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MOXIE COSMOS SAYS . . .
We who have lived in Arizona for many years and love the forests and meadows of the Mogollon Rim are sickened by the Wallow Fire destruction. It is now considered the largest forest fire in the state’s recorded history.
I am especially fond of Hannagan Meadow, about where this fire started, and treasure two photos of my younger son (now 46) standing in the same location in the pine trees at ages 4 and 10. Also, that lodge at Hannagan Meadow is where my parents first met my husband, the stepfather to my three children. It’s where my husband, before we were married, proved his merit in the kitchen by whipping cream into peaks with a simple fork. We had picked raspberries along the road.
A few years later, our older son was stationed across the road from the lodge at a Forest Service camp used for his helitak crew. He worked as a fire fighter in the summer and sometimes stayed the fall semester. That’s why it took him six years to graduate from NAU (Northern Arizona University). The following summer, his sister, on a field trip with a UA (University of Arizona) geography class, told her professor about the helitak camp and for some odd reason he refused to believe her. When she gave her report on the findings of her group (they were mock-planning a ski resort), she wore Greg’s shirt with the identity and location of the Hannagan Meadow U.S. Forest Service camp. That’s my girl!
The Blue River runs along the east side of the highway up there. One summer, long before my husband and I fell in love, I was hiking with friends from Hannagan Meadow to a wide, shallow spot in the river. We encountered a couple living out there at the edge of the woods. They had set up camp, a fire pit, and a scavenged cupboard nailed to a tree for their food. I’d guess they were in their late 60s. They told us that during the warm months they salvaged for scrap metal to make a little extra living. They researched and mapped where airplanes had crashed, and climbed up mountainsides to retrieve parts, even sections of wing.
On the path back our group straggled into a hunting camp and found a pen full of lovely hounds. There were no human beings in sight, but there was a building with an open door, and we were hot and tired. The room was clean-smelling, though empty of furniture. On a windowsill someone spotted a tin of salve typically used on cow’s udders when they got sore — and presumably on the female dogs when they had pups. One of the guys in our group said it is used by people, too, and suggested my cramped calves might benefit by a little rubbing on of the strong-smelling stuff. I tried it and could walk painlessly back to our cabin at Hannagan Meadow.
This time the pain won’t go away. I can hardly stand to think of what’s going on right now. I think of the danger to the firefighters, the stupidity of the people who left a campfire still alive. While much of that area has been built up and overrun by tourists, the little place where I have these pleasant associations remained pleasant to this year. I hope it will become pleasant again for generations to come.
POSTSCRIPT: With natural disasters occurring everywhere, there’s one sort-of funny story running through my mind. In this morning’s Wall Street Journal, reporting on the Arizona fire, there is a photo of a pickup truck loaded with trophies a family wanted to save during their evacuation — deer antlers, elk antlers – who knows what else — the souvenirs of killing the natural inhabitants of that land. Still, it called to mind a St. Louis summer day c. 1957 when we had a tornado alert in the middle of the afternoon. Mother, her house guest and I (then a college student) quickly headed to the basement. Down there in the rec room we looked at each other with merriment. Mother had brought some cookies. I took along a book to read (if the lights stayed on.) The guest of ample bosom had grabbed her brassiere.
MOXIE COSMOS SAYS…..
You can hear me talk about issues related to SOPHIE REDESIGNED by using this link: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/big-blend-radio/2011/05/01/champagne-sundays
We have just returned from another trip to New Mexico (where signs posted with the title here –GUSTY WINDS MAY EXIST — used to amuse us). They don’t any more. I have written before about the trauma of divorce affecting our family. Everybody is in therapy!
Amidst the struggles for “closure” (a word our 6-year-old granddaughter introduced into conversation the other night – too wise too soon — there is humor.
I had told her last summer when she stayed with us for seven weeks that whenever I find a feather on the ground I believe it is a message from my father. My dad died in 1998, and I honest-to-goodness adopted this belief as part of my grieving process. I hoped it would give her the idea that when someone dies they never really leave the people who love them. (Her mother has a terminal disease.)
