Day 16…Minnesota family visit…Great time at Miles’ graduation party…

Posted by worldwide-admin on with 0 Comment
Our boy Miles. We are so proud of him.

It was a cold, rainy, and windy day, the kind that usually sends people retreating indoors, wrapping themselves in blankets, and canceling plans. But not this time. Not for Miles. Not for this milestone. Nearly one hundred invitees showed up, jackets zipped, hoods pulled tight, all determined to celebrate this moment with him. Something was comforting in that, a reminder that even the most uninviting weather cannot dampen the importance of family, connection, and shared joy.

Son Greg and granddaughter Madighan. For some odd reason, I can’t find the photos I took of Maisie Heather and Megan. We will add their photos next time we get together.

The tables were filled with an abundance of food that seemed to stretch endlessly. There were trays of meats and cheeses, salads, sandwiches, bowls of snacks, and desserts that looked as though they had been made with care and pride. Tom was in his own version of heaven. I watched him with a smile as he indulged in treats he so often avoids in our day-to-day lives. The highlight for him, without question, was the homemade strawberry shortcake prepared by our ex-daughter-in-law, Camille. Alongside that were potato chips and sweet snacks that he enjoyed without hesitation. For me, I stayed simple, picking at the meats and cheeses, content in my own way. It was hard resisting that cake, but I didn’t take a bite.

Miles and Madighan.

By the time we made our way back to the hotel close to 5:00 pm, neither of us had any desire for another bite of food. It was one of those rare and satisfying moments when you feel finished, not deprived, not overthinking, just done. We didn’t eat another morsel for the rest of the evening, and it felt perfectly fine.

A photo of Miles, me, and Greg at a Minnesota Twins ballgame a few years ago.

What made the day truly special, though, was being surrounded by family. Seeing our son Greg again always brings a sense of grounding, and it was lovely to spend time with his girlfriend, Heather, and her daughter, Megan, whose graduation party we’ll attend next Sunday. And then there were our three grandchildren, Maisie, Miles, and Madighan, each one growing into their own lives in ways that make us proud. They sat with us at times, talking easily and sharing pieces of their lives, while also moving in and out of the party’s busy energy.

This was only a small portion of the food.

One of the most fascinating touches of the day was the setup for what they called “dirty sodas.” I had heard of them in passing, but this was my first time seeing such an elaborate display. There were cans of soda lined up on ice, along with flavored syrups and cream, all ready to be mixed and customized. It seemed to be the latest trend among the younger crowd, and they embraced it with enthusiasm. We chose not to try one, content to observe from the sidelines, but it was fun to watch their excitement as they created their own combinations.

For much of the party, Miles and his friends were immersed in lawn games, laughing and competing in that easy way young people do. The adults, on the other hand, gathered in small groups, conversations weaving in and out as stories were shared and connections renewed. Every so often, Miles would pause, step away from his friends, and come over to acknowledge us. Those small gestures meant more than he probably realizes.

The strawberry shortcake was the hardest item for me to resist, but I didn’t take so much as a taste.

Madighan and Maisie spent time sitting with us, chatting along with Greg, Heather, and Megan. It struck me how responsible all three grandchildren have become. Each of them has a job, has purchased their own car, and takes care of their own insurance. There is something deeply reassuring in seeing that level of independence at their age. Their futures look bright, and that thought stayed with me long after we left.

The drinks and supplies for making “dirty sodas.”

It was also a pleasure to catch up with Camille and hear about how well she is doing. Life moves forward in unexpected ways, but there was a genuine ease in our conversation, a sense that time has softened everything into something manageable and kind.

Daughter-in-law Camille and Tom.

By the time we returned to the hotel, the contrast between the cold outdoors and the warmth inside felt especially comforting. We changed into more comfortable clothes and settled in for a quiet evening, watching Survivor, Season 50. After the damp air and hours of conversation, my coughing continued, lingering from this illness that refuses to let go fully. Being warm and still brought a sense of relief.

It had been a full day, in every sense of the word. A day of family, of small indulgences, of laughter, and of reflection. That is enough for now. We will be back.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, June 1, 2016:

Low tide at the beach on a cloudy day in Bali. For more photos, please click here.

Day 15…Minnesota family visit…Today is Miles’ graduation party!…We will be there!…

Posted by worldwide-admin on with 0 Comment

For the first time since we arrived in Minnesota fifteen days ago, we are going to see family with many more get-togethers over the upcoming week. That simple sentence carries more weight than I expected. It feels like stepping out of a long, dim tunnel into a bit of light. Today is our grandson Miles’ graduation party at Lake Waconia, a 35-minute drive, and despite everything our bodies have been through, we are going.

