tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53148568976904251192012-01-27T01:54:28.782-06:00Everything looks better in black and whiteThe Garden Studionoreply@blogger.comBlogger431100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-57783232661937592912008-03-17T07:06:00.005-05:002008-03-17T08:00:24.337-05:00

Hello? Hello? Are you there? This poor little neglected blog probably is not the best place for a worldwide marketing campaign, but here goes. This is my friend Tom and his daughter Lucy, who I would also be happy to call my friend except she probably doesn't remember me. Tom has a perfectly wonderful wife named Mary (it follows but can be left unwritten that Lucy has a perfectly wonderful mother

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-81830720002686412332007-12-16T16:00:00.000-06:002007-12-17T08:05:50.173-06:00

A few months ago, an editor from the L.A.-based KoreAm Journal asked if I was interested in writing about my mother having seen the obituary published in the Chicago Tribune. The story, along with the lovely art you see above ran in November and is now available on the internet at this link.If you have trouble finding it, you visit koreamjournal.com and look down the left side for the Exiles on

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-43023780905097782252007-10-29T09:30:00.000-05:002007-10-29T10:27:06.607-05:00

Likely, it's time to wind this little blog down. It helped me move through a lot of heartache and is a wonderful way to procrastinate, but other matters are calling. At the moment, that would be grandma. I've not mentioned grandma much, but she is my father's mother. Honestly, she's been a terribly unhappy, complaining woman for as long as I can remember and she makes me thankful I am my mother's

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-80963865183698194752007-10-22T09:52:00.000-05:002007-10-22T10:37:54.103-05:00

Poor, poor Bailey. Each week, a new torment. Ear drops to clear up an infection or antelope skins draped on his back or yells when he can no longer resist the mouse in the garden and plunges in.Abuse. Neglect. And now this. Meet Sophie. Or, her registered name, "SophieNO!"For months, I have been attempting to have intelligent conversations with Mike about getting another dog, but he's always

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-14932198931078503872007-10-03T16:30:00.000-05:002007-10-03T17:32:16.335-05:00

After raiding Home Depot of nearly end of season plant it has available, here's where we are: We love sitting out here! That's lavender around the border, and we moved the little magnolia we had against the evergreens.If you blow up the image, you'll see good old Blanche, who is always staring at me. It's a little disconcerting. We put in a couple of red twigged dogwoods to the left of the

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-63677194582245685822007-10-01T07:20:00.000-05:002007-10-03T01:05:00.135-05:00

Isn't it funny how the projects that devour your time, drain your wallet and generally suck lifeblood from your soul always begin with innocent, carefree statements?That trim really ought to be painted!Hey, we should finally get those awnings down!When are we going to fix that sidewalk? Ah, such simple, breezy words. Words that have claimed the past week of my life and cost Mike a broken shoulder

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-41346841651098829302007-09-25T07:49:00.000-05:002007-09-25T09:10:42.681-05:00

When mom and I moved into this house a couple of years back, the guy who lived here informed us that we were about to inherit the best neighbors in the whole world.Now, Bill and Ev will have to forgive my initial skepticism. The previous owner was not noted for his taste. He thought he was Elvis. No, not cute early Elvis who went into the military and wowed all the girls with his lean, swinging

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-66595417985638962982007-09-24T08:02:00.000-05:002007-09-24T16:12:58.970-05:00

How many times can my mother die?Two nights ago, my own screaming and crying woke me, and of course, Mike too. He shook me gently, "Sweetie, wake up, wake up."The next morning, I told him that I thought I was dreaming about mom, that there was only the impression of her somewhere in my sleep."I think you were reliving her death," he said. "That's what it sounded like."I knew that too, but didn't

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-72387146752408634972007-09-20T10:40:00.000-05:002007-09-20T11:33:03.229-05:00

Mom always said a blooming cactus brings luck. So I must be in line for a host of good fortune this autumn.She's had cactus around for as long as I can remember, all manner of sizes and shapes, each patiently lying in wait throughout my childhood, ready to give me a good jab.Still, I love them too, and like my mom, I'm not sure why. She was never able to explain her attraction to flora so unfit

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-20427337656960209902007-09-19T06:37:00.000-05:002007-09-19T07:06:51.128-05:00

Today, you would be 59. At least according to the paperwork.But apparently, even you don't know how old you are.You dropped that little tidbit of information on me a few months back, when we were driving to the hospital. It was funny, you suddenly turned all apologies and said that you probably already qualified for social security. At the time, we were jumping through flaming hoops trying to get

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-48192780845478442052007-09-18T08:48:00.000-05:002007-09-18T13:53:56.352-05:00

I think I can fly. Bottle or goose? Bottle or goose? Bottles don't bite. So bottle it is. Litter patrol.Zombie dog.