At the B&B where we were staying, she was with her grandfather and me for two nights. One morning we took a walk around the acreage, stopping at the horse corral to see if we could entice the two brown Arabians to come to us for a loving pat on the nose. First, however, we noticed an enormous pile of “horse apples” near the railing. In one there happened to be a large black feather stuck quill side down, as if it had been thrown like a dart.
Maya said, “Look! Your dad sent a message. It’s not good. Something bad is going to happen.” Her grandfather quickly said: “I think we had better ask Papa Bob to aim a little better next time.” I added: “I don’t think he sent that one. It doesn’t look like the others. He wouldn’t choose black.”
Still, it made me feel a little fearful, as a lot of bad things are happening to that little girl. We hope for closure soon.
At the end of our visit we (Daddy, too) went to Santa Fe, and we had a great time at the Santa Fe Children’s Museum. Maya prefers the outdoor play areas, although this time she decided to go into a room that is hidden under a hill of plants. It is for science, mainly. In one corner is a box of worms. It is sort of a treasure chest, a combination of wood shavings of some kind and organic material from the clippings and veggie scraps. The worms are at work making good soil, and children are invited to find them (usually in the corners). Maya and a little boy named Charlie got into a contest, and Maya came up with 15 worms in her hand. She was a happy camper. Such joy children have in a place where they can explore and the adults with them can see they are safe and learning. Such joy for grandparents to see a child forgetting for a few moments that gusty winds do exist.
MOXIE COSMOS SAYS -
http://goo.gl/xkoSH
My gosh! That’s the link to my latest review for bookpleasures.com and it will interest anyone thinking of publishing a book in this strange period of the industry’s reinvention. The book is called ” A Self-Publisher’s Companion….” and it is by Joel Friedlander, a book designer, and a very nice one.
Read and share! I own a Kindle and love it, but hate that I cannot share what I read there without loaning my Kindle out.
There are lots of other frustrations in the book world today. Nearly every day I read a Wall Street Journal story on the breakup of the industry. As a writer poised to publish a second mystery, I am at odds with myself over whether to wait to capture the attention of an agent or self-publish again. Yesterday I read that agents are pretty much a job of the past. I also read that a man who publishes thrillers gave up his agent and is simply putting his new books into e-formats. He made over $126,000 in March.
Then there is the problem of choosing a book to read. With so much to choose from (unless your main source is airports), we need reviewers more than ever, and instead most publications left hardly have room for book reviews. They are more likely to give the space to interviewing writers.
I just started to review for www.bookpleasures.com which will appear in a number of places. I am therefore installing a new page on this website called GOOD READS. I will post my reviews there, but welcome your participation. One rule: The books have to be relevant to my main theme of aging — even if it is a mystery. I read all of Donna Leon’s Brunetti books, and lately have found them chock full of wonderful elderly characters. Email your 500 to 750-word review to kdahood@cox.net and I will let you know if I am going to post it.
Meanwhile: Check my new page GOOD READS featuring IN UNEXPECTED PLACES; DEATH AND DYING – BUILDING UP A PICTURE. It tackles the questions we would love to ask (e.g., What happens next?) with answers from many different belief systems.
Moxie Cosmos Says…
Under normal circumstances it is a challenge to keep tabs on an active six-year-old, but when you fear she might be grabbed by someone representing the “other side” of her family, then it is exhausting. Two weeks ago, after a school performance, our grandchild was rushed by two women, one her aunt from an Islamic country. “Can I kiss you?” was the question I heard out of the dark as I felt long skirts brush by me. Our granddaughter was running into her daddy’s arms. He quickly handed the child to her grandfather, standing across the pathway, completely oblivious to the identity of the women, and then chased the women toward the parking lot, yelling, “You’re not supposed to be here!”
A few minutes later an attempt was made again to get close to the child in her grandfather’s arms as we got into our cars. Grandpa still didn’t know what had happened, but my son had explained to me who they were. The women had parked on the opposite side of Daddy’s car from where Grandpa’s car was, and suddenly came swiftly around the back. The other woman approached my husband with what seemed a rational statement: “I have been divorced,” she said, “and I know how important it is that the child know it is not their fault, and that both Mommy and Daddy love them.” Grandpa made what he called “agreeable noises.” The sister pulled on her sleeve. She knew better. By that time Daddy was enraged and chased them again throwing a string of expletives over the school parking lot.