Yesterday, the idea of getting dressed in anything other than yoga pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and Tom’s thick white socks felt almost unreasonable. Those clothes have become my uniform, my cocoon during weeks of coughing, fatigue, and restless nights. But I made a small decision. I laid out my clothes last night. A simple outfit. Comfortable shoes. A few pieces of jewelry that felt like a nod to the person I was before all of this. Looking at them, I realized it might not be so hard after all.

This morning, I woke abruptly after another broken night. The kind filled with strange dreams that dissolve the moment you open your eyes, interrupted again and again by coughing fits that leave your chest aching. Still, I didn’t linger. I swung my legs out of bed with more determination than strength and decided I would move forward with purpose. I want to greet this day with something that resembles energy, even if it is borrowed.

I am aware that what I feel inside and how I appear on the outside may not fully align. For weeks now, my body has felt heavy, as though each limb requires negotiation. I have grown used to moving slowly, carefully, conserving what little energy I have. But today, I do not want to walk into Miles’ party looking like someone who has been defeated. I want to show up as his grandmother, proud, present, and there to celebrate him.

Before getting sick, I had found such joy in movement again. After months of regular exercise, I was finally walking with ease and confidence. That memory feels distant now. A month of illness has changed everything. My legs feel like lead after so much time spent resting. Pneumonia has a way of humbling you. It reduces life to the most basic act of breathing, and even that can feel like work.

I remind myself that this is temporary. Once the coughing finally fades, I will begin again. Slowly, patiently. I imagine that moment somewhere ahead, perhaps when we arrive in Marloth Park in South Africa on June 11. I picture the warmth, the open space, the sense of starting fresh. It gives me something to hold onto.

Tom is improving, which is a relief, though he is far from himself. He tires easily and often needs to nap. I can see the frustration in him, the longing to feel normal again. We both carry that same wish. To wake up without heaviness. To move through a day without calculating our energy. To be.

Today’s party begins at noon and will go until four. A manageable window, we tell ourselves. We will pace it, take breaks if needed, and listen to our bodies. By five, we should be back at the hotel, hopefully with full hearts and just enough energy left to reflect on the day.

There is something comforting in knowing that even in the middle of illness, life continues to offer moments worth showing up for. Today is one of those moments. And we are going today, as well as all the other family events we have planned this upcoming week.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, May 31, 2016:

Buffaloes were lining up for their turn at the buffalo races in Bali. For more photos, please click here.

Day 14…Minnesota family visit…The saga continues

Posted by worldwide-admin on with 2 Comments
Our last dinner out with Rita and Gerhard while in Vancouver, Washington. I was sick the entire four days we were with them but it hadn’t quite manifested into pneumonia.

I am so sorry we have posted so seldom since we arrived in Minnesota and during the road trip that brought us here. It seems strange to look back and realize how much time has passed in a haze of coughing, fatigue, and days that blur together. Since I got sick on May 1, I have yet to recover fully. Tom has been dealing with it since we left Vancouver, Washington, on May 12. When we say it out loud, it hardly seems possible that we have been sick for this long.

Something is unsettling about an illness that lingers. At first, you assume it will pass in a few days, maybe a week at most. You push through, telling yourself tomorrow will be better. But then tomorrow comes, and it feels much the same. And then another tomorrow follows. Before long, you find yourself measuring time not by what you have done or where you have gone, but by how you feel when you wake up each morning.

Tom is ahead of me on the recovery path, which is encouraging. I can see small improvements in him each day, and that gives me hope. Still, I know I am trailing behind, and I suspect I will be lucky to feel fully recovered by the time we board our flight to South Africa on June 9, nine days from now. I am holding onto the hope that I will be much further along by then, even if not completely well.

Right now, the idea of two full days of travel feels intimidating. Airports, long flights, waiting, walking, sitting for hours at a time. Under normal circumstances, it is simply part of the journey, something we have done many times before. But in this weakened state, everything feels magnified. Even the smallest tasks require effort and determination.

At this moment, as I write, we are sitting in a laundromat, 12 minutes from our hotel. It feels like such a simple errand, something we would normally do without a second thought. Yet today, this has taken planning and energy, and we are not sure we have. The hum of the machines fills the room, steady and almost comforting, but even being here feels like an accomplishment.

The laundry equipment at the hotel is not working. They installed a new payment system, which doesn’t work. Of course it isn’t. It seems fitting in a way, as though even the smallest obstacles have become larger than they should be. We look at each other, tired and a little frustrated, but mostly just resigned. This is where we are right now. This is what these days look like.