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-67413808455140592172007-09-17T07:40:00.000-05:002007-09-17T08:59:02.644-05:00

Have you ever seen a cuter baby? No, you say? Well, of course you haven't.Meet Seungmin, the 18-month-old son of my cousin, Chongno. With Seungmin is Chongno's wife.I have not had the pleasure of meeting young Seungmin and his mom. Mom and I visited Korea six years ago, in September 2001, which made for an interesting time to be out of country.We sat in my uncle's living room late in the evening,

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-34785806102882587792007-09-14T07:12:00.000-05:002007-09-14T08:32:06.604-05:00

Poor Bailey dog. Every week I find a new way to torment him. Last week's episode was exceptional.My friend B. in Bloomington has the most beautiful home: limestone exterior, European-like interior filled with gorgeous old pieces, a perfect sitting garden with hummingbirds zipping around. Then there's the rugs. She is from South Africa and her dad back home enjoys an antelope dinner from time to

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-51744777860560311072007-09-13T09:34:00.000-05:002007-09-13T11:13:42.651-05:00

So many things are little lies.We received the official death certificate, which says mom died at 6:02 p.m. on Aug. 24 of "progressive recurrent endometrial cancer."Actually, she passed away closer to 5 p.m., but the nurse arrived at 6. And we suspect her kidneys had shut down, leading to death. Of course, this would have been caused by the cancer, but technically it seems the kidney issue is

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-76958879878149244002007-09-11T11:15:00.000-05:002007-09-11T13:13:18.054-05:00

We're back. Coming home was far easier, more comforting than I expected. And much has happened, notably, Tony Soprano came by for a visit, but more on that later. First, let me say to my friends, thank you. Thank you for your condolences, your sympathy, your concern. You are remarkable people. Second, to the folks who I've never met but have taken a few minutes to read the blog and drop a note,

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-15002592779803756382007-09-01T09:17:00.000-05:002007-09-01T09:27:21.665-05:00

Thanks to you all. I am overwhelmed by your kindness. We're currently in Bloomington, Ind. visiting wonderful friends. Yesterday, as we sat in the yard, H. from New York and E. from Northern Indiana walked up, to my delight. More later.The Tribune ran a feature obit on my mom last week. You can find it here.With love,maxhttp://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/northwest/

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-66064297134945725332007-08-26T19:41:00.000-05:002007-08-26T19:48:46.461-05:00

Mom, I wrote this intending to use it as a death notice, but now I'm not so sure. I'll decide what to do tomorrow.Mike and I have made arrangements that I hope you think are proper. We'll be leaving tomorrow, just for a bit. It's hard for me to be here, looking in your bedroom each time I pass by, just knowing you will be sitting there.Pup will go swimming and I will read and Mike will barbeque

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-21070980552262502902007-08-24T18:12:00.000-05:002007-08-24T18:16:08.121-05:00

I love you so.

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-53563166168935804042007-08-23T08:26:00.001-05:002007-08-24T09:31:33.295-05:00

Mike and I met in a mental health institution, but we're both fine now, thanks for asking.It was two years ago, in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Folks from New Orleans were being evacuated to shelters across the country. Some of them found their way to a former mental health center in Northern Illinois, cleaned and reopened for their stay.The first morning after the evacuees arrived, I was

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-57637856459661812952007-08-22T17:05:00.000-05:002007-08-22T17:08:31.917-05:00

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-10429590530932586152007-08-22T11:15:00.001-05:002007-08-22T16:41:24.812-05:00

She is caught somewhere between two worlds, between the waking and the dreaming, a limbo I cannot reach. Her hands seek things she sees in her mind's eye, she makes mumbled requests I cannot understand.This is how it is when the body begins closing on itself, Mike says gently. The moments of coherency will become fewer and fewer. He has watched the long goodbye before, too many times, too many

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-85400184326132683822007-08-21T13:49:00.000-05:002007-08-22T16:40:12.912-05:00

When it comes to mom, I have two types of friends. The first group understands her sentences completely and she and they can rattle on and on while I sit by thinking, Enough already, I have heard these stories a hundred times. Then there are the friends who glance at me with a frantic, pleading look when she speaks, as though they have just been called upon to talk relativity with a reincarnated

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-54126180456236275012007-08-21T11:06:00.000-05:002007-08-21T12:58:19.059-05:00

SceneUnder a tree, approximately one block from Max's house. Characters Max, Female in her 30s, holding a stack of mail and a red leash which is attached to a brown and white dog. At the scene's opening, she is fumbling with a plastic grocery bag in anticipation of the dog's movements.George, Male in his 60s, who lives across the street from Max, and drives a large white delivery van. (Further

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-58687241512150903612007-08-19T12:04:00.000-05:002007-08-19T12:05:47.931-05:00

Congratulations, Mimi and Pete!

