There’s something narcissistic about being a writer. Something egocentric or self-centered. I mean…it’s weird thinking that my thoughts put to paper would interest anyone. Why would people read our blog?

Our “travelogue” posts are just a small portion of our posts and some of the most read posts aren’t really about travel. (I can’t believe we’ve published 186 posts.) I understand the interest in the posts about travel because if our readers are anything like me, they live to travel.

But my posts about my thoughts? Weird.

I get reading someones writings about their travels. Some of my favorite blogs that I follow are travelers who literally travel the world full time. It’s their job. They travel in a motor home with the occasional flight to somewhere far away and they blog about their travels. Lots of photos and great stories. (Look up Thunder.Panda.Adventures on IG , or TravelwithKevinandRuth.com (they’re a little dorky, but I do love the photos), or The Chouters and Bijou on Blogspot. These bloggers inspire me and feed my “itch” to travel to new places. I’ve “seen” so many places through their eyes that I didn’t even know existed on our earth. I happily anticipate their next posts…

I’m also a reader. I’m currently reading The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain. It’s the October book selection for my 20+ year book club. I’d never heard of this book and therefore had no expectations for it. One description of it says that Twain “humorously chronicles his Great Pleasure Excursion on board the chartered vessel Quaker City through Europe and the Holy Land in 1867″. As I’m reading it, I’m thinking…this is just an old version of a travel blog! By THE MARK TWAIN – aka Samuel Clemons 😉 !!!

I’m only at the very beginning of the book, but as Twain describes the daily routines onboard the vessel, he writes about the evenings in which many passengers sit down in the saloon and “under the swaying lamps for two to three hours wrote diligently in their journals.” He laments that so many of the passengers wrote thousands of words, but likely their journals came to a “lame and impotent” conclusion. Lucky him, his journal turned into a published book! But all those others? Likely they’re in someone’s cabinet somewhere, if they exist at all.

As a writer (not that I am one, but some writers say…), I’ve heard that it’s true. Most writing ends up being read by a party of one. The writer. I find myself thinking about my audience, my readers. In 1867, who would have been the readers of those thousands of pages written in the evenings as the passengers sailed around the world? Seems sort of sad and futile.

Twain wrote about a lad, Jack who wrote every day…or at least started out writing every day. When asked what he found to write about Jack said – latitude and longitude, how many miles they’d sailed, the games he’d played, the whales and sharks and ships he’d seen, etc. Perhaps not the most titillating travelogue?

And that makes me wonder about my own early writing. On my five month trip to Europe in 1978, I filled two spiral notebooks with my daily (?) recollections of our trip. And I don’t think I’ve ever picked them up to read again..Hmmm…where are those notebooks? Were they just a litany of facts? Did I tell any stories? Who was my audience? Party of one?

So with all of that rolling around in my head, I feel the need to update you on the non-titillating details of our life in Walnut Creek. You’ve traveled with us on our journeys, stayed with us in our dwellings and now that we’re home…after our slightly traumatic re-entry…what are the boring details?

After Glen’s 16 day stay at UCSF, he came home to figure out how to live his “new” life. There are changes to consider and new habits to create. There are lots of follow up doctor visits and he continues to get stronger. I feel like this is really his story to tell so let me just say…life goes on.

And as we continue to look forward to more travels, more dwellings and navigate our new reality…I’m thinking…”Can We? Will We?” You betcha.

We are.

And thanks for reading and sharing our journey…

Change is a constant. It’s the one thing that we can count on.

In junior high, I remember some of us whining to our PE teacher, Mrs. Bruce about having to run around the track asking her “Do we haaaavvvve to…?”. I’ll never forget her response, “The only things you have to do in life are pay your taxes and die.” I think she followed up with something about the effect on our grades should we choose not to run the lap. So we ran.

Weird the things that we remember. Well, Mrs. Bruce, those were impactful words at the time, but now, 50 years later, I know that you forgot something. You forgot something important. Change. Throughout our lives, we have to change. Some changes we can foresee, others we cannot. Some changes happen to us, other changes we create. Some we welcome, others we avoid. Change is a constant in life.