Here’s the problem: Our daughter-in-law has a serious disease for which she is being treated to prolong her life. On this particular night she was still in a hospital, a four-week stay. There are many risks and many potential side-effects to this disease. This in itself is tragic for this child who is sure to lose her mother at a fairly young age. The fact that the disease progression affected the parents’ marital relationship has lead us to discover that, under Islamic Law, the minor child of a mother who dies is given to the Muslim grandmother (in this case, deceased) or to her aunt. Abductions of U.S. born children with one Muslim parent are frequent following divorce. See www.umhani.com.
We are still sorting through the meanings of events over several months when our daughter-in-law decided to renounce our son and his family, take up with some women she worked with and whom she called “bad-ass,” and launched a full-scale attack on his reputation from every possible angle. There has been so much dust kicked up, masterminded, we think, by one of these women, that it hadn’t occurred to us until we started thinking about the imminent arrival of the sister, that it was meant to distract Daddy. Now the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place, and the judge knows something “vicious” is going on. The motivation remains a mystery.
In December we became aware of the brainwashing that has been going on. Now we know the large amounts of narcotic medications that were given this child by her mother, who has taken her the doctor once a month describing symptoms of flu, colds and allergies. During the month in her father’s care, good old-fashioned Vicks has worked, along with lots of skin cream for her eczema. It’s possible that the medication route was taken because that’s all Mommy knew to do, or all that her doctor thought of, but Mommy and her friends work for a small, independent pharmacy.
And how do we explain the strange changes regarding the school performance? Our child’s role and costume were changed two days before the event. The venue was changed from a small auditorium where tickets were required to a larger one open to the community. Our grandchild’s name was left off the printed program, and her position at an upper corner of the bleachers put her far from the reach of anyone approaching the stage from the front, but possibly reachable from behind. Then the principal asked all PARENTS to pick their children up between two buildings afterward, and the tall schoolyard lights were not turned on. It was a mob of people milling about in the dark that made the rush toward our grandchild possible.
The sister, by the way, has not yet presented her visa and other documents to the court, as requested, to be considered as an alternative to her mother picking the child up at school on days they are to have her (temporary orders).
Coincidences? Am I delusional? We are within several days from the truth.The mother is home and the divorce proceedings will proceed.
MOXIE COSMOS SAYS . . .
An E-vertisement (is that what they are called?) arrived this morning warning of elderscams — all the myriad ways people my age are exploited. Advice was given: look at your prescription sales slips, don’t let just anyone sell you a new roof….and much more.
At the bottom was a link to information about Home Care. It is considered by many to be a safe and humane alternative to congregate care or assisted living. It is – up to a point.
We had home care for my mother, both at her own home in Texas and at our home in Arizona. It was frustrating for me to handle home care matters from 1000 miles away, and some rather sketchy things happened in Texas, so, after checking and than ruling out assisted living in her area, I persuaded her to come home with me. It took two years to convince her she should stay.
The company I chose to provide companions (9-5 on weekdays) was perhaps the first home care agency in our city, and I knew the owner. She is a real pioneer in the business, and had the additional goal of helping mid-life women without financial security to work at a noble job. She went so far as to set up a training program for in-home caregivers, and it now has a Foundation.
At the same time, Judy Clinco’s crusade involved getting health insurance for the work force and better wages.
When we hired Catalina In-Home Care, the wages were, I think $13 an hour. At some point they went as high as $18. That was our cost — I should say, Mother’s, because this was coming out of the savings my dad had provided for her. I don’t know what the take-home pay was for the caregivers, but the fact is that most elderly people or their children cannot afford to pay an amount that insures a caregiver a livable wage. As food prices increase, that is probably even more urgent an issue for such agencies.
