Yesterday Michele and I traveled home from Norfolk. On Friday evening, after the funeral was completed we decided to return to Norfolk and spend the night in a motel with shuttle service to the airport. Our flight was at 9:10 am, and we didn’t want to be up at 4:00 to make the long drive from Currituck County to the airport.
Michele’s aunts Betty, Sandra, and Peggy came with us and dropped us off at the hotel. We availed ourselves of a surprisingly good room service menu and watched some mindless television in the room. The hotel was attached to a large indoor mall, and the mall parking lot turned out to be the place for crusin’ with the stereo blasting. Our room, on the fifth floor, reverberated to each and every thump from the lot it faced below. Finally, about 9:40 we called the desk to complain. While mall security was called, and the noise abated for a few minutes, the incessant thump returned by 10:00. The second call to the desk got us a new room, higher in the building and facing away from the lot.
With a 6:30 am shuttle we decided to get up at 5:30. Michele, who was by this time running on only a few hours of sleep for the past three nights, was once again plagued by sleeplessness. She was awake by 2:30.
By 7:00 or shortly before we were in line at the Northwest checkin counter. Imagine our dismay to learn that the helpful reservations clerk I’d spoken to two days prior had moved our flight to Friday morning and not Saturday morning like I had requested. The 9:10 flight was full. They were able to get us on the 12:30 flight leaving us with over 5 hours to waste in the airport. We had some breakfast and then, since we were both exhausted beyond words by this point, we found a couple of chairs off to the side of the terminal and collapsed.
Midway through our flight to Detroit, where we were due to change planes, I noticed that we were spending a lot of time turning to the right. We were circling - never a good sign. Eventually the captain came on the intercom and told us that severe weather had closed the Detroit airport and that we were diverting to Cleveland for more gas. Then he came on and said we were going to Toledo. Then he came on and said that, nope, we were going to Cleveland as the weather that had closed Detroit was headed towards Toledo. Our frayed nerves were growing even more tense with all the added drama of the flight.
Luckily our connection was still several hours away, so we had time for all the hurry up and wait activities that ensued. We spent perhaps two hours total on the ground in Cleveland taxing, waiting, getting increasingly hot and humid as the plane’s reduced power on the ground failed to keep the A/C running at full capacity.
We made the twenty minute flight to Detroit just in time for us to have 40 minutes to change gates. Naturally we landed at gate 72 with our connection at gate 11. And with the weather delays the terminal was jammed with other weary and irritable travelers. Fortunately the Detroit airport sports an indoor elevated electric tram that whisks you to your gate. We made our connection with 5 minutes to spare.
The last flight into Kansas City was largely uneventful, but the plane was full of 20 or so high school choir members and their chaperons returning from Jamaica and a cruise. Their boisterousness was hard to take on 3 hours of sleep, after 12 hours of travel. We finally reached our car about 7:00, after more than 15 hours of constant travel for 1200 miles of distance.
Increased wait times as bags are inspected and tagged, being physically searched, the lack of food during the flight, cramped and loud seating on board, coupled with delays and needless drama have all combined to make flying just about impossible to enjoy anymore. Granted this trip was difficult for numerous reasons, but having the actual travel itself be so stressful was really difficult. I think it will be a long time before we fly anywhere again. For any reason.
Long Day’s Journey Into Night Tuesday morning, at about 2:40 the phone rang walking us both up. By the time I reached it in the living room the voice mail system had already grabbed it. While I was waiting for the message waiting light to flash I checked in the incoming call log to see who had called. The number started with the (252) area code for eastern North Carolina where Michele’s mom lived.
I knew that the call was not a wrong number, and that it was bad news.
The message was that Michele’s mom, Virginia, was in the hospital and was not doing well. Over the next hour or two we had a series of phone conversations with the medical staff, and Michele’s Aunt Betty about the situation. Virginia’s condition was severe and her prognosis was bleak. She was not expected to live the day.
