Gale Joseph Moore
1921–2015

The moment I started thinking about how to describe my father, words came to my brain too fast for my fingers to type. His long life was exactly like him: gentle and easy-going.
Passionate:
At age 10, my dad leaned up against the hide of the Guernsey he was milking and listened to the planes cruise over the dairy farm towards Mines Field (LAX). He might have looked like he was daydreaming, but he was focused on what he wanted to do: fly. And fly he did. He had 36 years with over 9,000 hours flight experience in over 50 different types of aircraft. He worked as a helicopter test pilot and an executive pilot for his hero, Howard Hughes. It doesn’t get better than that.
Gifted:
How many of us actually do the work that encourages our gifts to blossom?
Not many. Dad had the perfect personality for flying, especially testing.
He was meticulously detailed, thoughtful, and moved like a snail. Mmmm. Isn’t there someone else in the family who drives in “first gear?”
Not all is perfect with the gifted individual doing exactly what they are meant to do. My brothers and I did not see our dad much in our younger years and we missed those childhood memories. I think I made up for it later with long visits to his property in Mariposa, close to Yosemite. He taught me how to use a chain saw, drive a tractor, and make fresh barrel-squeezed apple juice.
Flowed With Life:
Nobody I know goes along with what the day brings, better than my dad.  He was easy-going, open-minded, and mindful before it was popular. I knew him to make lists with his slanted, all uppercase, mechanical-engineer-style letters, and I also witnessed him being easily distracted with the present, and the list would be forgotten.
He had few worries, except finances. I observed that being fearful and tight with money seemed to keep one from having more. Lesson learned.
Humorous:
Dad did not tell scripted jokes. He just poked fun at things happening right in front of him. His grin and sparkly eyes got right to the point. As he aged, he’d laugh, “I’m just an old fart.”  His commentary about life, and himself was a delight. One of his favorites, after he would accomplish anything, large or small, “Damn, I’m good!”
Storyteller:
You knew a good one was coming when Dad would clear his throat a few times, “Uh-ah-ahem, ahem. Well, one time when…” He told fabulous stories, and he was a polished storyteller using the right pauses, vocalizations, gestures and grins.
Social:
He loved being around people, and in his last years he enjoyed living in a large facility. He would make his rounds pushing his wheelchair, signing in at the front desk, and greeting everyone. I would call him and although he was unsure who I was, or how to describe what was happening around him, he would say with conviction , “Well, ahem, we are very busy here. We have some projects we need to take care of. I better go.”

Whenever I told him about something I had accomplished, was presently doing, or especially coming for a visit, there was never a hesitation, “Won-der-ful!”

I’m heading out to buy two things:
Original ChapStick and a bar of Lava soap.
Now that’s my dad!

P.S. Hey Dad, somehow I know Mr. Hughes will greet you with
new flight plans.

 

 

 

From a speech at the WAHCA Conference 2015
(Washington State Home Care Association)

Introduction:
After a 35 year career in graphic design, Ginny Moore made the plunge
from sitting behind a desk to sitting in front of a human. “Care giving is wonderfully rewarding and consistently challenging. I consider it
to be a spiritual practice.” She is the author of Don’t Make Lemonade:
Leaning Into Life’s Difficult Transitions. Ginny has worked as a CNA
for the company With a Little Help for four years.

I was a hot shot in the graphic design world.
I’ve art directed national magazines.
I’ve designed and produced retail catalogs,
and opened up a national flagship store.
And today?
I walk beside a 93 year old using a gait belt. We hurry towards
the bathroom. We hope we make it in time! I pull her pants down,
then her Depends. She sits down. Whew!
Here I am… you know what… cleaning up her bottom!
Did I sign up for this?
Yes. Yes, I did.

I am a caregiver.
People may define me:
• as  a baby-sitter for old folks
• as a low-income wage earner
• as the help
But, People also define me this way:
“You were my dad’s angel. You came and I think he felt free to die.
He knew Mom would be okay because you would be there.”
“Have your ears been burning? My dad adores you and talks
about you all the time.”
“I was not happy about having someone come over. But, I like you.
This will be fine.”