This leads to my telling you about the one drawback for the recipient of home care, and that is that it is an unstable workforce. While I cannot really complain about the quality of companionship and caring my mother received (with one exception), it was very disturbing to have someone she began to think of as a friend suddenly disappear.
One woman Mom liked a lot actually died because she was not able to afford good health care. That was a shocker. She loved to drive Mother around and look at houses for enjoyment.
Others — too many — moved on to better opportunities. The one we loved best was a veteran teacher — a music teacher – and was just waiting for her license and a chance for a job that suited her calling. She would bring a lap harp and got mother to sing along with her. It was lovely to see and hear.
At the end of Mother’s life (exactly six years ago today) we had been assigned perhaps ten caregivers over three years here in Tucson. It got most hectic at the end. We had a lovely woman with us during most of the time Mom was under hospice care, and then, suddenly, she took a job offered by an old man, not through the agency but in the higher-paying private sector. In her place we got two new people — young and inexperienced, unfamiliar with my mother, and more strange faces for Mother to puzzle over as she lay dying.
I can’t blame this woman for taking a job that would pay her more, but I was frankly angry that she left knowing that my mother was dying. I begged her to wait it out — another week! I was willing to pay her extra. But she left. I’ve since wondered if the true reason she departed at that point in my mother’s life was that she couldn’t face the reality of death.
I last saw my mother alive when I tucked her in at about 11 p.m. on March 1, 2005, after we celebrated my daughter’s 44th birthday. In the morning at 7, I checked on Mother in her bed. She was not breathing, her skin cold, but her expression peaceful. I called hospice. I called my daughter. My daughter came to say goodbye to her beloved grandmother. The hospice workers came and prepared her for her journey to the crematorium.
Yesterday was my daughter’s 50th birthday. I picked her up at 4:30 and we shared a bottle of merlot, Spanish cheese, artichokes, and beets ( hors d’ouerves) at our top neighborhood wine shop/restaurant. I presented her with a Pueblo-made, shell necklace set with turquoise mosaic, and with a coral “chain,” which I had purchased from a trader for $75 back in the early 1970s when she was a young teenager. I knew she would remember it well, and how it fit into our lives then. She put it on and it looked perfect. I was wearing my mother’s favorite bracelet. We had a nice celebration, and felt connected, especially when we had to leave to pick up her daughter and granddaughter from drama practice.
The best home care caregivers cannot give a fraction of what we can give each other.
Consider this Part II of my post “Grandchild at Risk.” The main characters are a mother who needs Bone Marrow Transplant to delay the onset of Leukemia, a father she accused of domestic abuse (hearing dismissed with prejudice), and a six-year-old who loves dogs. My husband and I are secondary players, though we have been intimately involved with this family since the parents were married in our back yard, and especially since their child was born.
In my first post on this true-life tragedy, the mother was working at a tiny independent pharmacy and was being advised on matters both medical and legal by co-workers who have been in and out of the law courts. Mommy had cut off her only family from knowledge of her health status, using the Health Information Privacy Act (HIPA). We know from the diagnosis that her disease impairs all of her organs, including the brain. By her own admission, she has had short-term memory loss. She is also, understandably, often fatigued.
This has meant that, during Mommy’s custodial periods, we have had no idea whether or not our granddaughter was safe riding with her in a car, or if she was in the care of the friend who (our son was told by his wife) had her children taken away because her boyfriend abused them; or with the 13-year-old daughter of the other friend whose family is rumored to be in the lower tier of interstate drug runners.
Mommy told me in December that she was taking Vidaza, a new drug, to make her stronger and that she planned to have Bone Marrow Transplant at Mayo Clinic Scottsdale next summer. The Vidaza treatments apparently had debilitating side effects, one of which was severe nose bleeds. Daddy found this out through his six-year-old child. He also found out that Mommy had a “port” put in and “something was going wrong.”
He found out from their daughter’s after-school child care teacher that his estranged wife had said she was no longer working, that she was withdrawing our granddaughter from the after child care facility, and that she was going for Bone Marrow Transplant around March 1. Daddy asked Mommy, when he next met her at McDonald’s (apparently the favorite place for divorced parents to hand over their children for visitations), if there was anything she could tell him about her plans for BMT. He said her answer was something like, “Why? So you and your parents can kill me?”
