EZ’s Travelogue - Barcelona Saturday Morning

Saturday, October 14, 2023. Gothic Quarter, Barcelona, Spain.

I am feeling somewhat better today after a more than three-day-bout with raging dyspepsia. Much Immodium has been employed. Nancy, our travel companion, was first afflicted Monday through Wednesday, slowly returning to ‘normal’ by mid-day Friday. She was able to take the Friday evening sunset cruise we had booked earlier. Not me. My worst was Wednesday through Friday, with some grumbles remaining this morning. But, at least this morning, I feel like I have some control, which I have missed for a few days. Glenda has not been ill, but we didn’t feel it fair to Nancy to send her on the cruise without me to help. Nancy did get some nice photos which she has promised to share. We don’t think the stomach illness was food- or water-borne as Glenda has had pretty much the same diet and water and she hasn’t been ill at all, so probably a ‘stomach flu’ we picked up somehow. I’m SO glad we paid to be 5800 miles from home to be ill for a week.

Despite the horrors being unleased in Israel right now, all seems normal and peaceful in Barcelona. The weather has been dry and sunny, with highs near 80F and lows in the mid-60s (18-26C). The forecast is for rain a few days next week, and the locals are pleased about that, as the region has been in the grips of an historic drought.

View from in front of our temporary morada in the Gothic Quarter

Barcelona is a much different place in the early mornings. I walked out around 7:30am to go to a 24-hour Farmacia for a few essentials. It was as dark as midnight. Sunrise is predicted for a few minutes after 8am and there was no glimmer of dawn visible at 7:30. This is such a change for me from the Phoenix area, where sunrise tomorrow will be around 6:30am and the sky turns dawn pink well before 6:00. The carrer and La Rambla of the Gothic Quarter were no longer crowded in the early morning, but were far from deserted. Few places are open: an occasional early morning cafe’, a small number of establishments still catering to the remnants of last night’s party crowd. Taxis are present, but mostly immobile, their drivers leaning against their cars, smoking. Nearly everyone not in motion is lost in their phone screen. A couple of whores on La Rambla are still trying to make their night’s Euro. One, a very tall and leggy blonde calls out, “Hola” to me. Her voice is deeper than mine. A few Goth trannies stroll by. One, dressed in black leather miniskirt and bikini top with red fish-net nylons, has a beautiful, thick, black beard.

The Farmacia has the body wash and wet wipes I came for. It seems, from the displays there, that the main stock in trade at this hour has been lube and condoms. Viagara is prominently featured, at a shocking Euro120/100mg tablet. I stop at a cafe’ for a morning beverage and decide to try a churro. That was a disappointment—soggy with no hint of sugar or cinnamon. Oh, well—most of the food and drink we have had has been excellent, so far. I think, ‘the gelateria I passed on the way here may have something for my taste buds.’ But, by the time I was back to that location, they were closed until morning opening at 11:00am.

Frontier Life Was Anything But EZ

On a hallway wall in our home hangs a numbered art print, number 66 of 500, originally by Margie Karg, an artist otherwise unknown to me. I don’t know if the piece would be called a drawing, a watercolor, or a Giclee print. The colors are muted. The lines are straight, but not quite photo-realistic. The picture is titled, “Sunday School.” The print displays a solitary, old building, white paint peeling, many broken or boarded windows, and a few missing faded brown shingles on the roof. Only the lava-rock foundation appears to be sound. There is a wire fence held partially aloft by failing poles in front of the building. The ground is depicted as partly snow-covered, partly brown mud, the sky is gray with heavy clouds. A sign over the door of the building reads, “Greenwood Community Sunday School.”

This piece of art, a gift from my sister-in-law, Laurie, is treasured in our home. Allow me to explain why.

Before becoming the “Greenwood Community Sunday School,” this building served as the first and only schoolhouse, known simply as the Greenwood School, for the pioneer farming community of the same name, located just off the north edge of what is now U.S. Interstate Highway 84, five miles east of the small town of Hazelton, Idaho. When it was built, in about 1910, it was by far the largest and served as the keystone structure for the community, supporting much more than school. Weddings and dances were celebrated there. Picnics and family reunions were conducted on the lawn under the towering Poplar trees. It was the polling location for elections and much more.

