GeorgeMark House

I have a very nice brother and sister-in-law. They let me stay at their home when I am in the Bay area. They have helped me and my other brother out on numerous occasions and have been more than gracious about it. That makes them nice people.

What makes them GREAT people is what they have done for the severely and terminal ill children of California.

Welcome to George Mark Children's House.

It is NOT a hospital. It is a place for palliative care for children and their families. There are nurses, and doctors and psychologists and therapists of all kinds. They have bereavement care and counseling.

Each room has its own theme and mural. The medical equipment is hidden behind the panel with the cat on it. Each room has an extra bed (comfortable type) for a relative. There are also suites for the families to stay in if they wish.

There is a therapy pool.

There is a gathering room.

 There are peaceful, manicured grounds.

But it is ALL about the kids.

There are at least three more boards that are covered with the children that have been to this place.

Oh, did I forget to mention that they are pet friendly?

These welcome dogs may be fake but real ones are allowed to stay. If the pet is a rabbit or a cat or a hamster or (this I couldn't believe) a snake---whatever---they are welcome at George Mark Children's Home. As brother Bill says,."The pets get it!"

I have heard about George Mark Children's House for years. And my response was always "Gee, that is great, Bill. How was your golf game."

Not any more. I have seen this place and felt its energy. I have felt the peace and the acceptance of letting go. I have felt how this place makes transition a much easier, not easier, but more understandable thing.

Some kids come to learn how to cope with their terminal diseases. Some come to let there families have a break from the pressure of caring for a terminally ill child. Some come to learn to care for their children outside of a hospital.

But they all are there because they can find some peace there.

George Mark Children's House operates on donations. Until very recently, insurance companies would not pay for care at a palliative care house. They would pay for the care in a hospital but not at places like George Mark Children's House. 

I cannot adequately describe this place. PLEASE go to www.georgemark.org and see what they are doing.

What really blows me away is that two people, my sister-in-law, Dr. Kathy Hull and Dr. Barbara Beach started this project on their own. Brother Bill has been working on it none stop.

These are just ordinary people. With a dream and a tenacious will to see it all work.

I am amazed at their work and ashamed of my less than enthusiastic understanding of the project.

So, to make up for it I am asking anyone who reads this to go to the George Mark Children's House link above and click on their donation link. Give what you can. Then pass this on to anyone you know. Every penny helps.

A place in San Leandro, California is making a difference. It is amazing.

FIRE!

When Mel and I first saw this place we gave a giant sigh of relief. A small home on a bit of acreage in the middle of nowhere. Where we could sit on the porch and read.

Where we could plant flowers and watch them grow.

But we knew that we had to have a plan. A way to escape if Mother Nature got really pissed or some yawhoop got REALLY stupid. That would mean fire. And fire in sagebrush country is very, very dangerous.

So the plan is grab the dogs and the cats and get the hell out o' here. Nothin' but us and the pets.We keep the traveling cages close at hand and easy to get. Just in case.....

Well, welcome to almost just in case.

That is not a cloud.

And that is not a cloud.

That is smoke. Big, billowing smoke. Which a short while ago was orange and pink with heat and debris. It is about six miles away at this point.

We have been told by the CHP to stay put for the moment. The fire is going the other way.  But I just looked out my window and saw this:

So, it may be just in case.

I will keep you posted.

Geez, I AM LUCKY!

These last three weeks have been a bit hairy. (not as hairy as some of my online friends are having! Hang in there THUMPER!)

But it was hairy enough.

I was in a murder trial and working each night until late so that I could be prepared the next day. Now I do get a bit uptight when I am in trial. (The Kid tends to wear emotional armor when trial comes around.) I am very focused on what has to be done for my client. I forget to eat, drink water and otherwise take care of my physical plant.

So when I get cranky no one really notices. But, at the end of the day, I do know that I need some emotional recharging.

Now my spouse knows the signs and symptoms of trial. And he does his best to avoid direct incoming fire. He even finds ways to defuse the time bomb walking up the steps to the house.

This is his latest foray into horticulture and he knew I would love it.

The Man's Sunflowers

Now you will note that there are a few "holes" in the rows. Mr. Gopher made a few meals off of the sprouts. We even watched one disappear one evening.

But I get to see these bright, happy flowers when I come home from a very stressful (and factually ugly) case.

I stop and notice the life-cycle.

Seems that there is some rule that says one bee to a flower. But I watch for several minutes as the bee fills its pollen sacs and then heads for home.

That's when I head to the door.

And I am home.

I Still Miss her

Thirty years ago today.

I remember it so very, very vividly.

Dad and I were walking back from the restaurant where we had dinner.