I remember a conversation that Glen and I had before Niels was born. We were “yuppies” at the time; living life large. We owned a house, we traveled, we ate out, we exercised (Glen ran half marathons!), we had “disposable income”, we were busy. So as we made our plans to welcome our first baby, we vowed that this addition to our life would in no way cause us to change our life. We were going to continue to live our life the way that we had built it…We were going to continue to live the good, yuppie life. No baby was going to cause us to change. (You can stop laughing now.)

The years passed and we encountered and responded to the many changes that came as our children grew, as our jobs morphed, and as other circumstances changed. We had some intense changes, such as the ones that resulted from Glen’s (near death) experience with his cancer treatment.

We weathered the change caused by our “children” moving out and going to college. We had a VERY brief empty nest period and at that time, we paused to look back on our years when we had raised our kids. We fondly looked back on all those changes that we had gone through, remembering that at the time, we thought we’d never make it “to the other side”. There was definitely some sadness as those busy years had flown by all too quickly. So much had changed over the years. We had changed over the years.

My retirement caused a major change…one that I wholeheartedly embraced. COVID’s entry into our lives quickly changed the trajectory of my transition to a life of leisure. In a nano-second, our life changed as one afternoon, three family members came into the kitchen lugging their laptops, monitors, and other equipment behind them. They “tagged” their “office” space around the house and all of a sudden, I wasn’t living the life of leisure in an empty house, I was happily back to my “mom” role planning meals and keeping the house running so that they could do their jobs. I learned to navigate through all the changes that came as a result of living in an era of COVID.

I watched my dad go through the changes caused by Alzheimer’s. What a horrible disease. I can’t even bring myself to describe the my dad’s slow and brutal transformation caused by that horror.

I’ve watched my mom weather the transition from taking care of my dad in their home to moving into a retirement community alone. When she first moved in, I teased her that she was finally experiencing the “dorm” life. There were happy hours in the hallways, dates to go to art class, lunch in the café. She was living the high life in her 90s. As the years have gone by, I’ve watched the changes that have come as Mom’s health has waned. She’s less engaged with her “dorm” friends as she can’t remember their names. She does frequently attend the nightly happy hour and she clearly enjoys herself, but it’s all exhausting.

She loves it when family visits even if she can’t quite place them or connect them to a memory of where they belong in the family tree. In June when I was there, Blair came with me. When we walked in the door, Mom exclaimed, “Joyce!” as soon as she saw me. I immediately pointed to Blair and said, “Look, Mom! I brought my daughter, Blair with me!” Mom looked at her and said, “Well, it’s always nice to meet new family!” Gulp. (We now kid Blair – telling her that she’s the “new girl” in the family.)

And today it happened. Change.

Just three months after my last visit, I walked in my mom’s door and there was no “Joyce!” She was happy to see me, happy I was there. She knew she knew me. But as our conversation continued, she clearly connected me to someone from her past…as in 70-80 years ago. A contemporary. Not her daughter.

After a few minutes she asked me where I had come from and I said, “Walnut Creek”. She thought for a moment and then said, “I know someone who lives in Walnut Creek. I just can’t think of who it is”. I said, “I think it’s Joyce.” Mom said, “Hmmmm…..That rings a bell…”.

Change.

To me, after death, change is the only other thing that’s guaranteed in life. Thanks, Mrs. Bruce for warning me so many years ago. Even if you did forget the “big” must do in life…change.

You know how you don’t think that you’re thinking about anything and then realize that some thoughts are coming together and maybe there’s a blogpost forming in your mind? Yah. Me neither. And yet I find myself having thoughts…

Glen and I have belonged to “The Next Big Idea Club” (NBIC) for years. It’s a group of thinkers who curate non-fiction books (self-help/growth/thought/improvement). The curators are Malcolm Gladwell, Susan Cain and Adam Grant – all prolific thinkers and authors themselves. Every quarter, they send out two books and then there are various methods of connecting with others in the “club” to discuss them. I have utilized the NBIC podcast and Facebook group for this purpose.