My family moved to Hazelton when I was twelve. I met Glenda, my wife of 55 years, in Hazelton, and I graduated from Valley High School which served Hazelton and the surrounding area in 1968. By that time, the Greenwood School had long been closed, having held the last classes there the year I started school elsewhere, 1956. After serving as a Sunday School for a few years, the once-proud building sat empty and abandoned, badly battered by the Idaho weather and winds. Most of the trees were gone except for a solitary row of a half-dozen old Poplars that lined the ditch bank dividing the east side of the school property from a gravel county road. This is the Greenwood School I knew and often drove by; the one depicted on my hallway wall. But it still stood. As it does, much unchanged except for continued weathering, today.

Glenda’s grandfather, David Russel Dille owned a farm east of Hazelton where he and Glenda’s grandmother, Leone Ward Dille, raised their family, including Glenda’s mother, Lennie. Their farmhouse sat on a hill just to the northeast of, but very close to, Greenwood School. Entry to the Dille homestead driveway was made through a huge archway made of highly polished pine logs. Farm trucks with alfalfa hay bales stacked 20 feet high could pass through with plenty of clearance. The view from their front yard was of the Greenwood School and its grounds. Glenda’s father, Glenn Baum, also lived with his parents nearby when he was a child. Both Glenn and Lennie started their formal education in the wooden structure that was Greenwood School; Glenn in 1932 and Lennie three years later. In fact, they met there. Lennie, a first-grade child, was playing the part of an angel in the 1935 Christmas pageant when Glenn first noticed her. He later told me, “The first moment I saw her, I thought she really was an angel. I knew then that I would someday marry her.” Although they both in time moved on to different schools, they did marry in January of 1949; Glenda was born a scant 13 months later in February of 1950.

Their elementary school and meeting place, The Greenwood School, was named after one of the pioneer farm women and one of the first schoolteachers of Idaho’s Magic Valley—Annie Amelia Pike Greenwood. Born a doctor’s daughter into a wealthy non-Latter-day Saint, but prominent family in Provo, Utah, in 1879, she and her husband, Charles (married in 1905), were among the first farmers to settle in Greenwood in the second decade of the 20th Century. Charles is my eighth cousin.

Annie was a remarkable woman. She wrote many articles about frontier life that were published in prestigious eastern papers and magazines to supplement their meager farm income and became the first paid schoolteacher in the Greenwood area where she taught for 15 years. In 1934 she published her memoir of breaking the ground, clearing the sagebrush (a notoriously difficult plant with exceedingly strong and deep roots), creating a farm, and raising a family in a book titled, We Sagebrush Folks. That book is available today, as a 2022 reprint, from Rare Treasures Press of Victoria, B.C., Canada, and can be purchased on Amazon for about $20.00. Before this reprint, originals remaining from the original 1934 publication were bringing up to $400.00 on Amazon and eBay. Amazon describes the book as a “Narrative about an attempt to farm on land opened up by the new Minidoka Irrigation Project in the sagebrush desert of southern Idaho. The story of an American farm woman, her husband and family. Describes farm life and farm psychology. This intimate record of an acute mind and sensitive spirit to the joys and sorrows, difficulties and satisfactions, and personalities describes the author's fifteen years as a farm woman on the last American frontier.”

Annie and her book are the topic of a recent 30-minute documentary of the same name available on Idaho Public Television (IPTV) as part of their Idaho Experience series. About 15 minutes into the documentary, the Dille homestead can be seen in an aerial shot of the Greenwood School and its immediate surroundings. The Dille home has since been demolished.