On Sunday our son was told by Mommy to pick up their child at 6 a.m. Monday morning. She was going for treatment; it would last approximately four weeks. He would be the custodial parent until she returned. Her older sister, who had arrived from Morocco to be Mommy’s “caregiver,” at some point would be living in the family home and would be driving Mommy’s car (insured by Daddy). This posed several new problems. One was that he risked full liability if this Moroccan sister had an accident. He didn’t know if she even had a license. This was her first time in the United States.
Monday morning Daddy met them at McDonald’s (Mommy was in the driver’s seat at the time), and warned that the insurance did not cover uninsured drivers or any drivers other than Mommy and Daddy. He managed to take pictures of the car and the two women. Sister tried to grab the camera. Mommy called 911. The police came, knowing all too well what this situation is, and Mommy told them Daddy was “harassing” her. The police officer motioned him to back off (granddaughter still in the car) and Daddy explained the situation, said he had brought the insurance renewal slip. The officer took it to Mommy. Granddaughter was let out of the car. There were other unsavory elements to this scene at the Golden Arches parking lot, such as Mommy throwing the child’s belongings out on the pavement. (Where have I heard that one before?)
The good news is that our little girl is now in Daddy’s care, and the car in question was left in the carport at the family home. Another friend (?) drove Mommy and her sister to wherever they were going, some cancer clinic, probably in Lubbock, Texas, where the Vidaza treatment was first suggested.
The bad news is that our granddaughter saw her mother — perhaps for the last time ever — acting in this way.
“Why is Mommy angry?” — “Because she is sick.”
Covering my bases, I texted “Good luck with your procedure!” to Mommy later that day. If I hadn’t, someday she would come back and accuse me of not wishing her well when she went in for her “procedure.” I do wish her well. The best case scenario will be for her to be filled with healthy blood cells that will nourish every part of her, and bring back her better judgment.
Meanwhile, I’m very intrigued by this new image of McDonald’s, a family-friendly place.
TO BE CONTINUED
Okay – I admit it. I didn’t catch on to the name of this boutique until long after I had distributed my Christmas presents purchased there, and was in need of a black hat like the berry-colored one I ordered from this wonderful women artists’ gallery.
I happened to be there the first day they opened in the Jefferson Inn complex in Wausau, Wisconsin, my home town. The handmade items were eye-dazzling. There were silk totes decorated with ribbons and buttons and applique (FOR MY GLAM DAUGHTER AND GLAM DAUGHTER-IN-LAW), frothy scarves woven of several fine textures of yarn (FOR MY BLIND ATTORNEY), and fingerless gloves (FOR MY TEENAGE TEXTERS) that look tie-dyed. I bought my great-granddaughter a blue knit beanie with a big red applique flower.
I can’t do justice to these ladies’ artistic variety (jewelry, capes, coats!) with my feeble descriptions. Go right now to their gallery on Facebook — just search for Nevaeh Wausau WI. Or call for help with gift ideas. Maureen 715-297-3314 or Briana 715-297-1393
There’s another link you might like that tells more about Wausau, which in the last couple of decades has become a destination rather than a place to leave. They even have kayak races downtown. www.wausauriverdistrict.com
So what would Sophie George buy for herself if she were going to visit Wisconsin in February? Frankly, I don’t think she’d go there, being a Florida-adapted New Yorker, unless there was a murder she had to solve. In most of my novels (SOPHIE REDESIGNED is published) clothes are a topic. That’s because they are a women’s issue, and the older you get the more of an issue they become. Should I spend the money? Do I need a “new look”? Can’t I just “be myself”? In SOPHIE REDESIGNED the character Deborah always is obsessing about her clothes; she’s a chameleon. Sophie feels guilty getting a sexy new dress to influence a potential client.
In WINDOW BY THE POND (coming out this year), there is much said about Sophie’s conservative, leftover skirts and shoes from New England. When we finally get to GIPSIES (perhaps in 2013), she has to shop for warmer garments, but has a nightmarish experience in Harrod’s. I hope I live long enough to see that one in print. For now I am content to live in the moment. I wore my berry-colored cloche today. It has the cutest jeweled pin.
