GoodeStreet

Nature always kicks the crap out of even the most talented humans. Artistically, and in any other endeavor one can imagine. Prepare to have your mind blown by these photos of chickens. Yeah, chickens.

Hat tip to my friend Lanny Commeree, for posting the link on his Facebook page. I wish his blog was still active.

Mom's ashes were placed in a crypt at Tahoma National Cemetery on October 7, where she rejoined her husband of sixty-three years. Their deaths arrived nearly fifteen years apart, and I know mom would say her final day did not come a moment too soon.

Mom didn't like the idea of living to be 100 years old. She got her wish, barely, passing away five hours before the century clock hit midnight. I always joked with friends (though not entirely a joke) that in her latter years mom looked to be 170 years old... but if you closed your eyes and listened, you would swear you were talking with a thirty-five year old.

That's mom's voice at age 89. The flow of the clips seem a tad jagged, but there is a reason and will address that seemingly glaring audio-editing glitch below.

Mom planned and arranged her funeral, making it abundantly clear to family that her service was to be small and quick. No dallying around. My sister, Jan, placed mom's ashes in the crypt with dad's while a few close family members and friends served as witness.

To celebrate mom's life and death, per her wish we had lunch together. Well, before going further I should disclose that more than a few times mom told Barb that she wanted the family to cheer her death. No kidding. Mom's desire became a double-secret, whispered pact between the two of them (I once overheard them talking). Mom's wish was a surprise to those attending lunch. But Barb, who considered mom to be her mother as mom thought of Barb as her daughter, dutifully created that cheer and rang it out for all.

In 2008, 2010, and 2018, Barb and I visited mom with intent to record aspects of her life. Fearing my presence would have an effect on what mom said (plus, I selfishly wanted to be surprised), I set up the recording gear and left Barb and mom alone to talk. The recordings were stored - for what became a decade. The first time I heard them was two weeks after she died. To say the least, it was quite a moving experience.

After recovering from laughing, pondering and feeling sad, decided to edit her stories and advice into three versions. The short version (above) was played during the lunch so family and friends could hear mom's voice once again, plus it gave them a faint idea of what they were about to receive. The shortest version is intentionally sparse so the context of the clips heard didn't give away mom's plot. Every family in attendance received their copy of June, mom, Au-Mama, or Cookie's full recording, which includes stories of family history and more. That version is intended solely for close family and friends, running 65 minutes long. If you fit the description, shoot me an email and I'll figure out a way to get a copy to you.

The version below is what I decided to call the June Essentials. It has mom's views and advice about faith, marriage, relationships, legacies, and also includes her "parting words". The playbill below the recording lists the subjects covered and their location within the recording.

By the way, look near the bottom of the playbill to see the "cover photo" selected for the recording. It portrays the essence of mom and dad's personalities. Ya think? 

I hope you enjoy hearing my mom's voice, and her stories.

No, Barb and I didn't suffer simultaneous strokes that wiped our brains clean. Finally got around to changing nearly 200+ passwords into unique computer-generated gibberish.

I say "nearly" because Barb and I can recite from memory only three, fairly complex and unique passwords to access our computers, mobile devices, and a password manager.

The other 200+ passwords are a complete mystery, even to us. Why create so many passwords that can't possibly be remembered? When the next data leak occurs (we both know it will) we will have to change the password for only one account. That's it. Poof. Done.

Before the naysayers jump all over me, I realize a data breach can reveal much more than a single password. Other measures need be taken to protect ourselves, a subject worthy of a separate post. Ignoring for now the "But what about..." issues, by having unique passwords we won't need to do numerous resets of a password that is used with multiple accounts. On a barely related note, I also refuse to use my credentials with Facebook, Google, Twitter, LinkedIn (or others) to log into other sites when offered. Sure, using a Google, Twitter or Facebook username and password makes logging into other sites easy, but also creates a nightmare to untangle when a data breach occurs.

My next task is changing responses to security questions into random, non-sensical answers. Example: Favorite food? Granite Chemtrail. Because I won't reuse answers to a question across sites, and can't possibly remember all the screwed up answers my mind will create, I will need to store in my password manager the questions and answers for each login credential. For sure a tad inconvenient, but in my opinion will be worth the effort.

I've preached more than enough, so will close with one simple suggestion: Get and use a password manager that will generate secure passwords, which has an interface and workflow you will be willing to use.

Mom told me she didn’t want to live to be 100.

She died this afternoon.

99 years. 364 days. Am happy for her. Got her wish.

Ed McConkey, my friend going on north of fifty-plus years, had a choice to make that morning.

He could climb to the top of a mountain on an exposed trail, as planned, with a lightning storm hell-bent on raging over him, which wasn't planned, or he could drive two-plus hours through awesomely horrific Seattle traffic to visit my mom - whom Ed considers a second mom because he, by all practical definitions plus some, virtually lived with our family while the two of us were growing up.