In discussing Annie’s book, the filmmaker states that she wrote about topics that just weren’t discussed in 1934—the hardships of being a woman on the frontier in a man’s world. Sex, birth, abuse, insanity, and heartache, are among the topics Annie wrote of. While receiving a good initial reception and glowing reviews in Eastern papers, her book did not sell well. The maker of the IPTV documentary says that’s likely because of the ‘hardness’ of her message—people didn’t care to know so much. Annie, herself, wrote, “I have written only the truth. Everything in this book happened either to me, myself, or to someone else living in that country of the last frontier in the United States.“ The IPTV documentary includes, from her writing, that the irrigation canals, vital to the life and existence of the farms, were also every mother’s nightmare. Their worries were not ungrounded. Ms. Greenwood says in her writings, “Not a month passed that the canals didn’t claim another drowning victim—most often a beloved child.” Mothers, she says, would tether their children with rope to ensure they didn’t wander off and fall victim—a precaution that was not always 100% effective.

In the late 1940s, before I was born, my parents were raising their family in a home on the bank of a similar irrigation canal near Weiser, Oregon. That canal claimed the life of my brother, Dennis. If I ever get to meet Dennis, it will be in the afterlife.

Glenda was raised in a farmhouse immediately on the bank of one of those canals. When we began dating, I learned that she was deathly afraid of water and would not swim. She wouldn’t even enter a tame pool that was more than knee-deep. I was a water baby; swimming was my absolute favorite activity and I did not understand her behavior around water. I later learned that her fear had been instilled into her by her mother in an attempt to prevent a canal drowning. Glenda, as a young girl, would often walk a hundred yards from her home to the home of her father’s parents, Earl and Livora Baum, as she loved her grandmother. Grandmother always had sweet treats for her. Glenda had to cross a bridge over the canal to make that trip. She and her three sisters were all taught to avoid the canal for fear of severe punishment.

Even before Annie’s family was striving to grub sagebrush and eke a living from 160 acres of dry land, my mother’s family was suffering through the same challenges only a few miles east of Greenwood, in the Springdale community of the Minidoka Irrigation Project, where my grandfather, Niels Peter Rasmussen, working with the help of his older sons, built a one-room log cabin with loft for his family of fifteen. The Rasmussens were in Idaho earlier than the Greenwoods. They had moved there from Utah in the very early years of the 20th Century, having been promised water would flow from the Snake River into the Mindoka canals from the newly-completed (1902) Milner Dam in 1903. There was no water in the canals until 1908. In the meantime, for over four years, the family hand-filled wooden stave barrels and hauled water by horse-drawn wagon more than a mile to sustain their animals, water their few crops and quench their thirst. My mother was born there in 1909. The Greenwoods arrived in Idaho around 1913 with water available in the canals.

Life was hard and farming was unpredictable on the frontier of Idaho. Weather could destroy a crop in moments. Vermin such as deer and jack rabbits could eat an entire crop in a day. Wolves and coyotes killed sheep, goats, and cattle as they pleased. My grandfather’s family made a go of it. Annie and Charles did not. They lost their farm to bankruptcy in 1928, relocating to Twin Falls, Idaho, the city of my birth. The IPTV documentary says that when they lost the farm, they also lost their marriage, divorcing in the 1930s. Before moving to Twin Falls in 1949, my parents lost their farm in Ontario to bankruptcy. Their marriage survived.

Life in the Magic Valley was easy for me in the 1950s and 1960s, in comparison. We had paved roads, automobiles, electricity, telephones, and television. Ample water was easily drawn from the flowing canals or deep wells. The print hanging on my hallway wall reminds me of the deep debt we owe to the pioneers who settled the Intermountain West. Annie’s book and my own family’s history are tokens of the hardships they suffered. My own mother was also a remarkable woman: A writer and a light to many that had lived through much of the hardship that Annie wrote about.

Addendum:

I have learned since this was published, that Glenda's grandmother, Leone Dille, owned the Greenwood School and surrounding properties for a number of years prior to her passing. The property is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Footnotes:

Annie is record number LZVK-LB7 in Family Search online. She died in Sacramento, California in 1956 and is buried in Provo, Utah.

Charles Oliver Greenwood, B 1881 D 1955, is record number 9VPC-FMW in Family Search online.