On the NBIC Facebook page the other day, I read a blog post by Julie Harris, a fellow NBICer who was inspired by Susan Cain’s Bittersweet to walk alone for 12 hours…completely unplugged. She spent her time listening. And wondering. She shared her awe of the world around her. She learned that throughout her walk, she found herself enjoying the humanness of the people she met – the kindness that she exchanged as she passed young mothers and old couples; the connectedness that she experienced as they passed each other. It made me reflect on all the walks that I take with earbuds in my hears keeping my brain busy on the podcasts or music that I’m listening to, instead of listening to the world around me or interacting with the people I pass. I always smile, but do I engage? Do I allow myself to mindlessly let my brain wander? To just think? Hmmm…Here’s Julie’s blogpost. You might enjoy it.

Thinking about all that walking reminded me of my friend Kathy and her husband Jim (and a friend), who are currently walking 500 miles on the “Camino” from France to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. Am I right? Did she say 500 miles??? Kathy is brilliantly sharing their incredible journey in her blog, Andherewego.blog. Recently, her post was about all of the people that they are meeting on the camino – fellow peregrinos (pilgrims) and the people who live in the villages that they pass through. It truly does take a village to accomplish an adventure like that. I am in awe of their journey and what they’re learning and experiencing along the way. Here’s the link to the post that introduces her readers to some of the people they’ve met along the way. And I’m definitely begging forgiveness for sharing her blog before asking for permission! xo KFlo

Then a couple days after reading Julie’s blog about her unplugged walk, I was watching The Beat with Ari Melber and he had Neil deGrasse Tyson on his show. As usual, they talked about all kinds of things emanating from Neil’s latest book, but eventually they moved on to the universe. At 13 minutes, Ari asked Neil a question about what we should do with the information that we are now able to see more of the galaxy than ever before. What does that information mean for humans in our day to day lives? Neil explained that we might look up at the night sky and think, I am small and the universe is big. And he said that it’s a true thought. AND he went on to explain that incredibly, we humans are made of the same atoms as the stars.

Wait. What? We are made of the same ingredients as the stars. We are literally stardust. All the stars, near and FAR (aren’t all stars FAR???) – the stars are literally alive within us. So when we look up to the night sky, we can say YES!!! The galaxy is huge and we are small, but we must also know that we are the universe and the universe is us. Wait. What? We are all literally related to the stars. We are all related! We are all stardust.

So that BIG thinking will have me pondering some new ideas on my next walk and it brings me to a big gratitude…

For twenty+ years, I’ve been a part of a book club. We are a group of women who came together while our kids were roaming the halls of elementary school and we were sitting on the sidelines of the soccer and baseball fields cheering them on. We’ve literally read 100s of books together, shared more bottles of wine and more recently cocktails than we should admit to and many, many delicious meals. We’ve shared so many laughs that I blame my “laugh lines” on them and we’ve shed more tears than I might want to remember. We’ve shared our hearts and souls and still last week when we met, I learned deep things about these friends that surprised me.

So before I close, I must share my deep, heartfelt gratitude to these women who during various recent challenges, have provided me so much care and love – I can’t imagine getting through these times without them. xoxox

And finally, I want to remember that as I journey through life – walking, thinking, listening, talking, looking at the night sky…I want to remind myself to always have an appreciation for my humanness, for my weaknesses, for my strengths and for the importance of all the connections I have to all the people in my life because…

we are all stardust.

“Hope is the last thing you lose.” José Alcaraz

Five –

Home from Europe for 5 days. Hope. Hope that Glen can gain some strength. Gain some weight. Feel better.

Sixteen –

UCSF for 16 days. Hope. Hope that the doctors can help him gain strength. Gain weight Feel better.

