Peg Kerr's Journal

As we have for many, many years, my siblings, our children, and our significant others gathered (with my mom) in our homes the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve.

I hosted Christmas Eve in my home with Eric, his son Michah, and Delia and her fiance Chris. Then Fiona and Alona and I went to Delia's new apartment for Christmas morning.

I hosted a brunch for the family sometime during the week, and my sisters hosted during the evenings. We visited mom in her new assisted living apartment, went bowling, went out one evening to a speakeasy, went to movies, played karaoke, and just relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. As we always do, we gathered at my sister's on New Year's Eve day for a feast of Chinese food, provided by my mom, and hung out with each other.

I do feel extraordinarily lucky: I genuinely enjoy spending time with my family--and that means my mom, all my siblings and my nephews and nieces. I know from my time on social media that not all families can say this. My sisters, my brother and I get along so well, and our children are bright, curious, and immensely interesting people who also revel in each other's company. And the new family members we are beginning to add as our children grow up and find partners are filling in well, too.

This is the last collage of the year. I do intend to continue with my collages next year.

Image description: Different views of members of a family facing the camera, all smiling. Interspersed among the images of people are images of holiday celebrations food.

Celebrations



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I have been reluctant to talk about it, but the arthritis in my left wrist has worsened to such a degree that I broke down and did something I was reluctant to do. I got a cortisone shot in the bones of my wrist. Getting the shot was as unpleasant as you might imagine. The doctor used an ultrasound machine to guide the needle, but there was a bony ridge between my wrist bones (due to the arthritis) that made it difficult to direct the cortisone into the right place. So that was about four or five very painful minutes of mucking around. I held the aide's hand really, really hard and made a number of pained squeaks.

But the relief has been profound, and I'm grateful I did it. Now the only question is how long the relief will last. I have talked to others who have had this done, and for some, the relief has lasted six months. For others, it is much less.

Background, semi-transparent: ultrasound machine overlaid with a fluffy feather. Over the feather is an outstretched woman's hand. A syringe in the lower left corner is pointed at the woman's wrist.

Relief



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Once again, I had an embarrassment of riches of choice for Thanksgiving holiday dinner. Rob's family gathered at his brother Lance's, and my sister-in-law made it clear that this is the last year they will be doing the big gathering, which is entirely fair. It's a huge undertaking to host over thirty people. And my sister Cindy had a gathering for my side of the family, conveniently a couple of hours after Lance and Mary's gathering, so I could go to the first home for dinner and the second for dessert, with great conversations at both places. Wonderful food, wonderful company.

Bottom: a buffet set with Thanksgiving food. Above that: a family gathers around a table. Above that: a second family is also gathered around a table. Top center: a Thanksgiving turkey table runner.

Thanksgiving



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I woke up at 12:15 am and checked the news.

Heartsick, I did not sleep for the rest of the night.

This is going to be so awful.

Image description: A pair of hands holds a phone with a screen displaying the news that Trump has won the election. Background: a fireball, overlaid with Albrecht Dürer's The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Election



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Not a particularly good collage, but I am at a particularly low ebb right now.

I voted early last week. It helped my anxiety over the election (which is considerable) to get it done early.

I have written and erased this statement three times, but decided, in the end, to just say it-- although I never thought I would have to say something like this about elections in America:

I hope our country manages a peaceful election, comes to a clear decision (the correct one, dammit), and survives the result and the transition of the rightful leader without violence.

Image description: A sample ballot for the 2024 election. Overlay: A 'Vote Here' sign, a 'I voted today' sticker, a sign with instructions regarding curbside voting. Center, semi-transparent: a "vote" sticker, with an American flag and balloons and ribbons.

Vote



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I was out for dinner with a friend the week before last, and we were talking about our aging mothers. I was telling her that my mother was handling her increasing years in the best way possible: she had built an extensive social network, she was exercising regularly (water aerobics, strength training, chair yoga), she had downsized her living situation thoughtfully and was in a great community in a lovely apartment, perfectly sized for her needs. She was using a walker to get around and was still pretty spry, as well as cautious and careful--she could go outside her building and walk all the way around it to sit in the garden. For a woman who was ninety-six years old, she was doing extraordinarily well.