Michele said that she wanted to go there to be with her mom. Calling the airlines I was able to reserve two seats on a 1:30 flight out of KCI that would put us into Norfolk VA by 7:00 pm Eastern time. Her mom had been transferred to a hospital there, as the smaller region hospital in her Outer Banks home was not equipped to provide the care she needed.
While we waited for more details and packed our bags the day nurse, named Heather, at in the Critical Care Unit where Virginia was, called; she had Virginia on the line. Michele was able to talk to her mom briefly. She was able to tell her that she loved her, that she was on her way to see her, and to hear her mom say she loved her back.
Thank you Heather, you provided Michele with the last chance she had to talk to her mom.
By 10 am we had borrowed funds from my family to help us cover the travel expenses, talked to the apartment management about watching our cats, called both our employers, and were on our way to the airport.
On Flying the Same Day You Buy Tickets Flying in this country since 9/11 has been a miserable experience. While I appreciate the need to take steps following the horrific hijackings four years ago, the systems in place are often frustrating for travelers. Take us for example. We were traveling on “medical emergency” tickets to reach a dying family member before they died. But since we purchased our tickets at the counter mere minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave we were “selected” for additional screening. Every item in our checked baggage was taken out and inspected. Every item in our carry on luggage was similarly handled. We were both extensively scanned with a handheld wand before being lightly patted down. You see, by not having the grace to schedule this bereavement flight in advance, we matched a profile the air traffic security people feel is dangerous.
Everyone was incredible polite and gentle throughout this process, but it was hard given the stress of the moment and the purpose of our trip not to give into indignation over our treatment.
Saying Goodbye We arrived safely in Norfolk on time, and were met by Michele’s brother, Lee. By 8:00 we had arrived at the hospital and were in Virginia’s room in the CCU. Her mom had been admitted to the hospital in incredible pain from an untreated blood disease that was causing her body to die. Virginia had refused all medical treatment of her disease for almost three years and her internal organs were dying. Before we left Kansas Michele had talked to her brother and to the attending doctor about providing her mom comfort care only. As a result Virginia was on a morphine drip, but no other measures were being taken. Before we arrived they had even stopped measuring her vital signs, as they were no longer detectable. Only the strength of her heart was keeping her alive.
Michele was able to sit at her mother’s bedside and hold her hand and tell her goodbye in person. I know that walking into that room and seeing her mom’s frail and withered body was the hardest thing Michele has ever had to do in her life.
We spent a couple of hours with Virginia that evening; sometimes talking to her, some times talking to each other, always accompanied by the slow labored sound of her breathing. A gasp followed by a long gurgling exhale before a long pause, and then over again.
About 10 that evening we decided that we would go get a room nearby and try to get some rest. Three of Virginia’s six sisters were present, as well as Michele and her brother; they were getting ready to return to the Outer Banks. Everyone leaned over and said goodbye to Virginia with a soft caress, gentle words, and love.
We had not been in our room for more than 5 minutes when my cell phone rang with a call from Lisa, the night nurse, informing us of Virginia’s death. She died peacefully in her sleep shortly after 11:00 pm that evening.
Over the months leading up to her mother’s death, Michele had known it was approaching, and had talked to her mom about her wanting to die, and about saying goodbye. Michele was able to reach a place of peace with her mom; being able to say good-bye in person one more time was just the final measure of peace.
{{ $image := .ResourceGetMatch “vpm.jpg” }} Virginia Parker McAvoy (born March 12, 1923 - died June 7, 2005)
I’ve been using email in one form or another since the early 1980s. Then I worked for a midwestern utility company that had a mainframe based email package that, while cumbersome by today’s standards, worked and was my introduction to the wide-world of electronic communication.
Since leaving that company in the mid 1990s I’ve worked as a consultant for a variety of companies, using a variety of email packages. Eight of the past ten years have been for government agencies which seem to be wed to GroupWise as an email platform. I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with GroupWise. It works well enough, but the interface is clunky by 2005 standards. One major factor in its favor is that it isn’t as prone to viruses, worms, and mail script problems like, say, Outlook.