Five –

Home for 5 days. Hope. Hope that the magic of UCSF has done its work. Hope that the feeding tube will help Glen gain strength. Gain weight. Feel better.

At Cambridge (my place of work for 22 years), we often said, “Hope is not a strategy”. And yet…there are times when you do everything that you can until all you have is hope (or some might say faith). You have to let the experts do their work. The other day, when I told Glen about José Alcaraz and his quote, he said something about him being 19 years old and what does he know about life and hope? Well, it’s all relative.

I never lost hope. I never gave up hope. And going back to Annie Lamont’s prayers – Help, Thanks, Wow…plus Grace…we’ve lived them all and are now full of hope and gratitude.

My high school friend, Kevin responded to my last post saying that he appreciated the “courage” it took to write about this journey. At that point, I didn’t really think of my posts as particularly personally courageous, but this post might change my thinking as it doesn’t show my better side.

Glen taught me this word – paradox – both things can be true. (Glen has taught me many things.) Disappointment and hope, for example. Fear and hope. Dislike and hope. Annoyance and hope. Read on to understand my thinking about these paradoxes.

For the past few days (four?) I’ve woken up with the hope that today would be the day. Today would be the day that Glen gets to come home. The day when he could be in his own surroundings with visits from friends. When he would be comfortable in his own bed. And…the day when I wouldn’t have to face the bridge traffic. When I wouldn’t sit in a hospital room with all the sights, sounds and smells. Ugh. The smells.

But let me back up a bit. We’ve known for years, that a feeding tube could (would?) be in Glen’s future. During cancer treatment he fought HARD not to get one. It’s never been on our priority list of “must dos” during our lifetime. (Yes, that’s snark.) And here we are grateful for this life-saving tool.

Now I’m going to back up even more…There’s a reason I didn’t go into the medical field. I hate medical stuff. Okay, maybe hate is a bit strong, but I am really uncomfortable with it and don’t like to be around it. Over the years, Glen has put me through the medical wringer many times for many days/weeks/months. I know that sounds very self-centered and self-involved because literally he’s the one in the wringer, but let me have a moment, if you will…

So after experiencing long treatments and recovery for meningitis and cancer, there came a day when he needed some sort of a stint or something in his neck. (Seriously, I can’t keep track of the details of his ailments.) So we both remember that as I stood over him in the recovery room, watching him come out of anesthesia…I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said…I’m done. Next time you need some procedure or a trip to the hospital, you need to find someone else to do this with you. I’m done with you in hospitals. Now, I hope you know that those were empty words, yet they were sincere.

And here we are…15 days into his next hospital stay. I’ve been here for 14 of those days for 10 hours a day (Glen will note that that’s not completely true because sometimes I was late) watching him, watching the nurses, and thinking to myself…WTH did I do in my past life? How do I deserve this? I must have done something truly horrible to someone. Yes. It sounds like a self-pity party. And I have my moments of feeling sorry for myself. AND I also think that I mostly rise to the occasion, to the need, to my role of attendant. I won’t say nurse – will never say nurse because as I have stated over and over and over…I AM NOT A NURSE/CAREGIVER!

So back to where I started this post…hoping that today is the day for Glen to come home. He needs to be home to recover and reassemble his life. And here’s the paradox. Or a paradox because there are actually many. While he’s in the hospital, I’m an extra attendant. The responsibility is not mine. I can advocate for him and help him, but ultimately, it’s not me. You see, as the extra attendant, I can push this lovely red call button and when pressed…voila! The real nurses or caregivers arrive and take care of the patient!

And when he comes home…well…there’s no red button.

So as our blog title states – Can we? Will we? I’m going to say that in this case…I can. I will. But it doesn’t mean that I have to like it. I’ll be paradoxing because…both things are true.

Does anybody really know what normal is? Does anybody really care? (You should be singing a Chicago song as you read those questions…)

I spent many of my professional years working with my friend, Diane and hundreds of teachers to raise our capacity to successfully teach students learning English as their second (third or fourth) language. The specific training was called “Project G.L.A.D.”. One of the things we learned about was how the brain worked and a key strategy to increase learning was to connect new language to emotion.