Amazon link to We Sagebrush Folks: We Sagebrush Folks, Greenwood, Annie Pike - Amazon.com

https://www.amazon.com/Sagebrush-Folks-Annie-Pike-Greenwood-ebook/dp/B09LG3P52J/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1NN32XHTGCBGE&keywords=we+sagebrush+folks+by+annie+pike+greenwood&qid=1694646647&sprefix=We+Sagebrush+fol%2Caps%2C202&sr=8-1&asin=B09LG3P52J&revisionId=500325ff&format=1&depth=1

The documentary: Idaho Experience | We Sagebrush Folks: Annie Pike Greenwood's Idaho | Season 2 | Episode 1 | IdahoPTV

https://video.idahoptv.org/video/we-sagebrush-folks-annie-pike-greenwoods-idaho-85z6rt/

Why can't life be EZ?

Because it is not. Today I learned that a great man that I worked with in the Air Force (Colonel Ed Maher) is in the hospital for surgery for a brain tumor. This is a rather sudden diagnosis. His daughter, who we only knew as a newborn, posted the news to FB, tagging her father so his FB friends would see. He has a Glioma Tumor. I pray for him, for strength, for comfort, and for healing. Ed was wonderful to work with and for. He is smart and wise and very human. He is educated about as far as a person can be today, with at least one PhD, and yet he was never arrogant. He is universally respected. He has a loving wife and family and many friends. Ed, be strong.

Is it EZ to condemn your neighbor?

History is Often Not Pretty.

Evelyn’s words left me speechless. I was flabbergasted by what she said.

“My green thumb and love of natural remedies come to me quite naturally. You should be a healer, too. After all, we are both descended from a witch. My daughter even identifies as a ‘Green Witch’.”

I don’t know if I drooled, but my mouth certainly hung open for some time as my eyes bulged. My cousin, Evelyn, was someone who I thought of as generally trustworthy. I’ve known her since we were children, and that’s been a long, long time. But could such a wild tale be true? And in my direct bloodline, as well? Our steak dinners were ignored on the table at the Sizzler in Flagstaff as my cousin continued to surprise me.

The story Evelyn was telling me was that of ‘Goody’ Martin, more formally known as Susannah North Martin. If my cousin’s words could be trusted, Susannah was one of fourteen women executed by hanging as a witch long ago in Salem, Massachusetts. The twist, to me, was that Susannah is my sixth great-grandmother in my father’s matrilineal line. A tincture of strangeness was added by the fact that Evelyn spoke proudly of her and mentioned that she aspired to learn more of the herbal and healing arts that Susannah probably practiced—all this seeming so foreign to the normally pious, but kind and loving, Christian cousin I’ve known.

“Is this poppycock?” I asked. “Are you pulling my leg?”

I knew Susannah’s name. I had seen it in family group sheets and online at Ancestry.com many times. I knew she was amongst the earliest settlers of the colonies in my bloodline, having been born in Buckinghamshire, England in 1621. A little later than the Mayflower, Susannah’s Puritan family moved to Massachusetts around 1639. My other ancestral lines didn’t migrate to the United States until much later, after the Civil War. Except for Susannah’s line, I am only a second-generation citizen of the U.S.

“No! It is true!” Evelyn remarked. “Look it up. It’s all well documented and most of that is available online. Her story is documented in the Salem Witch Museum.”

Finally finishing our small steaks, we hugged and bid adieu with me promising to spend time researching the life of our ancestor after my drive home the next day.

Evelyn was correct. There is a treasure trove of information about Susannah available online, starting with her very own fully referenced and footnoted Wikipedia page. How could I have not known of this? There, we learn that her mother, Joan North, died when Susannah was a child. Her father remarried a woman named Ursula while still in England. It appears that Ursula may have treated Susannah as the stepchild she was. After moving to the colonies, she married George Martin in 1646. They were the first permanent settlers of the township of Amesbury. With George, she had eight children.

Susannah was first formally charged with witchcraft in 1669. She was found guilty, but the sentence was overturned by a higher court. Her husband sued her accuser for slander but did not prevail. By 1671, Susannah and her family were involved in additional court proceedings over the estate of her stepmother, Ursula. It must have been quite a large estate, as the family sued for a share many times over the years but was never successful in court.