For about two weeks in the late spring of 2000 I worked on an assignment at a software development company, where Outlook was used. It took about three days to get my id setup and established through their technical center. On my fourth day there the “I Love You” virus was introduced to the company, and the 2000 or so email addresses in the company-wide address book spammed each other until the whole system ground to a halt. I left that assignment before Outlook was really back on its feet again.
My current client is in the later stages of rolling out Outlook in place of GroupWise. As a consultant I’m in the last group to be transitioned to the new platform. A part of me is looking forward to finally getting to use Outlook in a work setting, and another part is curious to see how long before some virus/worm/script brings the whole outfit to its knees.
The transition is on. Apple is switching to Intel chips, with new hardware expected in the marketplace by this time next year. Their flagship development product XCode will produce “universal binary” capable of working on either PPC or Intel chips.
Those applications that don’t easily re-compile will make use of a “dynamic binary translator” in order to run.
I will be the first to admit that I know next to nothing about the larger ramifications of this major switch by Apple. But I do have two questions:
Who will buy a PowerPC version of any Machintosh between now and when the first Intel version come available? (Other than the “tinfoil hat” brigade wanting to stay pure…)
Once OS X is Intel ready, why buy a Macintosh at all?
I feel a great disturbance in the force, as if millions of souls cried out in agony….
Updated: 1:45 pm I think I may have hit upon a partial answer to my questions above. Apple hardware uses open firmware in place of a BIOS. Unless the Intel version of OS X truly will run on any Intel platform, you’ll still need a Mac to use the OS. It’ll just happen to be a Mac with an Intel Inside sticker on the side.
I’ve been at my current job for almost a year now. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I am getting antsy. It appears that it takes me about a year to get over the “new car smell” of a new position. The bloom is off the rose here, and I am starting to think about how a different job would get me away from this one. In the past, when I have acted while in this state of funk, and changed jobs (at great cost) only to find myself antsy in another year.
The trick, I’ve discovered is not to switch jobs to get away from a situation, but rather to move towards a situation. Granted this is not always possible, but when you have the luxury of a steady job there is not reason to switch to any situation that is some how less than your current engagement.
What happens to me is that I get depressed thinking about the shortcomings of the current job and I start looking for a new job. As is always the case it takes a while to find a job that really interests me. I might get some rejections, either directly in the form of a “thanks but no thanks” call or letter, or indirectly by never hearing from places where I submit my resume. Not getting responses or getting negative responses adds to my depression. I start to believe that not only does my current situation suck, but that I no longer possess the amalgam of skills, experience, et cetera that the employers are demanding.
Having taken on all this depression I am completely venerable to the first decent offer I receive. I end up taken a job just to prove to myself that I can get one, and not for reasons that will actually benefit me over time. This, of course, leads to a repeating cycle as I rapidly discover the new job isn’t “all that” and I am ready to move on in few months or a year.
I am hoping to break this cycle here. I’ve got a good job that isn’t going away, and that has the potential to last a very long time. Sure there are aspects of it that I don’t like. But they are not only aspects that are beyond my control, they are aspects that occur (in my humble experience) at all employers. So leaving this place for another isn’t going to address them.
And this time I recognize that I have been depressed for a long time. Losing my job in Illinois, having to move, putting up with an incredibly tight budget, have all added to my depression. A better approach would be to try and address as many factors of my depression outside of any job search activities. Not an easy task, but just knowing that I have issues will help me to keep them in mind while evaluating potential positions.
Will I change jobs again? Almost certainly. Will those new jobs have aspects good and bad? Positively. Will I learn to separate issues I need to resolve independently of work from job searching activities? I certainly hope so.