Since learning that idea, I’ve often reflected on my own learning and life experiences and I’ve found that it’s really true. Emotion plays a large role in learning and in memory. Thus, I have a clear memory of this specific moment in my life though my childhood friend, Cindy, will confirm that my longterm memory is horrid. (She tells me stories from our early years and it’s like I wasn’t even there.)

This memory is clear and it involves another childhood friend, Janice. Janice, my mom and I were standing in our kitchen. I can picture it clearly…the kitchen cabinets were stained green. My dad surprised my mom and lovingly sanded and stained them one summer while my mom was with my sisters on a high school youth group trip. It took him the full ten days that they were gone. As soon as he got home from work every day at 6:30, he changed clothes and went to work in the garage until late into the night or early morning. It was a labor of love. The 70s kitchen look was completed with its yellow tile counters, lovely speckled linoleum floor and copper-colored appliances. The family room (really a family “corner”) had large orange and yellow flowered wallpaper, an orange chair, a console-style tv, and an “antique green” kitchen table.

So back to the memory…The three of us, Janice, my mom and I were standing in the kitchen and I made some dumb teenage comment about something not being “normal”. My mom reacted quickly by “snapping” me on my cheek with her fingers and asking me, “What IS normal?”

Huh? She shocked me physically and emotionally with that snap. Thus the event and the question stuck in my memory. And I remember my 13-year-old self thinking – it’s just a word…sheesh – lighten up. But it obviously caused me to do a little more thinking about the word. I mean…”normal” is just me-my world, my realm. It’s my life. My friends. What kind of a question was that? Normal is me.

Clearly, my mom made an impact on my thinking because here I am, 50 years later, reflecting on her question, “What is normal?” And who gets to define it?

No need to perseverate on a metaphysical, moral, or emotional definition of “normal”. And I’m not going to go to the dictionary like I usually do. For today, I’m just going to think about it in personal terms. I’m going to say that Glen and I will be learning how to live in our new “normal” world. His feeding tube will change how we live. It will create a new “normal” for us. And it will be OUR normal. Not yours. Not theirs. Ours.

I don’t think Glen would mind me inviting you to join us in the journey of learning to live in our new normal. Some of the journey will be shared here on the blog. And Glen really meant it when he invited y’all into our home. So please…join us as we redefine our new “normal”. I can assure you that there will be some bumps along the way. It just might be a wild adventure!

And finally…Thank you, Mom. Thank you for “snapping” me into questioning my thinking. For making me stop and examine life from the viewpoint of others. For being ahead of the times.

Normal. What a weird word.

Hmmm…Is it trite? Does it roll off of our tongues too quickly and easily? Is it possible that it’s overused as a term?

For years I wrote regular “gratitudes” on Facebook. Something like this on a day like today:

Gratitude 1) air conditioning to dull the heat wave outside our windows 2) health insurance that allows Glen to be in the hospital for more than a week and I don’t worry that we will lose the house 3) the US Open to distract me and let me spend some time zoning in on nothing that really matters (to me)

Those are good, right? They’re real. They matter. And yet, I feel like at moments in life like this moment…they aren’t enough. Sometimes it just seems that there aren’t words to describe my sense of gratitude. The thesaurus shows synonyms like “acknowledgement, praise, appreciativeness, gratefulness, honor, obligation (?), and…grace.

Ahhh…grace. There it is again.

So with Glen spending Day 11 in the hospital, I am grateful for many things in addition to 1, 2, and 3 above. I’m grateful that our “kids” have been able to spend a few days with me at the hospital. I’m grateful for the friends who have called, texted, FaceTimed, visited, and generally kept Glen (and me and the kids) in their thoughts. I’m grateful for my doctor who really listens to me, who doesn’t just poo poo my feelings. I’m grateful to all of the caregivers (read: nurses and CNAs) at UCSF. I truly have no idea how they do their jobs with such patience and elegance. I’m grateful for today – Niels and Blair arranged for Glen’s friend, Steve and Niels to hang with Glen for the day so that I could have a day “off” to regroup a bit. I’m grateful to my “sisters”, Kathy and Lorraine who gave up their day to just hang out with me. A pedicure and a trip to Target go a long way toward rejuvenation!