And yet, even in the middle of all of this, there is a strong sense of perseverance. We are still moving forward, even if it is slower than we would like. We are still showing up for the tasks that need to be done, even when they feel overwhelming. There is something to be said for that.

We remind ourselves that this will pass. That there will come a morning when we wake up and feel like ourselves again. The energy will return, and with it, the excitement for what lies ahead. South Africa is waiting, and we want to meet that experience with open hearts and renewed strength.

For now, we take it one day at a time. One load of laundry, one short outing, one small step forward. It may not look like much from the outside, but from where we are standing, it is everything.

Tomorrow will be our first real family outing since arriving, and it feels like a milestone. We are heading to Miles’ graduation party at Lake Waconia, something we have been looking forward to despite everything. It will be an outdoor event, though we hope there will be some cover in case the weather does not cooperate. Today has been grey and gloomy. We missed Miles’ graduation ceremony a few days ago, but were able to watch it on a live stream on the TV. There was no way we could have been sitting there hacking, disturbing the atmosphere for the graduates.

Even with the uncertainty, there is an excitement about finally stepping back into family life. We have spent so many days isolated, focused only on getting through each hour, that the idea of being surrounded by loved ones feels both comforting and a little overwhelming. It will be, in a way, our first test of how far we have come.

Next week is shaping up to be full, almost surprisingly so given where we have been physically. There is something planned nearly every day. On Wednesday, we will head into the studio to record another podcast with Joe Soucheray and the Garage Logic crew, something we enjoy and look forward to. It will be good to sit, talk, and feel connected again in that familiar setting.

In between, we will spend time with Tom’s siblings, their children, and grandchildren, as well as my son Greg and his three kids. These are the moments that matter most, the reason we made this trip in the first place. Being present for them, even in a limited way, feels important.

At the same time, there is an undercurrent of concern that we cannot ignore. After being sick for so long, we both know how fragile our recovery still feels. It does not take much to tip the balance, and the last thing we want is to relapse just as we begin to reenter the world. We are aware of our limits in a way that is hard to explain unless you have lived it.

So we will move carefully. We will pace ourselves. We will make every effort to rest as much as possible between these gatherings, even if it means stepping away early or sitting quietly while the activity around us continues. It is a different way of participating, but it is the only way that makes sense right now.

There is a delicate balance between wanting to be fully present and needing to protect our health. We are doing our best to honor both. Perhaps that is what this stage of life and travel is teaching us: how to adjust, how to listen more closely to our bodies, and how to appreciate even the smallest moments of connection.

Tomorrow will be the beginning of that effort. Rain or shine, we will show up, grateful to be there, hopeful that our strength will carry us through, and mindful of every step along the way.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, May 30, 2016:

We spotted this large fishing boat in Bali. It was surprising to see how many people were on board. For more photos, please click here.

Day 11…Minnesota family visit…still sick…still coughing…What do we do about tomorrow’s upcoming grduation ceremony?…

Posted by worldwide-admin on with 2 Comments
On Sunday, we will attend Miles’ graduation party held lakeside,

Today marks three days since that visit to Urgent Care, the one that finally gave a name to what has been settling deeper into our chests with each passing day. Pneumonia. It sounded heavy when the doctor said it, as if the word itself carried weight. In some ways, it felt like a strange relief to know what we were dealing with, but that feeling didn’t last long once we returned to the quiet of our room and faced the reality of what recovery would look like.

We had both started the antibiotics with a sense of cautious optimism. From years of experience, we’ve come to expect that familiar turning point somewhere around the 48-hour mark. That subtle shift when the body begins to cooperate again, when breathing eases, and when energy slowly returns. This time, that moment has been elusive. We wait for it, almost watching the clock, hoping each passing hour will bring relief, but the change has been far more subtle than we’d hoped.

Yes, there is some improvement. The coughing is not quite as constant as it was before. There are longer stretches of quiet now, moments when the room feels still and we can almost pretend we are on the other side of this. But when the coughing does come, it arrives with a force that reminds us we are not there yet. The intensity has softened, perhaps by twenty percent, but it still grips the chest, still leaves us catching our breath and holding onto whatever is nearby for support.

It is exhausting in a way that is difficult to explain. Not just physically, though that is certainly part of it, but emotionally as well. Each cough feels like a setback, even when we know, logically, that healing is not a straight path. We remind ourselves of that often. Healing takes time. The body works quietly, beneath the surface, even when we cannot feel it.