As a caregiver, I do not work in “the cloud.”
I work face to face. And my job is:
…to connect with you, so that you will trust me.
…to problem-solve. If I give you one part of your meal and
one utensil at a time, you are not confused.
…to feel your discomfort and stop talking before you become agitated.
…to laugh with you… just before your shower—which you hate.
“Does the church know about what I want for my funeral?”
Yes. Are you concerned your shower might kill you? “It might!”
…to watch fun movies with you. Doesn’t matter that I’ve have seen
You’ve Got Mail over 20 times.
…to do personal care. I change your very soiled pants with diarrhea
running down your legs and unto your shoes and unto the floor.
I hear you whimpering. I gently say, “It’s okay.”

What does a caregiver want from an employer…you?
• We appreciate it when you hire the best caregivers out there,
so that we feel supported as a team and confident leaving our client.
• We are grateful for an organized and sharp staff who manages our schedules, keeps us informed, and treats us fairly.
• We would love a random call from you… just to check in. We often feel
isolated out in the field.
• We need your discretion to find us clients who respect us,
and won’t chew us up and spit us out.
• We appreciate your support when we feel overwhelmed or burned out.
We need tools, not just about doing a bed bath, but about the art of caring.
• We are grateful of your support by showing us our worth with the highest wage you can handle, and health insurance wouldn’t hurt either.
• We ask that you keep in mind…who is your biggest asset?

As a caregiver
I’ve grown and stretched and learned about:
• perseverance   • commitment  • mindfulness  and love.
I am blessed to have incredible moments of connection
with other human beings.

Hey, I guess I am a hot shot again… in the care-giving world.
• I watch a woman start to smile, laugh, and sing again. She is getting
the personal attention she has lacked for most of her married life. She is 91.
• I receive a big hug from a man with Parkinson’s who can barely whisper.
He’s so grateful that I’ve simply organized his kitchen pantry.
• I visit a woman with MS who is wheelchair bound. Her husband does all personal care. Why am I there? My biggest task is to simply wash her hair.
To listen. And be a friend.

And today?
I help a woman face the end of her life. I stay.
I turn her and touch her and hum a familiar song. I stay.
I remind her what a difference she has made in her
lifetime…and in mine. I stay.
I sit next to her and watch her quietly moving
to the other side. I stay.
Did I sign up for this?

Yes. Yes, I did.

Special note: Sarel Rowe (from With a Little Help)
received the award for Best Caregiver of 2015. Congrats, my friend!

 

Vada May
1921–2015

Vada May and her husband, Jack, left so many legacies behind: scholarships, building funds, endowments, and volunteering for places like Seattle Prep (Catholic Jesuit school), Children’s Hospital and Mary’s Place, to name a few.

But, they also left behind the legacy of a mark or impression on others: business folks, educators, doctors, family members, friends, neighbors and…caregivers. The legacy of a life changed.

Vada May had unusual independence for her generation, quipped great witty one liners, knew how to put a stylish outfit together, all mixed in with plenty of spunk. She knew what she wanted, when she wanted it and exactly how far she wanted you to draw the curtains.

She was also passionate about giving. A letter would come in about Mary’s Place (a shelter for women). She would just hand it to me and name a big $ amount without blinking an eye. She loved her musicals, mystery books and splitting a Reuben sandwich with root beer with me at the Bay Cafe. In August she would start thinking about and planning her annual handmade Christmas card (since 1944!). One day, we were working on a design together and she was pushing for perfection. I said to her, “Vada May, you are driving me crazy!” She looked up at me and without missing a  beat, “Just wait. I can do better!”

• A few samples of wit and humor:
  • The paramedics came in to assess her medical issue. He said, “Does this happen more when you lay down?” She gave me a look, “Should I?” I nodded, “Go for it.” She corrected him, “It’s LIE down.”
  • “You going to wear your new PJ’s?” She answers, “My bed won’t recognize me!”
  • The night before a perm day. “I wish I would wake up and my hair would be all done!”
  • When she would make a mistake at a crossword and have to white-out a letter, I would hear her say, “Dummy, dumb-dumb.” “Vada May, why are you saying that? You’re NOT dumb!” “I like to say that. It reminds me that I’m not perfect.”
  • She would say after waking up from a nap, “I’m DYING of thirst!” She would take just ONE sip,  “Okay, that’s good.” I would tease her, “Here are the headlines in tomorrow’s paper: 93-year-old woman dies from dehydration. Caregiver gets 15–20 years.
  • Just before a shower: “Does the church have all the information about my funeral and where I’m supposed to be buried?” I answered, “Yes, they do. Are you worried that your shower might kill you?” ” Well, it might!”
  • Her most quoted line (from her mother) “You might not feel good, but you can always look good.”