As usual, there was little talking but on that evening the silence was about Mom. We both knew that the end was coming. We had been sitting vigil for two weeks. We just could not talk about it.

But on the walk back, Dad started to run. I didn't ask, I just kept up with him.

When we got to her floor at Standford Medical, I held onto his arm. And as the head nurse came from around the counter at the nurse's station, his knees buckled. And I held on.

She was gone.

And I had two very, very conflicting feelings. Oh, no and Thank, God.

Mom died of ovarian cancer. A long, painful illness that, back then, no one knew how to fight. She had repeated surgeries, debilitating chemotherapy, and long hospitalizations. All she wanted was to go to Camp Nelson to die and the doctors said, "Let's try this.."

Mom was an old school nurse. If a doctor said something it was gospel. So she never saw Camp Nelson again.

I remember driving back to where we were staying and my dad asking me if I was ok. I said yes. At that time I was.

Over the last thirty years I have been ok and not ok with losing mom then.

Today, I am not so ok.

Today is Her Birthday

I was taught, at a very early age, that women could be a part of the workforce.

That may sound idiotic now. Of course, women are part of the workforce!

But in the 1950's June Cleaver lived. Women stayed at home and created a living space for their husbands and children. They wore dresses all day and were always presentable when the MAN came home.

But my mother was a Registered Nurse. An acceptable female occupation.

She did not have a college degree but she went to St. Luke's Hospital in San Francisco for three years to learn her skills. The hard way.

They did direct patient care. They learned to take orders from doctors and care for the person in that hospital bed. They did bed pans, and IV's and sponge baths. They personally cared for each and every patient.

She would work continuous shifts with no sleep and little food. She lost weight. She was exhausted.

But she earned her cap.

And for all of my life she was a nurse.

And she taught me that it was ok to work. Really ok.

Father was another matter. To him women should never work. They should be "taken care of" by their husbands. So Mom convinced him that I should go to college to be an asset to a husband as he "climbed the corporate ladder".

Nice one, Mom.

So I got to go to college. But I had also been instilled (by Father) that every female needs a male. So I got married, too.

The conflict in me was tremendous. Be June Cleaver or Florence Nightingale (ok...maybe Mary Richards....)

When I finally figured out that I was the only person that could or should support me, Mom was dying. I was to start law school in 2 months. I had received no support from Father and Mom wasn't in a position to encourage me.

While in the ICU, after her last cancer surgery, I asked her if she was scared. She nodded "yes" and I told her to give her fear to me. I sat next to her bed, holding her hand, and the last thing she said to me, without any fear in her eyes, was, "make me proud".

That was all I needed.

She gave me the best gift a young, single mom could ever ask for.

She told me it was ok to be me.

It was ok to work.

CAUGHT HER!!!!

The mystery is solved.

Zelda can fly.

For a Cocker Spaniel that is a very special attribute.

It also helps if you are craving cat food.

But I think I know what her runway is.

It starts with the covered blue tub that holds the extra dry cat food. The lid is quite sturdy and secure. She can't get into it but she can get on it.

And when it is placed close to a table (at this point it is next to the litter box table) she just has to maneuver the cone collar over the lip of the table and up she goes.

Then it is a simple step to the low, flat cat tree. (It looks like a tree, too!) One more step to the chest of drawers and a short, down step to the food.

I caught her when she bumped up against the lamp and I heard it! Standing there with her back feet on the chest of drawers and her cone completely over the cat food bowl!!!

At least at this point she doesn't look like she ate a bowling ball.

But she is mad at me. No snacks.

I think I need to divest the room of some furniture.

By the way, her landing was manually assisted. She did not like that flight!

ZELDA!!!!

We have a dog area.

 It is real spiffy now.

It has gates and a ramp off the deck.

It also has weeds. LOTS of weeds.

And weeds around here mean foxtails.

BIG ones.

Now, I am not a complete idiot. Foxtails and Cocker Spaniels do not mix. Ears that hang down get grabbed by those pesky little weeds and they put their hooks in deep.

So we weedwhacked.

Several times.

We really didn't think that the dogs (well, one in particular) would eat them as they lay dead and withered on the ground.

BUT we forgot about the birdseed.

BIRDSEED? you say.

Yes, birdseed.

You see, hanging from the edge of the deck is a bird feeder. The finches and wrens and orioles and nuthatches just love it. And so do the doves. They go for what falls on the ground.

And so does that infamous dog. She LOVES birdseed. And if it is sitting on or under or about a foxtail........

Well, she eats that, too.

This resulted in foxtail mouth.

This resulted in trip to veterinarian.

This resulted in emergency surgery.

This resulted in an empty bank account.

ZELDA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

STOP THAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!