This is a picture from her 96th birthday celebration, a little over a month ago:



A couple of days after that conversation with my friend, I got a call from one of my sisters: Mom had fainted in an elevator at her senior community (fortunately, she had friends around her at the time and so got help immediately). We knew that mom was always careful to be holding onto something when she walked anywhere, but I, at least, never considered the danger that a faint could cause. She had cracked three vertebrae in the back and was now at the hospital.

My siblings and I were immediately plunged into a daunting caregiver situation. My mother has been very independent, but now, with the huge back brace she had to wear, she was, at least for the moment, unable to walk or care for herself. Healing, we were told, could take 6-12 weeks. And this is an enormous insult for a 96-year-old body to absorb.

All of our lives were about to change in drastic ways.

As I thought about the design of this collage, I kept wavering between the titles of 'Independent' and 'Dependent.' Mom has been very independent for a woman her age but that wasn't true anymore, really, was it?

And yet 'dependent' didn't seem quite right, either. It is almost as if my mind shies away from the term, as if it were impossible to see her that way. We don't truly know what her prognosis will be. Mom certainly isn't helpless. Moreover, she has a horror of being what she perceives as a 'bother' to people.

More than that, I thought about how she cared for my two sisters and my brother and I when we were babies and children, and now we were turning full circle and we were caring for her. Doing so feels so right. When she frets over what she is putting us through, we all tell her honestly and lovingly, that we are glad to help her. We are honored to do so. How could we do any less for her than what she has done for us?

I was also struck by the sight that met me when I visited my mom in the hospital. Here was a woman who was lying flat on her back with a broken spine--and yet she had the head of her bed cranked up so that she could continue knitting a prayer shawl for somebody else. How could someone who would do that, who could care so much for the needs of others, be seen as merely dependent?

The proper title of this collage, I finally realized, was Interdependent. Facing this crisis, my siblings and I immediately formed a cohesive team--fortunately, we all get along extremely well, and we trust each other. We are interacting with the various staff members of the transitional care unit where she has been transferred (the facility where she is now is great). Again, that is interdependence.

So: we are starting on a new journey together, my siblings, my mom, and I. I don't know where it will take us. But we feel proud and honored to accompany her, every step of the way.

When I took the central picture that was the start of this collage, I was struck by how my mother's back reminded me of the back of her beloved cello. She played it for over eighty years. It was a symbol of her creativity, her joy of music, her development as a fully-rounded person. Now she cannot see it well enough to play it, and as she became more frail, it became more difficult for her to lift. One of our tasks is to follow up with the person who is repairing the cello and offering it for consignment sale. We hope that another fine musician will buy Mom's instrument, and the cello will give that new owner the joy that it gave Mom.

Here is Mom's CaringBridge (you do need a CaringBridge login and password to access it).

Image description: an older woman wearing a hospital gown and a large surgical back brace sits with her back to the camera. Facing her, two nurses bend forward to assist her, adjusting the front of the brace. Lower center: a pair of hands knit a prayer shawl. Upper center: the back of a cello. The shape of the cello back echoes the shape of the woman's back. Background, behind all of the figures: an energy field with sparks

Interdependence



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Our bishop Jen Nagel has now been formally installed. It was a splendid and joyful service, held at Central Lutheran in downtown Minneapolis.

I am curious to see how her term as Bishop will unfold. I do like her very much.

The text at the top of the collage is from one of the readings at the service.

Image description: Background: a magnificent church interior (Central Lutheran, Minneapolis). Center: two women stand behind a prie-dieu. The woman on the right is dressed in a red bishop's chasuble and holds a bishop's crozier. Behind them is a metal screen with lit red votive candles. Lower right corner: communion trays. Top in white text: "Clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony."

Installation



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It has taken several weeks, but the huge brick-and-board bookcase that was in my bedroom, crammed with a large part of Rob's science fiction/fantasy book collection, is gone. I asked several family members if they wanted the books but got rid of only a handful of the books that way. Then, I checked with a coworker who is an SF/fantasy fan and he happily removed a couple of hundred books for the collection. As I had mentioned earlier, I took some and distributed them in local Little Free Libraries.