Vada May was my client for over three years and I felt strongly committed to take care of her right the end. Caring for someone a few weeks before death was, surprisingly, one of the easiest things I have done. Once I got past the initial realization that this woman was going to be gone very soon, and let the grief flow in and out of me, I settled in. I felt honored to be there during her last week. Things become very quiet in that last week. I found myself wanting to just stay totally in the present, not projecting about anything post-death. Just sitting. In silence.

By knowing Vada May, I learned many things about her and in turn, about myself. Two things come to mind: passion and commitment. I learned that being passionate about life is a good way to live. When you do the things you want to do, have things the way you would like them, it brings deep satisfaction and contentment to your life. I also learned about perseverance and commitment.  When you think you can’t squeeze another drop of patience out of your body, you stay. And you reap the benefits by being there when it counts. You stay. You watch and sit and hold a hand when it’s needed for a little comfort.

A life ends, but another life has changed… forever.

I sent out my 2015 New Year’s card and decided to hand deliver one to my client. On the back of the flat card, I wrote Happy Holidays and signed it:
With much love, the Pest! Ginny

At first she looked at the return address and grinned up at me, “I don’t know anyone by that name.” Then, she read the card. What a delight to hear her laugh out loud when she came to the ending. She became quiet and said, “You got a letter wrong.” Now, she is an expert grammarian and is always catching me saying or writing the wrong thing, as well as finding many grammatical errors in the paper, magazines, obits and other people’s letters.

I turned to her and said, “No, I didn’t!”

“The letter should have been a B!”

Awwww.

Excuse me! I really hate to admit it, but I have a lot of mixed feelings when someone comes up with an extraordinarily creative idea. Especially one that I WISH I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF MYSELF! I am delighted because it is so funny and makes me laugh out loud, and I am just plain envious. Well, that’s just the way it is. Bless you, Hannah. I am grateful for your talent. Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Artist: Hannah Rothstein
Photography: How Famous Artists Would Plate Thanksgiving Meals

http://www.hrothstein.com/thanksgiving-special/

Piet Mondrian

Climate is what we expect,
weather is what we get.
Mark Twain

Dang. I guess I am a California girl, after all. Although I’ve lived in Seattle for more than 20 years, I confess, ice-boxy weather still makes me shiver. I admit it is refreshing to feel the bite of a chilly wind. Wakes me up and forces me to brace against a real weather element. Reminds me to prepare for changes. Bring out the winter clothes, and shove the summer ones deeper into the closet. Put the potted plants under cover, and wrap the hummingbird feeder up with a ski glove and towel to keep the frost away.

We never had “real” weather elements in Southern California. Mostly warm, sunny days. And more sunny days. One after another, until they just became a blur. We could plan a picnic and NEVER think about adding a rain date. Seasons would feel coolish, warmer, hot, and then finally week-long heat waves. On the rare occasion of rain, the day brought hours of drenching downpour. A gray, cloudy day was not popular, but a rainy day meant stay indoors…at all costs! A winter day at 60 degrees was considered heavy jacket weather. Before I moved to Seattle, I was clueless about the necessity of wool coats, recycled polyester fleece or Gore-Tex.

I have grown to like real weather. It’s totally unpredictable and out of my control. How refreshing for a change. And,  stunning examples of nature show up to play. The clearest, cleanest sky I’ve ever seen. The whitest, puffiest clouds with pinky-coral outlines glide across above me. The azure blue hue of the sky just before darkness drifts in. The sound of a breeze whispering through leaves. The feel of heavy winds whipping my hair into a frenzy. The striking of raindrops on my windshield with tiny rivers of liquid wavering downward. The whitecaps on wave tips crashing against the sound wall and splaying upwards. The stinging spray of salt water assaulting my face. The light, white nights of a snowfall.

Prepare for the frost. Winter is passing through.
Throw on a down jacket, a hat and gloves, warm socks and hearty boots.
You’ll survive, you weather wimp!