The final accusation came in 1692, after the death of Susannah’s husband, George. The transcript of the trial for the crime of ‘Witchcraft and sorcery’ is quite lurid. One of the prosecutors was none other than the Reverend Cotton Mather, who insisted that a witch must not be allowed to live, as quoted from his ‘gospel of peace and love.’ Didn’t we learn in middle school American History that he was a noble and upstanding Puritan pastor and writer? I’m feeling a bit differently about him with my newfound knowledge.

I will quote here from Wikipedia, as I don’t think I can word it better:

“Susannah Martin was twice forced to submit to physical examination in order to find evidence of a ‘witch's tit or physical protuberance which might give milk to a familiar.’ No such deformity was found on Susannah Martin, but it was noted that ‘in the morning her nipples were found to be full as if the milk would come,’ but by late afternoon, ‘her breasts were slack, as if milk had already been given to someone or something.’ This was an indication that she had been visited by a witch's familiar and was clear evidence of guilt.”

Susannah was a 70+ year-old woman then.

Throughout, Susannah maintained her innocence, laughing at the charges and quoting from the Bible. At this point, she had no husband to help in her defense. Wikipedia notes that she was “impoverished.” It is unclear where her eight children, now grown, were in her defense. She was declared guilty by the magistrate on June 30, 1692. The reader may wish to note that it was on June 30, 2023, that Evelyn related Susannah’s story to me, 331 years to the day after Susannah’s sentencing. She was hanged on July 19, 1692.

Over the years, Susannah’s story has gained a lot of popular attention. The convicted Salem witches were exonerated by the Massachusetts legislature in 1957, only 265 years too late, but Susannah’s name was left off the list enacted by the legislature. On Halloween 2001, she was finally fully exonerated by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Today, there is an Interstate Highway (I-495) in Massachusetts named for her and indicated with appropriate signage. A memorial plaque has been placed in Amesbury close to where the Martin homestead had been. A poem, The Witches Daughter, by 19th-century poet John Greenleaf Whittier, was written about her, and includes this stanza:

Let Goody Martin rest in peace, I never knew her harm a fly, And witch or not – God knows – not I? I know who swore her life away; And as God lives, I’d not condemn An Indian dog on word of them.

The song, Susannah Martin, has been recorded by numerous folk artists. One very nice performance by Jan Pouska can be found at: https://youtu.be/vMzJ477PA_s

The story of the Salem Witch Trials and the actions of the citizens of Salem then are horrible and abhorrent. Susannah is only one of 25 women and men who were killed (or died in jail) after ‘trials’ as witches. Some were hanged, as was Susannah. Contrary to myth, there is no documentation of any Salem ‘witches’ being burned at the stake, as had been the fate of William Tyndale in England for his crime of translating the Bible into English. Some were thrown into frigid water, fully dressed in heavy, woolen clothing. If they floated, they were guilty of witchcraft and would be executed. If they sank, they would be innocent, but dead. Some were similarly crushed under slabs of limestone. If they lived, they were guilty.

I end this story with a quote that I find especially poignant after I studied Susannah’s life and death:

“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” Agatha Christie

That ‘grand thing’ was cruelly and wrongfully stolen from my ancestor by superstitious, prejudiced, hateful people.  

EZ’s Travelogue

Monday, June 19, 2023. Departed Mesa, AZ at around 9:00am. Arrived Las Vegas, NV around 3:00pm and checked into the La Quinta Airport South hotel on Surrey Street. Traveling, we often stan at La Quinta inns because we travel with our dog, Dak, and La Quinta is reliably dog-friendly. After check-in and unpackking, we called my sister-in-law, Margaret Moyes, who is a long-time resident of Las Vegas, Margaret is my brother Ronald's widow.

Tuesday, June 20, 2023. Breakfast at the hotel. Lunch with Margaret at an In-N-Out. Dinner that evening at a Bonefish Grill restaurant weith Margaret and her daughter Penny.

Wednesday, June 21, 2023. Drove to Twin Falls, Idaho up highway 93. Our lodging there was a Motel 6 as it was just about the only dog-friendly hotel available in TF this time of year for less than $400/night. Had dinner at the Redhawk Grill, on the patio, overlooking the Snake River Canyon, Blue Lakes Country Club and the Perrine Bridge.

