gets fresh fruits with a meal, that she can no longer enjoy the company of her bird. That she enjoys no privacy at all.

Mostly it’s hard for her.

I believe her life still has value, regardless of the age she has attained and regardless of where she now finds her physical self. And I believe that somehow we need to find a way to make her feel valuable again. Because right now she’s not feeling like she matters to much of anyone at all.

And that’s not right.

Change is hard.

Charlie misses his mom.

Charlie misses his mom.


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When the future is uncertain

Autumn light catches color.

Autumn light catches color.

I suppose the future is uncertain for everyone, after all tomorrow is not promised. But when you’re 101 the future is even less certain.

I wonder what that feels like.

We grow up looking forward into forever. When we’re five we can’t wait until we’re 10, excited by those double digits. And then we want to be sixteen so that we can drive a car and eighteen so we can vote, and twenty-one so we can legally celebrate with a beer.

Golden glow tinged with red.

Golden glow tinged with red.

And the future stretches out forever into the horizon.

Then suddenly you’re closing in on one hundred, then a hundred and one, and you’ve outlived most of your siblings, many of your friends. Your only child. And you remember the smallest details about the century just past, the events, the places you’ve lived, the places you’ve left. So many people that are now gone.

Purple focus.

Purple focus.

You don’t see so well now, you’re uncertain who is entering your space, and family and friends announce themselves and you smile and nod, glad of the company, the time to talk, to tell some of the stories, some of the things you have stored in your mind.

You know time is passing, that your body is becoming more frail, that a fall will likely cause you to lose the last bits of independence you enjoy now. You’re careful. Still, it is inevitable.

Early morning light shimmers.

Early morning light shimmers.

And when you fall you hesitate to push the button for help. You know it will mean leaving your home behind, perhaps for the last time. You’ll be leaving all that is familiar and under your control.

You know you’ll no longer be able to make all the decisions, that you’ll have to live somewhere else. Somewhere different and less private with less privileges and fewer friends near.

Lonely.

Lonely.

But you push the button.

And now things are being sorted out and you wish you could go home but that’s probably not an option. And the future looks different than you wished it could be but maybe that doesn’t matter so much anymore.

Maybe you’ll be fine for the time you have left no matter where you end up, as long as your friends and family still come to visit and you all get to tell the stories of the old days and remember the good times.

Standing proud.

Standing proud.

Maybe you’ll be fine. Because no mater the length of time allotted your future still stretches into the horizon.

Note: Many of you have read and care about Aunt V. She’s in a rehab center now and things are being sorted out.

She’s being brave, but change is hard.

Pink. A favorite color.

Pink. A favorite color.


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WordPress Photo Challenge: Local

Years ago I lived a few miles north of where I live now, in the city of Flint Michigan. You’ve probably heard of it. Last year it came to light that the pipes connecting many of the homes to their water supply were corroded and the water was contaminated with lead. Many children in the city tested positive for lead poisoning.

The water crisis garnered national attention. Presidential candidates visited promising to help. CNN arrived and interviewed residents. Congressional hearings were held. Celebrities donated thousands of bottles of clean water.

We were all outraged.

The tainted water had already been running into households for more than a year back then. And now it’s been more than a year since. This is what being local to Flint means today:

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I heard this week that a grant has been won by the city of Flint to help resolve the problem. Some pipes have been replaced, others have been coated with something to stop the corrosion. A few families now have clean water.

Many still do not.

And most people there don’t trust that their water will ever be safe to drink. After all, they’d been told it was safe before and now their children are poisoned. Their future is uncertain.

There are no easy solutions, but I can not imagine using bottled water for everything. For washing dishes, for bathing children, for cooking.

For years.

I’m not proud of the fact that these images define local in a city just up the road. That we seem to have forgotten, moved on with our lives, assumed someone was doing something to fix the problem. Someone else.

But this is still the reality of ‘local’ in Flint Michigan.


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Two more dead

Wednesday near Charlotte NC a Swift semi ran off the road and hit a bridge. Watch this two minute news video that cites statistics about Swift, a large national carrier. These two deaths are numbers 56 and 57 for the truck company in the past two years. Other articles I’ve found say that Swift has been cited over 4000 times during the past two years for driving violations.

I don’t know how much more has to happen before the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration (FMCSA) stops rating them as acceptable.