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-69012629679642007862007-08-17T19:55:00.001-05:002007-08-18T20:58:10.016-05:00

Today I happened to catch sight of a game of Boo Radley. You remember Boo Radley, the mysterious, creepy neighbor of To Kill a Mockingbird. Scout, Dill and Jem tested their bravery by touching Boo's door.As I watched, several little boys ran up and tapped on our neighbor's garage door, then dashed away. They did the same thing yesterday. But today I saw them go inside.I was not amused.Before we

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-11702495469076075502007-08-17T15:10:00.000-05:002007-08-17T19:56:47.757-05:00

Watch out Harvey! There's a droid behind you!Poor Bailey hasn't been swimmin' or stick retrievin' all summer. However, he was quite pleased to receive bonafide New York City bagels from Harv this afternoon. He is partial to cinnamon raisin.Thanks to H! (Who happens to be our favorite photo submitter. And our favorite supplier of deli foods featuring holes.)

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-58259222478691286982007-08-17T12:22:00.000-05:002007-08-17T13:41:34.528-05:00

In the course of a short 24 hours, and after what may rank as the single best night of sleep I've ever had, my opinion of hospice has changed.Dramatically.Two days ago, I thought those nurses would bring with them despair in a syringe and douse every bit of hope I'd cultivated. Instead, our nurse V., brought the knowledge to actually deal with mom's pain and get her to feeling a little more like

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-87538140532536394862007-08-16T07:46:00.000-05:002007-08-16T11:51:35.016-05:00

The visit from the hospice nurse was not as painful as I expected. Except maybe the part afterward, when Mike told me I probably should have showered. I had not showered in three days. I apparently stopped smelling good the day before. Some boyfriend neglected to tell his very tired girlfriend, who typically is very fastidious about soap, this little fact until after the nurse left. Another nurse

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-88973420184202316702007-08-15T20:53:00.000-05:002007-08-15T21:00:57.149-05:00

Courtesy of my friend, H., the shutterbug. Taken somewhere in the wilds of Western North Carolina, I reckon 'bout three years ago. Mom and I were mountain girls in Tar Heel land for two years. Tell the good folks where mom is, if you remember H. Maybe in Highlands?

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-79896188040949082752007-08-15T17:45:00.000-05:002007-08-15T21:08:24.018-05:00

What with everything being so heavy, it's time to turn toward lighter matters and a post I started a couple of days ago. Dogged Trib reporter Josh Noel has been covering the expected demolition of Berwyn's infamous icon, a bunch o' cars on a stick, aka The Spindle.The car kebab is the product of one of those unfortunate decisions made by small town after small town along Route 66. Some places got

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-24986820080451330212007-08-15T14:11:00.000-05:002007-08-15T14:29:29.182-05:00

Yesterday, mom refused to go to her doctor's appointment.Today, the doctor arranged for hospice.I have cringed at each new thing, each step that means she is falling further into sickness. Cringed at her first emergency room trip, the first time I helped her walk to the bathroom, the first time I bought Boost, the one loaded with extra calories.Last week, she got a walker. This week she is too

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-83795279371111884072007-08-15T10:41:00.000-05:002007-08-15T13:01:02.738-05:00

Mom has spent weeks here at Cook County Hospital, or formally, John H. Stroger Jr. Hospital of Cook County. All told, I probably have too. During all that time, we learned a thing or two. Allow me to be your guide through the Emergency Room in this, the first in an occasional series of How to Navigate Cook County Hospital Without Losing Your Mind.On the County Hospital Emergency RoomIf your

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-35931748286319073952007-08-14T17:09:00.000-05:002007-08-15T10:12:47.891-05:00

Food is intimacy for my mom, and it has become much the same for me, so much so that this once was a low-grade source of friction between Mike and me. I love Mike, so I cook for him. Mike loves me, so he takes me out to eat. In my mind, this was quite nice, but substandard to time in front of the stove. Cook for me, I would fuss, don't you care about me?Mike did not understand my irritation - and

