No Title Necessary

Have we been distracted by Tweets and Facebook posts perpetuating needed or unneeded publicity that bring divisiveness. I cannot speak for you. So I am asking you to to read the below and to look away from the recent posting.

My neighbor Bill was a Trappist Monk in the 1960's. He left this world with walls into a world without walls in the 1970's.

I met Bill after my first knee surgery at the bus stop. I walked with a walker. Bill along with another neighbor helped me to enter and exit the bus so I could travel to and from work.

Bill became ill with a number of medical issue. He began to walk with a walker. He saved enough money from his monthly stipend to ride the bus and purchase all of the gently used socks he could afford at the Goodwill on Dearborn and carry the bags on his walker home. He laundered the socks, bagged them up and rode the bus to Harborview's Madison Clinic that serves people who cannot afford medical assistance.

I visited with Bill about a year ago as he waited for the bus to take him to the Goodwill. He smiled and waved to me as the bus drove off. I have not seen Bill, again. I have looked and looked for him. Some of the people on the bus looked for him.

I bought a couple of packages of tube socks last winter, and I wrote Bill's name on the sock's. I then handed them out.

I am fortunate to have long time friends, who have recently offered me cash donations for yarn. Since I have yarn and more yarn at the moment, I am asking you to buy a pair of tube socks, carry them in your coat pocket or in your bag, and hand them to a person on the street.

As for Bill, I hope he has transitioned to a new world, where his medical conditions no longer exist.

A Change of Season

With the change of season and the coolness of the air, hats have been requested.

We have some yarn, and it's calling out: "Make me into a hat so warmth can be shared."

Living Stones is looking for volunteers to answer the call in the Seattle area. Your help is appreciated since a number of our volunteers have passed away.Please feel free to leave a comment today.

We encourage you to help in the way that you can in your respective communities, and we give gratitude for your likes of this post because it will give thanks to the current Living Stones volunteers.

Montana Wild Fires

“We went from worrying about heat stress to worrying about hypothermia.”

Living Stones Ministries Rock On!p rovided 360 hats through their Christmas in July program to a number of agencies 20-hats at a time. Living Stones only received 4-thank you notes. I was saddened because the bedridden volunteers love to receive copies of the thank yous.

I have had a number of friends, who have reached out to me from Texas and Florida. I am the primary funder of Living Stones since we do not have a nonprofit status. I have made donations to both states through reputable organizations, and I will continue to hold you in prayer.

The remainder of the Living Stones donations will be sent to the overlooked Montana aka Big Sky Country, The Treasure State and a number of other names.

 It was a gift to drive through, experience and meet the fine folks of this State. I stopped wherever there was a gas station to top off the tank because I was not sure if another one would be found. I lost radio signals. This elderly gas station owner sold me The Village People's Greatest Hits and Cher's "Believe" for 99 cents each. He had not been able to sell the cassettes. I sang and car danced through the remainder of this treasured state and Idaho that is a gem of a state.

I am mailing the 100-hats and small crate of new tube socks to Montana. You are not forgotten. No need to say thanks. I will write a short story with my gratitude for their efforts.

http://missoulian.com/news/local/snow-rain-and-cold-throw-ko-punch-at-western-montana/article_0acf769d-6df4-5883-8765-363d35898806.html

Having a Dream. Living a Dream. Share a Dream.

My Dream

I believe that dreams don’t die. Maybe we bury them due to life’s busyness or maybe it is financial. How can I afford to self-publish the book and maybe have an editor?

Maybe some of us are stuck. I have found myself stuck in a rut with my wheels spinning. I have discarded many dreams along the road side, not as speed bumps to slow me down but as garbage for a crew in orange jumpsuits to pick up.

I read the comics in The Seattle Times every day. I usually read Luann, Betty, and Between Friends to name a few. I was drawn to Crankshaft on Monday, April 24, 2017. The comic did not focus on Crankshaft. The focus was on Crankshaft’s next door neighbor, Lillian McKenzie. I read all week. It concluded on Saturday, April 29, 2017 with the following: 

Please see these links:  http://comicskingdom.com/crankshaft/2017-04-26
http://comicskingdom.com/crankshaft/2017-04-27
http://comicskingdom.com/crankshaft/2017-04-28 for my highlights from Crankshaft this week.

I noticed a familiar figure down the block. It was Karin, who is a business owner and entrepreneur with a heart for others. We talked and talked and talked as we walked to her car. The last thing mentioned was about me writing a book.