Which path did he choose to conquer on that misty gray morning? I'll quote Ed's succinct message as received:

"Hi Glenn. I think I upset your mom. Not sure she ever figured out who I was. She finally got irritated with me and threw me out. She is still a fiesty one."

Yes, that is (liquid) Coke you see streaming from my nose. Clearly, a mountain top would have been an easier better safer choice. What's getting struck by a lightning bolt compared to paying respects to a hyper-cranky, all of 93 pounds century-old bag of recalcitrant bones?

Chalk up the victory to both Ed and mom. Over the next couple days my sister will explain to mom that Ed had visited her and depending on when that happens my mom will, never, vaguely, or precisely remember him fondly. Mom always thought Ed was the one who kept me from getting into even more trouble than I caused while messing around with only my whims and the eight and a half bucks in my pocket to answer to.

She'll conveniently forget that Ed was driving during two of the three auto accidents I have been in, or that Greg was wheelman as we raced through darkening twilight on a winding two-lane Hood Canal road so we and a few friends could, because why the hell not, throw M-80 fire crackers through each others open car windows on a July evening, whereupon Greg (and I, as Unlicensed Bomb Ignighter) accidentally discovered how to move a large rock seven feet further from the roadside using the nose of his dad's new 1966 Mustang 2-door coupe, decked out in bright red paint like the Ford ads touted on the four TV channels available at the time. Holy rabbit ears.

But enough grousing about how I was deemed the irreverent one who forever tilted performance and philosophy towards the cusp of arrest. The subject in dire need of address is: 

Why I don't deserve the friends who surround my life.

Am pretty sure adopting the "I'm undeserving of my friends" belief is Barb's fault. Had she not mentioned one day that my friends were inordinately compassionate, smart, plus funny, too, I never would have wasted a moment reflecting on what a great bunch they are.

To be clear, having friends who look, think, and act as I do is not be avoided. However, to become a better person I must constantly challenge (and indeed, attempt to destroy) all beliefs and presumptions I possess at the moment. In essence, I should strive to become my most brutal critic.

Please note: My friends are a diverse group by intent.

Also note: I am horribly, inexcusably good at not keeping in touch with my friends. 

Mom was recently sent to a hospital because of an abdomen infection. Doctors explained her diagnosis and treatment options. Complicating the decision is mom wasn't able to participate.

I know friends who have made decisions about a parents care. Are you choosing what your parent would want, or are you choosing what you prefer? It's never easy. Family members may disagree, leading to chaos.

Fortunately, Jan (who has power of attorney), Barb and I were unanimous about the treatment choice. As are the grandkids.

We held a birthday party for mom at the hospital, two weeks before her 100th birthday. We brought one of mom's favorites.... a small lemon meringue pie.

Mom is now back home at a care facility. We don't know what comes next. We don't know how long she will live. Life and death is complicated.

---------

Will mention one moment that happened at the hospital. Mom's granddaughter, Carly, flew up from Oregon to visit her grandma. It was important to Carly that she do so.

You see, Carly didn't always make the best decisions while growing up, leading to some extremely difficult times. Throughout, mom was in Carly's corner. No matter where that corner was found. Never judgmental. Offering unwavering support and encouragement. For years, endless. Mom wrote so many letters, Carly felt mom was a personal newspaper columnist who talked only to her. Of course, Carly is grateful for all who supported her.

But to Carly, cookie grandma is that irreplaceable person in her life.

So it was a bittersweet moment to see Carly approach mom in the hospital bed. Carly had a huge smile on her face, while buckets of tears flowed from her eyes. Mom smiled at Carly, and proceeded to to talk at length about how much she loved Carly, and how important it is to be unconditionally supportive of family.

I will not mention further what Mom and Cookie Grandma said to Carly, Barb, Jan and I on that day, preferring it remain in our memories. Will instead allow you to share in that moment with a photo.

“We have to entertain in order to educate, because the other way round doesn’t work.”

~ Walt Disney

Little O. One in a litter of five, the only kitten who survived beyond three days.

The cat that would hiss at us one moment, yet would snuggle close moments later - expecting to be pet.

Just realized earlier today, that at age nineteen our kitty cat called Little O, but more often simply The Cat, has been witness to, and companion of, Barb and I for nearly half our marriage.

He died at 11 PM tonight, with Barb and I both stroking his fur as he took his last breath on earth.

As a cat, he could be, and often was, a royal pain in the ass. He could, strangely, also be a devoted companion.

God help me, never thought I would say this, but... I'm really going to miss our damned cute kitty cat.

With Barb and I awkwardly strolling into semi-retirement (sheesh, does anybody retire without initially thrashing about?), I have decided to remodel a piece our digital furniture. The result is we will both be posting to GoodeStreet, which will then cross-post to Facebook if I can get Barb to remember to hit the danged share button.