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-38781013175611362782007-08-14T09:14:00.002-05:002007-08-14T10:13:25.373-05:00

Mom refused to go to the hospital for our appointment this morning. Her pain seemed to subside yesterday afternoon after we reevaluated and juggled the medications we have on hand: Tylenol 3, fentanyl patches and morphine pills. She says the Tylenol is most effective, but she's used it so long now that I think it lost its potency.After she seemed calmer last night, I thought I could get her in

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-78304017932315933762007-08-14T08:45:00.001-05:002007-08-14T09:08:11.876-05:00

I talked last evening with B., who has more words of wisdom in a crisis than nearly anyone I know. She sent a pic of her dear old Scotty Martha. Together, we have dogs that once were the pride of the Bush family. Maybe Bailey looks so sad because he never lived in the White House or frolicked with Babs.

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-2540527474680054212007-08-13T13:36:00.000-05:002007-08-14T20:22:17.098-05:00

The Berwyn Public Library is my getaway these days.There, I recently spied a book of poems by Donald Hall, current poet laureate of the United States.Mike picked up the book, White Apples and the Taste of Stone, and read, "Her Long Illness" then let out a heavy sigh. It was wrenching, he said. Hall was recounting the last days of his wife, Jane Kenyon, also a poet. I flipped to page 319. The

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-80888696612799139602007-08-13T11:19:00.000-05:002007-08-13T12:46:10.150-05:00

Mike and I watched a documentary about Pope John Paul II a few nights ago. When he died, commentators expounded on his long, public sickness and frailty, how it was Christlike. It meant little to me then. But now I know he showed that age and ailments are life too. The world doesn't just belong to young, healthy bodies. The weak are just as important as the strong, maybe even more so. They teach

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-12295029127907937592007-08-12T12:25:00.000-05:002007-08-12T14:28:30.331-05:00

Mom's pain is getting worse. This issue has to be addressed. We have an appointment at Stroger Hospital, or Cook County Hospital if you prefer, on Tuesday. I don't know if I love that place or hate that place. Sometimes they're really great. Sometimes, I could strangle them all. All except Dr. S. I was there last week to pick up prescriptions and stopped in the gift shop for a drink. Dr. S. saw

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-83181317554164348762007-08-12T11:07:00.000-05:002007-08-13T21:15:33.675-05:00

My friend Kat came by to see me Thursday evening. She's the director of a cancer center. Let me repeat that before I continue. She's the top administrator in a cancer center and has been so for maybe 7 years. We've been friends - good friends who share deep, dark secrets - for a decade. She knows my mom well. Likes my mom. My mom likes her.Mom pulls herself out of bed to sit with Kat for a bit.

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-6565849930411202002007-08-11T10:33:00.000-05:002007-08-12T15:36:17.064-05:00

For the two years we've lived here, I hated this little white sink. I hated the cold black and white tile. It was put there by the previous owner, who thought he was Elvis incarnate. He had painted the living room the color of a Coke can and plastered glitter on a wall in the basement.And then, two weeks ago, I saw this magical sink on craigslist for $150! Granite top, warm wood finish, nickel

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-10583296074967540982007-08-11T08:58:00.000-05:002007-08-11T09:17:48.526-05:00

A few nights ago, mom fell down in the middle of the night. She was trying to get to the restroom. Me, slumbering deeply in the basement, didn't hear her calling until Bailey started barking like an army was attacking the house. (Interesting facts about this dog: He's afraid of the dark and most anything with wheels to include the vacuum, lawn mower and the car. But he has a big bassy bark like a

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-34784263594619425782007-08-09T06:55:00.000-05:002007-08-12T21:03:42.366-05:00

Last night, I laid in bed with mom, curling into her like a spoon, my arm around her waist. She has less bulk than the dog, less even than the pillow I hug when I sleep. I listened to her slow breathes and wondered when, as adults, are we supposed to begin separating ourselves from our parents. Teenagers do this easily enough when they start finding their own way. But some of us come back. So

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5314856897690425119.post-46055171726052513262007-08-07T17:55:00.000-05:002007-08-21T15:58:21.060-05:00

Let's get everyone up-to-date. First, grandma moved in, then moved to a nursing home. Then, Mom was diagnosed with recurrent endometrial cancer and given an unoptimistic prognosis. Next, my job as a newspaper reporter ended. Then Mike moved in. About the only constant during that time was Bailey the Springer Spaniel, who remains ever vigilant and ever dopey. That all happened in the spring. So

The Garden Studionoreply@blogger.com0