Thursday, June 22, 2023. Breakast at Shari's Restaurant with Glenda's sister, Laurie Baum. After breakfast, Laurie accompanied us to Sunset Memorial Park where we paid our respects at the headstones of Glenda's parents and grandparents. We had lunch at the Depot Grill with our daughter, Anne Moyes Johnson, and her adult son, Michael, who lives with her. It's worth noting that the Depot Grill has been in business in Twin Falls for nearly 100 years and still serves excellent food with great service and their prices are about half of what we've been paying at other places. After lunch we went back to their apartment and sat and visited for the rest of the afternoon.

Friday, June 23, 2023. In the morning, we picked Anne up and drove to view sites of family history in the Hazelton and Murtaugh areas. We saw the home where Glenda's parents lived when she was a child, and her grandparent's (Baum) home next door. We drove past Valley High School and into Hazelton to view the home at 260 Lenz Avenue that Glenda and I lived in when we were young marrieds. This home had been purchased by my brother Ronald for a retirement home for my parents, but my father passed away too young, mom was unable to live alone, so Glenda and I purchased it from Ronald and lived there until I joined the Air Force in late 1972. At that time, the home was sold. We took Anne home before noon as she had another appointment. That evening, we met with my classmates from the Class of 1968 at Valley High School for a buffet dinner at the Snug Lounge in Eden, Idaho.

Saturday, June 24, 2023. Glenda slept in. I met my Nephew, Keven Jensen, and his wife, Donna, for breakfast at the Depot Grill. Keven and Donna live near Gooding, Idaho. It was a good visit. Dak and I then went to the annual Idaho Chariots car show held at the Twin Falls City Park. Lunch was at 2nd South, Idaho's first outdoor food court. That afternoon, we drove to the home of Ron Cline in Hazelton where the Class of '68 met for a picnic in Ron's back yard. The picnic was followed by a stunning fireworks display. Hazelton always celebrates Independence Day on the last weekend of June, thus getting a jump on the sales of corn dogs and cotton candy over the other small cities.

Sunday, June 25, 2023. A week on the road. Glenda and I met my nephew, Michael Jensen, at the Depot Grill for breakfast. Michael lives in Blackfoot, Idaho, but this week was supporting his granddaughter, Krissi, in a girls summer camp she runs in the South Hills south of Hansen, Idaho, which put Michael much closer to Twin Falls than he would have been at home. At 11:00, Glenda and I checked out of the hotel and drove into the Snake River Canyon to Blue Lakes Country Club, where we had the final event of my class reunion: a buffet lunch at the club overlooking Bass Lake. A wonderful lunch and visitiwith classmates. Leaving the luncheon, we drove to Salt Lake City, Utah, and checked into the SLC Airport La Quinta.

Monday, June 26, 2023. Breakfast at the hotel. We then drove to the home of my niece, Denine Moyes Smith, where we had lunch with her and her husband, Steve. Before we left their home, their daughter, Andrya Smith, returned from errands and we were treated to a visit with her, too. Denine is the eldest daughter of my eldest brother, Warren Arlo Moyes, now passed. After a nwp back at the hotel, we drove to Bountiful, Utah, and the home of my cousin-by-marriage, Joyce Goodman. Joyce is the widow of my cousin Eldred Jay Goodman. He was the son of my father's eldest sister, Annie Moyes Goodman. Also there were Joyce's two daughters Vicki Goodman Moody and Valie Goodman. We had really great visit. Vicki fed us croisant sandwiches and fresh fruit for dinner. We shared notes on genealogy and shared many family pictures. Joyce, now 92, is the mother of many others, including Lance and Julie and Earle Jay who were my playmates when I was a pre-schooler in Murtaugh, Idaho. I was often a guest in their home, first in Murtaugh, later in Pocatello, Idaho, then this home (at 847 S 150 W, Bountiful, Utah). This is really the first time I've had a chance to visit with and catch up with her family news since I joined the Air Force in 1972. Vicki had been encouraging me for years to make this visit. I had earlier discussed this visit with cousin Bill Goodman of Mesa, AZ, who encouraged me to kake this connection.