As many of you know I work with the Truck Safety Coalition, and we’ve been fighting to lower the maximum number of hours a driver can drive before having to take an extended rest break. It’s an uphill battle, with small victories later repealed by legislation backed by the deep pockets of the American Trucking Association which is out to maximize truck company profits. A news report yesterday said fatigue of the driver was a likely cause of this particular crash. He fell asleep behind the wheel at 4:30 in the morning.

So. Two more people are dead. This time they weren’t in a passenger car, they were in the cab of the truck that crashed.

In stories like this the news focuses on the traffic delays or the cost of repairing the infrastructure. I can tell you from personal experience the families of the two deceased don’t care about traffic delays or bridge repair today. As they move forward and figure out what caused their loss they’ll learn what so many other families have learned. That driving up to 11 hours a day is unsafe. That it doesn’t make any sense. That people die because they are pushed to work longer hours than in any other industry. It’s a complicated issue.

Five hundred truck drivers die in crashes each year. Yesterday two gave their lives just trying to make a living.

Sometimes I think that fighting the ATA on hours of service rules is useless. That we’re just playing defense, sticking our fingers in an deteriorating dike. That our time is better spent on issues we have a chance of winning. And then two more people die and I realize we have to keep fighting on all the issues.

Even hours of service.


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Water everywhere…and not a drop to drink

Many of you have heard about the water crisis in the city of Flint. It’s making national news.

Essentially the short version (and the short version doesn’t do justice to the actual reality) is that years ago an emergency manager was appointed to handle Flint’s financial woes and in an effort to save money the water supply was changed from the Detroit system and the Lake Huron to the Flint River. Turns out the water from the Flint River ran through old pipes and the combination was deadly. Now there is lead contaminated tap water in homes, businesses, and schools. The water had been consumed for over a year before people persistently making noise finally caught media, and thus government, attention.

Of course it is much more complicated than that. There are all sorts of politics involved. And charges that only minority dominated cities were put under emergency management in the first place. But the bottom line is that once again concern about money trumped concern about people’s safety.

Tuesday night our governor gave his State of the State speech and he spent most of it talking about Flint. He explained the timeline of events from his point of view, and though he took ultimate responsibility, he also wanted to assure everyone that his people had not told him about the magnitude of the problem until recently. And he’s going to prove that by releasing his emails.

Somehow none of that is making anyone feel better.

Early Wednesday I went for my walk up at the mall. Walking alone, I had plenty of time to notice the snippets of conversation between other walkers. Here’s just a bit of what I heard, each of these from a different pair of walkers.

“Governor Snyder said he didn’t ….”

“The corrosive water ran through the old pipes and leached lead into the water…”

“We don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry…”

“Well, it just really seems like…”

“I don’t know how it all can be fixed…”

“Finger pointing won’t help…”

“None of the Republican candidates are talking about water…”

“Who’s going to pay…”

I’ll let your imagination finish these conversations. Regardless of where your mind takes you it will be a dark place. There are no easy answers to this monumental problem. The governor has declared Flint a disaster area. The National Guard is passing out bottled water and filters. The mayor of Flint has had a meeting with President Obama in the oval office and the President has promised to help.

But ultimately the problem will take years to correct. And the underlying political issues? Those may never be sorted out. When General Motors abandoned Flint, taking with it thousands of jobs, many people left the city. The resultant lowered tax base couldn’t meet the needs. Inept politicians ran the city, ultimately causing financial ruin and emergency management. Should that have happened? Whose fault is it?

More importantly, what can be done to avoid in the future the series of events that led one community down the garden path to tainted water?

Change is hard.


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Like a shark

Up out of the warm darkness that is sleep you reluctantly emerge. One eye cracked open you see the triangle of an ear on the other side of a pile of pillows. It’s slowly moving toward you. The music of “Jaws” begins to waft through your sleep deprived brain.

The soft weight of the resident shark settles on your chest and then sneezes into your face.

Feed me.

Feed me.

Good morning Lydia.


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Fury on the big lake

It started last night, the high winds TV weather people had been warning us about. Two in the morning the roar woke me from a deep sleep. High on a bluff above Lake Michigan, tucked warmly into bed, I heard the wind. Or was it the waves. The cat jumped off the bed and streaked away. And then the power went out.