And I’m grateful for Glen. He’s been to medical hell and back more than once in his life and he just keeps looking forward. He has learned to go into a zone that allows him the grace to get through the hard days and nights. The grace to trust the medical experts. The grace to accept the process and even embrace the process. He has learned the grace of asking for and accepting help. The grace of recovery. And he has the grace of gratitude.

Another definition of gratitude adds, “a readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness”. So is gratitude a platitude? I don’t think so. Not when it’s backed up by real appreciations and believe me…we will be ready to return all of the kindness that we have received.

Our gratitude is not a platitude.

If you haven’t read the last post with the long title … read it before this short follow up.

I was driving home from the hospital when I realized that Annie Lamont forgot one. She forgot grace. The prayer of grace. Grace is the prayer that gives you strength.

The grace to be patient with yourself. The grace to be patient with others.

The grace to cry. The grace to laugh.

The grace to admit your failures and acknowledge your successes.

The grace to admit that sometimes life is hard. And the grace to give yourself the space to struggle through the hard things. That hard things are to be expected and even welcomed. The grace to argue with yourself and work out the solutions to the hard things.

But above all – Grace. Its the prayer that tells you “You’ve got this. You can do this.” And above all…”Be kind and patient with yourself.”

Grace. It’s a powerful prayer.

GTPTOH – Glen Thomas Path to Perfect Health (https://gtptoh.blogspot.com/ if you are interested in that journey) –

That was the name of Glen’s blog that he started in 2008 when he received his cancer diagnosis. He started off as the sole author and as he went further into treatment, I took over. Luckily for his readers, he renewed his writings as he was “clearing” the fog of cancer treatment. I’ve been thinking about his blog a lot in the past few days. Here’s why..

You’ve probably figured out that we are not in Europe. After our week+ in Paris with Blair, we went to Nice where we regrouped and decided that we needed to get home. And still…we spent a week in Nice. Or I should say that I spent a week in Nice because Glen was never able to leave the apartment. Glen is the master traveler planner, even when he’s not at his physical best and he booked our flights (first class all the way thankfully – not sure what the outcome had been if we had to travel like mortals) and we got home after two long days. Home is always a welcome place to be when you feel like crap. And trust me, he felt like crap.

For those who don’t know, his cancer (2008) required intense radiation to his throat/neck (plus two different chemos) and as a result, his swallow function has been steadily decreasing, but in recent months it has plummeted. Thus he wasn’t eating much (it was already a liquid diet) and his strength waned to dangerous lows. As Glen is known for his independence and ability to be in control, he wanted to give himself a week plus to see if he could get himself fed and put some weight on. I wasn’t the only one who thought that might not be the best idea, but you know…a wife is just a wife.

Our good friend and fellow survivor, Karyn Kessler came over to visit a couple days after we got home. A little background, when she received her diagnosis a few years ago, knowing Glen’s experience, she came to him for advice. I have a vivid memory of where we sat on the couch when he told her that she HAD to get connected to UCSF. She took his advice. So last weekend when she sat on the same cushion, on the same couch a few years later and saw his condition, she looked him in the eyes, reminded him of their mutual trust and told him in no uncertain terms that he HAD to go to UCSF now, not in another week. Bless her. He listened. Full circle. So he’s been at UCSF since Monday and of course, he’s getting incredible care. He has received a permanent feeding tube and I’m going to let him tell you the rest of the story when he can because…he’s the best storyteller.

But before I go…I have to share something I ran across a couple months ago that has stuck with me. I only have pieces of it…but the pieces stuck and I’m going to share my interpretation of it with you.