MOXIE COSMOS SAYS …. I LOVE MY KINDLE, BUT –
I ordered a replacement cord for what I thought was a first generation Kindle. It did not fit. After struggling with websites and finally getting a live person on the phone, we determined my Kindle is a “second generation” model. These terms do not match up with the terms used on the website for ordering. That was problem #1.
Problem #2 is that, now that I have the cord, which seemed to fit and work, my Kindle has stopped working. This might be because in the last few days I lost the little piece that covers what is described in my handbook (that came with the product) as the volume control. My model does not have sound. So the problem becomes, “What do I order now?”
Kindle is such a clever device that I believe it has a small snake that crawls through the cable into the body to trouble shoot. In this case, it maneuvered its way to the protective covers of the delicate control on the right top edge (whatever it is). This is Amazon’s automatic signal that it is time to buy a new model. So that is what I shall do.
Problem #3: Are we on “Generation Three” — or what?
Note that I have not come up to my limit of book storage for this model, I think 300. The new one, I think I heard, has room for 1,200. At what rate must I read to take advantage of this exciting improvement?
I’ll bet there is a book on that subject. 
Problem #4: I did not get my bathrooms cleaned this week because our housecleaner spent three hours on her hands and knees looking for the tiny Kindle “volume control” cover.
Karen Dahood (aka “Grouchy Granny”)
Tucson, AZ
MOXIE COSMOS SAYS…
Another e-mail from our English “Cousin” Peter: Don’t ignore this one. Check your debit/credit card receipts before you leave stores . This is another scam that has reared it’s ugly head!!!!!
P.
[I HAVE REMOVED THE NAME OF THE STORE. OTHERWISE, THE CIRCULATING MESSAGE READS]
I bought a bunch of stuff, over £150, & I glanced at my receipt as the cashier was handing me the bags. I saw a “cash back” of £40. I told her I didn’t request a cash back & to delete it. She said I’d have to take the £40 because she couldn’t delete it. I told her to call a supervisor. Supervisor came & said I’d have to take it.. I said NO! Taking the £40 would be a cash advance against my credit card & I wasn’t paying interest on a cash advance!!!!! If they couldn’t delete it then they would have to delete the whole order. So the supervisor had the cashier delete the whole order & re-scan everything! The second time I looked at the electronic pad before I signed & a “cash back” of £20 popped up. At that point I told the cashier & she deleted it. The total came out right. The cashier agreed that the Electronic Pad must be defective.
Obviously the cashier knew the electronic pad was defective because she NEVER offered me the £40 at the beginning. Can you imagine how many people went through before me & at the end of her shift how much money she pocketed?
Just to alert everyone. My co-worker went to [SUPERMARKET] last week. She had her items rung up by the cashier. The cashier hurried her along and didn’t give her a receipt. She asked the cashier for a receipt and the cashier was annoyed and gave it to her. My co-worker didn’t look at her receipt until later that night. The receipt showed that she asked for £20 “cash back.” SHE DID NOT ASK FOR CASH BACK!
My co-worker called [SUPERMARKET] who investigated but could not see the cashier pocket the money. She then called her niece who works for the bank and her niece told her this is a new scam going on. The cashier will key in that you asked for “cash back” and then hand it to her friend who is the next person in the queue. Please, please, please check your receipts right away when using credit or debit cards! This is NOT limited to [SUPERMARKET]; they are one of the largest retailers so they have the most incidents. I am adding to this. My husband and I were in [SUPERMARKET] and paying with credit card when my husband went to sign the credit card signer he just happen to notice there was a £20 “cash back” added. He told the cashier that he did not ask nor want cash back and she said this machine has been messing up and she canceled it. We really didn’t think anything of it until we read this email. I wonder how many “seniors” have been, or will be, “stung” by this one?
MOXIE ADDS: So, dear friends, if you have an elder in your family who is holiday shopping for her grandchildren, go along and make sure that this precaution is taken.
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