Finally, I decided that the most efficient method was to take the books, a box at a time, to Don Blyly at the Uncle Hugo's Science Fiction bookstore. Don would look through each box and generally took somewhere between 1/2 to 2/3 of them. He would offer a sum, either in credit or half that value in cash. I took cash, because I am not trying to encourage myself to buy more books. It generally would come out to somewhere between $5 - $15 a box. I could hear Rob screaming in protest in my mind with every box, but I did it, and I am glad it is done.

I will probably take several more boxes of books piled up in corners. There are still many many books left in the house. But I am next turning my attention to doing over the bedroom. For one thing, getting rid of the books has revealed how disgusting the 30+ year carpet is. Ugh. I want to rip it out.

It has been hard, emotional work. It is odd--these were books I had not generally read myself. Why was it so difficult to get rid of them? I think it was because Rob was so passionately tied to his collection, it was as if a part of his essence had seeped into it, and it felt as though getting rid of them was getting rid of him.

I have worked through it, however, and the bulk of the books are gone. I did pull some off the shelf that I had read and loved myself. But I will go through them and see if I can get them out of the library, and if I can, I will take those too, in a future trip.

Image description: Three views of a brick-and-board bookcase in the process of being dismantled. Top: a semi-transparent view of the books from floor to ceiling. Center: a view with the books with one board left in place. Bottom: a view of the baseboard with the marks of the supporting bricks left on the carpet. All the bricks and boards are gone. Hovering over the semi-transparent bookcase is the signage for Uncle Hugo's Science Fiction Bookstore/Uncle Edgar's Mystery Bookstore.

Dismantling



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I had trouble coming up with a topic for a collage this week. This happens occasionally. I mentioned this problem to Eric and said idly, "Maybe I could do one on fruit flies. [I've been fighting a serious fruit fly infestation.]

Eric made a face, as well he might. "Seriously?"

I can see his point.

Really, nothing happened last week. I continue to struggle a bit with my health (the coughing continues) and my sleep disorder, so I didn't go out to do anything interesting. I often was in my pajamas by 6 or 7 pm and read in bed (and then, usually, would wake up at 2:30 am and lie awake for hours). Ugh.

As I was scratching for ideas (and coming up scratch), it occurred to me how dull my life has seemed lately.

So I made a card about dullness. How do you make a collage about dullness?

Laundry. Bills.

Nothingness.

Not depression, I hasten to assure you. I honestly am not depressed at all.

I just don't have anything interesting going on right now.

Blah.

Maybe next week will be better.

Background: rain-soaked blurred view out a window. Foreground: basket of laundry with a fruit fly trap beside it in the right corner. Center: bills. Upper center: checkbook.

Dull



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By all rights, I should be doing this collage about attending Mythcon. But another matter rather preoccupied my mind this past week.

Specifically, my health had deteriorated to such a point that my coworkers kept ordering me to go home because of my out-of-control coughing. As I mentioned, I contracted some type of viral infection at the beginning of of July, and last week, my asthma really spiraled out of control. It destroyed my sleep, and exasperated my patience and--gah. Finally, I went back to the doctor. My chest x-ray was clear, thank goodness, but the doctor ordered all the big guns. I went to Mythcon, as I said, wearing a mask (both because of the local Covid surge and because the meds lower my immunity), and enjoyed the con as best I could despite all the side effects.

I am finally starting to feel a bit better.

The sword in the card is one of a pair of hair sticks I wore to the con. I lost one of them during the course of weekend but fortunately found it again. But as I was looking for the hair stick, I started thinking about swords, about defense, and that prompted the concept behind the collage.

Image description: Center: chest x-ray. Foreground: an N95 mask, overlaid with a sword. Lower left and lower right corners: prescription bottles. Pills stream out of the bottles toward the lungs.

Defense



Click on the links to see the 2024, 2023, 2022 and 2021 52 Card Project galleries.