This morning on my daily commute I was unintentionally shelled by ballistic ice. While traveling at about 70 MPH in the left lane of I-435, following an unremarkable late model American sedan (license plate 177 WWM) I observed the driver toss something out the window. Upon later reflection I decided what I had seen was him emptying a cup of its ice.
Immediately after seeing the tossing motion out of his window I saw an object in the air, arching directly towards my windshield. Directly towards me as a matter of fact. Just as I started to swerve towards the shoulder, this small mass (maybe golf ball size?) smacked into the glass with a terrific impact. It was the loudest sound I’ve ever heard in my car. That the windshield didn’t shatter into a million pieces amazes me.
When I arrived at my parking lot a few minutes later, after debating with myself about following the car responsible for the shelling and deciding discretion was truly the better part of valor, I was further amazed that there wasn’t even a chip in the window where the impact had occurred.
Good thing this didn’t happen in Florida where, thanks to a new law endorsed by the NRA, I can now defend myself from attack via my handgun without first attempting to flee. There I could have returned fire, claiming that I’d felt “threatened.”
Once upon a time we bought a set of flatware for everyday use. Eight of everything: spoons, dessert forks, regular forks, and knives. Well, seven of the dessert forks; at some point in Illinois one of the dessert forks disappeared. All of the remaining utensils are just like their mates except for one spoon.
One of the eight spoons is squared off on the end where the rest are ovoid. Since I always felt like I never fit in, I am fond of this spoon. I pointed out the difference in the spoons to Michele, and didn’t think any more about it.
Tonight we were having dessert and she brought me a spoon. “The” spoon. Not only had she heard me point out the difference, she intuited that there was some meaning there for me. Not that getting this spoon is special, but having her go to the effort of making sure I got felt good.
It’s the little things that really matter.
My mother-in-law, Virginia, is dying. She has been in poor health for a couple of years, and by all accounts is fading fast now. Obviously this is very stressful and difficult for Michele; being so far away and not having much financial flexibility isn’t helping matters.
I expect we’ll be making a trip to Manteo soon. The trip is 1275 miles by car, which makes it nearly impossible. Air fares are down right now so we maybe able to fly in two weeks for less than $300 total.
She has known this was coming for some time. Two years ago at Christmas time Virginia was sick enough to be hospitalized. While we never got the full story, it is apparent that there was something major wrong. In her indomitable way, Virginia refused all treatment and went home as soon as she was allowed. This past Thanksgiving she once again collapsed and had to be hospitalized. Her manner of dealing with authority figures, and stressful situations, made it appear to people who didn’t know her that she was suffering from dementia. Michele worked long and hard to get her mother into a nursing home situation and not into the psych ward.
Virginia didn’t fare well in the nursing home, and once it was apparent that her health was as good as it was going to get, she went home. Michele arranged family visits and home health care for her mom, and she has been able to stay in her apartment since returning home. Now that the end appears near ever choice has greater import and impact.
On Tuesday Virginia will see a doctor. We are waiting to get feedback from that visit to determine what to do next. Michele is struggling with the choice to see her mom one more time, in a weakened and very ill state. Having that memory is not something she really wants. The two of them have made their peace with each other over the past few years. Michele has said to her mom what she needed to say and is therefore fortunate not to be facing a “if only I had said this” situation. I told her that I completely support her going to see her mom again or not.
For myself this brings up my own emotions about my parents. They are both showing their age more than ever, and I know their time is limited. I have to seriously reconcile the unsaid things and determine what I need to do while they are alive so that I will not have regrets once they’ve died. My mom has successfully, for now, battled back from lung cancer; and my father is learning to cope with diminished stamina. Being with Michele has helped me to see myself as an adult man who is capable, worthy, and good. Still, I have a hard time seeing myself that way through my parents eyes. Or rather through my interpretation of my parents viewpoint.
Death, as a good friend recently said to me, is a very weird thing. You never know how you’ll react until it happens. The only thing I know for certain is that from our perspective on this physical plane of existence, death is one-way passage.