I contemplated writing the book one more time as I walked home. I made my way home and walked through my apartment door. The thought was still with me. I had readied for bed. The thought was still with me. I lit a candle, and I sat down and stared into the flame. I reflected.

I first met Cathy Walker, who was a close childhood friend and Edgewood Park neighbor, in Miss Hammer’s third grade at Washington Center Elementary School. I shared with Cathy that I wanted to be an author in the fifth grade. (I also wanted to attend clown school but I wasn’t sure about how to drive the car.)

I shared with my Aunt Judy and Cousin Amy that I begun writing this book last summer.  Here is the working Preface:

“Even then, more than a year earlier, there were neurons in her head, not far from her ears, that were being strangled to death, too quietly for her to hear them. Some would argue that things were going so insidiously wrong that the neurons themselves initiated events that would lead to their own destruction. Whether it was molecular murder or cellular suicide, they were unable to warn her of what was happening before they died."  From "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova.

I was shopping on a rainy Seattle evening at my local Quality Food Center. My usual path after making my purchases was to stop by the magazine rack and thumb through the "Star" magazine. I read my horoscope because my Grandma Ruby Kirby would buy the weekly "Star" tabloid to me in junior high and in high school.

One this particular evening, I read the horoscope and smiled. I then took pause at the book rack as one cover caught my eye. It was "Still Alice" by Lisa Genova.  An endorsement by USA Today was on the cover: "A poignant portrait of Alzheimer’s…Not a book you will forget."

Maybe I do want to forget. I worked in a continuing care retirement community and spent time with residents, who had dementia, but mostly my Grandma had dementia. Do I want to pick up a fictional book about my nonfictional work and life? I watched residents daily in the decline that could not be stopped no matter how their families looked for that pill...a photograph that possibly would jog a memory…playing a favorite song over and over...that memory game.  Nor could my Grandma’s decline be slowed.

I picked up the book, and I read the words beginning with "Even then"…and ending with…"they were unable to warn her of what was happening before they died." I closed the book. I made one more purchase before leaving the QFC. I read "Still Alice" in two evenings.

"Look through my eyes"...is not "Still Alice." It is the story of my Grandma. Even though many of the stories are true, it is a fictional story. I wondered what she remembered when she could no longer verbalize her thoughts. I am filling in Grandma’s thoughts. I am giving her words. Maybe the words were her own. Or maybe out of my hope she had thoughts and words that brought her peace and a quality of life that I will never understand. I will always remember the laughter and love.

I have written and rewritten the manuscript 5-times. Once the candle burned out and the room became dark, I understood why Look Through my Eyes never seemed right. I wrote it to try to please others, not from my authentic self and how I experienced my Grandma through my memories.

I believe this dream is not suppose to die (yet). One more try to keep the dream alive.

I will write on in hopes that you read on.

A Teaser About My Grandma

As of August 4, 2017...

Happy 100th!

My Grandma Ruby (Figert) Kirby would have been 100 today. She passed away at 95. I celebrate her and the memories of the old farmhouse in Wabash, Indiana, which was filled the smells and sounds of the fried chicken crackling away in the frying pan or as Grandma would say, “The chicken is in the electric skillet.” I loved eating the fried chicken as much as hearing my Grandma saying "the electric skillet."

The gravy was delicious she made after the chicken popped and crackled in the electric skillet. Life needs to have more gravy. Yum and more gravy, please!

Caption: Grandma Ruby and Grandpa Kenny celebrated a birthday in the 1980’s.

Your DonationsYour donations will help with the cost of the self publishing.  I want to make this also into an audio book for my mother, who is exhibiting memory loss. I want to narrate the audiobook. My mother can listen to it over and over with the recognizable voice of her daughter.

This photo of my Mom and her friend Ruth (aka Ruthie Baby) was taken on August 30, 2017.

Benefit

My hope is that the book speaks to one person and maybe another and another.  Family members and loved ones will know that they are not alone.

When I heard Glen Campbell died, I wrote on Facebook,
"I thank Glen and his family for making this chapter of his journey public. May others be helped through his journey.

Glen Campbell, you're 'not gonna miss' us; however, you will remain 'gentle on our minds.'"

It was a reminder to live our moments in the present. Don't put your dreams off. 

GratitudeI give gratitude for your support because there maybe a day that I won't remember names. I won't remember faces. My memories will be erased. I wonder as I age: "Will this be me?"  All I need to wonder is: "Where did I put my keys?"

I thank you. I thank you for taking the time to read my words. I thank you for considering one of my dreams and possibly making it a reality.

https://www.gofundme.com/qc5cr-living-a-dream