Prime viewing seats.

Prime viewing seats.

People say a tornado or a hurricane sounds like a freight train. In the dark, listening intently I could almost hear the train whistle come and go, overshadowed by the intense roar of wind and water. In the dark, not being able to see the lake, all I could do was feel it.

The vibration of the waves pounding the shore hundreds of yards away came from deep in the earth, up through the bluff, through the house footings, through the floors and up into the legs of the bed frame, through the deep mattress and into my bones.

Yesterday I walked this beach now under water.

Yesterday I walked this beach now under water.

The house sighed. I lay still. Listening. Waiting. Planning where I’d go if I had to. Considering how to find the cat in her hidden safe place.

I toured the house with a flashlight, checking windows, doors. Listening to things hit the roof, scratch the windows. Calling the cat who remained hidden. Eventually I went back to bed.

The power came back on after an hour and a half. Welcome lamp light made the roar not so ominous. Still, the lake was completely dark and sounded angry. I toured the house again, turning on lights, checking, checking. Looking for the illusive cat.

Remembering cats of years ago I pulled out her food container, shook it and called her name as I wandered. Suddenly, out of the shadows, she raced toward me calling back loudly. Silly girl. She got a tidbit or two and then we both retreated to the warm bed, doors closed against the fury of the lake.

I fell asleep to the sound and feeling of nature running wild, still wearing my glasses, cat purring on my chest. We woke an hour later to find daylight beginning to reveal the lake in all it’s mesmerizing beauty. I ventured outside but it is impossible to catch the feeling of it in still photos, the winds so strong I could barely stand upright on the lower bluff, shielding the camera from the sandblast with my body.

As the morning progresses the light changes. The water turns turquoise and navy and brilliant white. The air is clear and the island at the horizon is visible.

Under dark clouds the air has been swept clean. See the island?

Under dark clouds the air has been swept clean. See the island?

I glance out and see a bit of sun; careening down some of the 42 stairs to the beach I catch a brief moment when the sun slips from behind racing clouds and tips a few white caps with brilliant joy.

Fleeting light.

Fleeting light.

I don’t even care that I ran out without a coat, that the wind is bitter, the sound overwhelming, the moment brief.

I just know I am blessed to be here.

Turquoise.

Turquoise.


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Why listen to the other side?

Trucks and guns. Both are supported by huge organizations with deep pockets, organizations that donate heavily to congressional campaigns. Organizations that expect their contributions to protect their interests.

I’ve been fighting the uphill battle of anti-truck safety issues for a very long time. And as I watch the unfolding events after this latest mass shooting I am reminded once again that those fighting for gun law reform are climbing a similar mountain. A friend re-posted an article about the progress gun law reformers have made joining forces and gaining support. It sounds familiar, though with the media coverage mass shootings get it looks like their cause is getting more celebrity support and funding than our mission has to date. Still, even with funding, fighting the NRA, just like fighting the ATA, will always be a David and Goliath battle.

I’ve been thinking about these battles, ours against big trucking pushing anti-safety agendas, theirs against fervent gun owners pushing gun rights at all costs. If I’ve learned anything in my fight it’s that there is not always clear and obvious right and wrong. Sometimes, but not always. And I’ve learned that time spent listening to the other side without letting trigger words wash over my mind and emotions is worth the effort.

But both sides need to listen without talking over the top of each other.

What I’m seeing on television, as usual, is that no one is listening to anyone else. Everyone is talking loudly about their point of view. Maybe that’s good television, but it’s not going to resolve anything. We have learned that on some issues we need to work with truck companies, and I think there are going to be issues in the gun control fight where both sides have to compromise for the good of everyone.

But no one will be able to figure out where compromise is possible as long as both sides are busy building walls and flinging grenades of accusations, some true, some not, over those walls. In order to make progress and make the world a little safer everyone needs to look for ways to work together. These are complicated issues, with heavily entrenched views.

Nothing is easy when big industries and lots of money is at stake. But there’s always more than one route to problem resolution. We need to work together to find those options. We can’t continue on the way we are, arguing loudly, resolving nothing, the chasm between sides growing wider and deeper. We need to listen to each other, recognize the kernels of compromise hidden in the rhetoric and begin the difficult work.

Change is hard.