Tuesday, June 27, 2023. After breakfast in the hotel, we will drive south to Flagstaff and another La Quinta, where we will visit with cousin Evelyn Bush Patterson. She is also a cousin to the Goodmans.

Wednesday, June 28, 2023. We will drive home to Mesa.

Thursday, June 29, 2023. I have my third infusion for Melanoma at MD Anderson Cancer Center.

How EZ will life changes be?

Today, I made an appointment for a dementia care educator to come to our home to assess our needs for assistance and to identify resources that may help in providing that assistance.

This service is provided, at no cost, through the local Hospice of the Valley, a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization serving Central Arizona and is funded by a federal program. The home visit will be from a dementia educator who teaches behavior management strategies for dementias, and helps with medications, placement options and other available resources, and living wills. Our assigned educator is named Kobie. I learned of this program recently while listening to a local NPR program while working in my garage.

My concern is that my dear wife, Glenda, is showing very clear signs of memory loss. She has been evaluated by our primary care provider and by Dr. Ashby at the Barrow Institute in Phoenix. They have not diagnosed her with Alzheimer's, but verify some level of age-related dementia, possible related to the stroke she suffered in 2009. The memory loss becomes obvious in conversation with her and in the fact that she can't remember what year it is, who is our President, and such. She also has gotten to where she won't leave home alone, even for a local walk (with very limited exceptions) because she fears she won't be able to find her way home. In addition to the memory concerns, she is nearly blind from age-related macular degeneration (dry), and has balance, fall, and movement problems caused by orthostatic hypotension as well as incontinence problems related to age and birthing our five children.

I am her primary care giver and non-medical attendant. I cook and serve meals, clean, arrange medications, shop, provide all transportation, do laundry, help her with selecting clothing, manage her audio-book library and tools and more. We are both 73 years old. Here's the kicker: I am a cancer patient, currently receiving care for two different forms of metasticized cancer. Plus I have the spectrum of old, overweight, white-man health problems: High blood pressure, AFIB, aortic insufficiency, GERD, etc. My health and family history do not indicate that I'll have a life span equal to Glenda's. What happens when I am, for whatever reason, not able to provide the care she needs?

To be, or not to be. William said that that is the question. Our question is a little more complicated that that. I doubt there will be EZ answers, but I am hoping that the Kobie can help us understand what is needful and what is possible.

Will this be the EZ part?

Post-COVID, the work begins. Not the journey--that's been underway for some time, now.

My official diagnosis is, "locally advanced metastatic malignant melanoma" of my right ear lobe. I was treated with a wide local excision at the end of November, 2022. The post-surgery pathology did not show any spread to the sentinal lymph nodes in my neck (which were removed with the excision) but did show residual malignant melanoma in the ear tissue after the surgery. I have not received an adequate explanation as to why I was not offered additional treatment after the surgery and incomplete removal of the melanoma in November. I have now been staged as "IIIB."

I had my first immunotherapy infusion yesterday. The immunology oncologist laid out the following plan. Two cycles of infusion with combined ipilimumab (Yervoy) and nivolumab (Opdivo) three weeks apart. One week after the second infusion, I am to have another PET scan to reevaluate and to determine the response to treatments, and if favorable based on scan results, a surgical resection followed by nivolumab every four weeks for one year. The doctor says the intent of this treatment is '"curative," which sounds good to me. They have also sent tissue samples to Caris for NGS (genetic) testing.

The infusion process seemed relatively benign, took about an hour and a half, but I was comfortable in a medical recliner throughout. They even brought me a sandwich for lunch. My son, Benjamin, accompanied me to the appointment with the immunologist and sat with me throughout the infusion, then drove me home. Glenda (and Dak, our small dog) stayed with Ben's family at his home throughout the day. The love and support I'm getting from family (and from friends, too) is overwhelming and humbling.

I'm 24 hours post-infusion now, and have no significant side effects noted. I slept very well overnight.