Going back a bit, I think that when we were in Canterbury, I talked/wrote about my religious thoughts or better…thoughts on religion. They’re pretty loose and likely not super traditional. I think that I wrote that nature, the out of doors, provided my sense of “religion” or my place for collecting that sense of peace that others find in a place like a church, a mosque, or a temple. I have often thought…If/when I come up against a real life trial…what will give me the strength to see it through? The author, Annie Lamont gives me some insight that makes sense to me.

I recently ran across her writing about prayer. I believe that she has a whole book on this topic – Help, Thanks, Wow – Three Essential Prayers. I haven’t read it and I don’t know anything about her religious beliefs or background, but her thinking (as I interpret it from an interview that I read) resonates with me.

She says that help is is the hardest prayer because you are admitting defeat. You are surrendering. You are admitting that you’ve run out of ideas or answers. Help is a powerful four letter word.

Thanks is the prayer of relief that help is on the way. It’s that feeling that you don’t have to do it alone; that you (finally) caught a break. Thank you is the longer version of the second prayer, but thanks is a worthy prayer.

Wow is the praise prayer. The prayer where we are finally speechless. The prayer of wonder. The prayer of awe. Wow.

And that brings me back to Glen.

First – Help. We had run out of answers and options. We needed help. He got big help from Karyn. (Or she gave him a big kick in the arse which is often the most efficient form of help!) He is getting help from the miracle workers at UCSF. Glen’s also getting help from all of you; he’s being lifted by all of the texts, calls, thoughts and prayers of his friends and family. We feel the love and the support – the help.

Thanks – Relief is in process – it’s on the way. Glen is at the place that he says “gave him life” and he completely entrusts his health, his life to the caregivers here at UCSF. We are incredibly thankful for the care he is receiving. We have a road ahead of us and it will be bumpy, but there will continue to be relief and a full life.

Wow – We are in awe of the professionals that provide care for their patients. They are true angels on earth. We are in awe of you, of our friends and family who stay in touch with us, who lift our spirits, who make us cry (in a good way) and who give us strength, hope and love (and even a bed :-)). This is yet another Wow moment of our life.

And nature, you ask? My church?…You won’t believe the view out Glen’s window. For now, it’s enough.

Trying to figure out what I want to say here as I sit in the bougie British Airways First Class Lounge. I said on IG yesterday that I was a bundle of emotions.

Gratitude – I mean…”First Class Lounge”. Nuff said. And trying to get home with Glen in his current state without that access would be near impossible. One of us might not survive. Or one of us might end up in jail. Could go either way for either of us. And yet…here we are where we have all the help and support that bougie people enjoy. In fact, Glen is in the “quiet room” in a pod where they brought him pillows and a blanket.

I’m in a recliner with a complimentary glass of wine and they keep coming to ask if I want a “topper”. She actually just told me she’d leave the bottle if I like. Do I look that bad? There’s lots of “what can I get for you, ma’am” going on.

Love – 33+ years ago we said “I do” for all the reasons and under all conditions. You know “richer and poorer, sickness and health”. Yada yada. We spent our honeymoon in Europe. We didn’t suffer, but First Class was not an option. And we had our health (and good looks🤪).

Sadness – I feel that I really got to know the places we’ve been, but Glen has only seen it through my eyes/words/photos. We didn’t get to do all the things together.

Relief – Glen will be getting home where he can access the medical assistance that he needs. He already has appointments lined up. He has a plan because…well…he always has a plan.

Joy – I get to be home where my peeps are.. Niels, Blair, friends and of course…Dug. Plus I get to play Pickleball and travel with friends and have family dinner night and watch college football and the US Open, volunteer in our democratic process, and and and and…

Disappointment – We had more to do. More dreams to fulfill. More time to explore the world and our new relationship in this time of “retirement”.

Hope – Let’s get Glen to his best level of health that he can achieve and then let’s rethink our dreams. Dreams dashed are just an opportunity for new dreams. Right?

Love you all for reading these posts.