Far from our usual routines and comforts, we find ourselves adjusting to a slower pace, one that is not chosen but necessary. The days blend in a haze of medications, warm and cold drinks, and rest that never quite feels complete. Sleep comes in fragments, interrupted by coughing fits that pull us back into wakefulness. There is a certain loneliness in those early morning hours, when the world outside is still, and we are left listening to the sound of our own breathing.

We talk often, Tom and I, in between these stretches. Conversations that drift between concern and reassurance. Are we getting better? Shouldn’t we be feeling more improvement by now? Did we wait too long before seeking help? These questions circle our thoughts, never fully landing, but always present.

And yet, there is also gratitude woven into all of this. Gratitude for seeking care when we did. Gratitude for having the medication, even if it is taking longer than expected to do its work. Gratitude for each small sign of progress, no matter how minor it may seem.

This experience has reminded us, once again, how fragile the body can be. How quickly plans can change. How important it is to listen when something feels off, even when we are tempted to push through.

So here we are, three days in, somewhere between where we were and where we hope to be. Not fully better, not nearly as strong as we’d like, but moving, however slowly, in the right direction. And for now, that has to be enough.

Tomorrow is our grandson Miles’ graduation, a day we have been holding close in our hearts. We have not canceled yet, even as this illness lingers. However, there will be a live online broadcast we can watch from here. When I wrote to him last night, his sweet reply reminded us what matters most. He told us to keep getting better. I promised we would be at his party on Sunday at Lake Waconia, no matter what. Being outdoors will help, and with cool weather expected, we will bundle up, quietly present, grateful to share in his special moment, even if we are not quite ourselves.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, May 27, 2016

In Bali…in many ways, they’re so much like us. For more photos, please click here.

Memorial Day in US today…Day 9…Minnesota family visit…We went to Urgent Care…Here’s the diagnosis…

Posted by worldwide-admin on with 2 Comments

On this Memorial Day, we pause to reflect on the lives lost in service to our nation. May we carry their memory with gratitude and live in a way that honors their sacrifice.

Unfortunately, we are too sick to share this special holiday with our family here in Minnesota. Instead of gathering around a table filled with familiar foods and easy laughter, we find ourselves tucked away in our hotel room, moving slowly through the day, doing what we can to recover from this dreadful illness that seems to have taken hold far longer than either of us ever expected.

Memorial Day has always carried a quiet significance for us. It is not just a long weekend or the unofficial start of summer, but a time to pause and reflect, to remember those who gave everything for the lives we are fortunate to live. There is usually a sense of togetherness, whether at a backyard gathering or simply sitting side by side with loved ones. This year, that feeling is replaced with something far more subdued. Our world has shrunk to this room, to tissues and water glasses, to the sound of coughing that has become all too familiar.

After reading about the tragic and early passing of a 41-year-old race car driver due to complications from pneumonia and sepsis, something shifted in me. It was a sobering reminder of how quickly things can escalate. I had been encouraging Tom for days to go to Urgent Care, but like many of us, he hesitated. Perhaps it was stubbornness, or maybe the hope that tomorrow would bring improvement. Yesterday morning, when he woke feeling no better, he finally agreed.

Even then, I had every intention of making this appointment all about Tom. I was still weak, still coughing more than I would like, but after three long weeks, I convinced myself I must be on the verge of turning a corner. This appointment, I thought, was for Tom. He needed it more. But Tom, in his gentle and persistent way, encouraged me to be seen as well, just in case.

While he was standing at the reception desk, filling out his intake forms, I made a last-minute decision to be assessed as well. It felt almost unnecessary at the time, but it turned out to be one of those decisions that matter more than you realize in the moment.

With our similar symptoms, they brought us into the same treatment room. There was something oddly comforting about that, being side by side in this unexpected turn of events. After taking our vitals and listening carefully to our symptoms, they ordered chest X-rays for both of us. I did not expect much from mine. I thought perhaps they would confirm what I already believed, that I was on the mend.

Instead, the results came back with surprising clarity. I have pneumonia. Hearing those words caught me off guard in a way I cannot quite describe. Tom’s X-ray was more difficult to interpret due to the scar tissue from his pulmonary fibrosis, but given his symptoms, they made the decision to treat him for pneumonia as well.

Suddenly, everything felt more serious, but also, in a strange way, more hopeful. We had answers. We had a plan.

They prescribed two powerful antibiotics for each of us and sent the prescriptions to a nearby Walgreens. When we learned they would not be ready for nearly an hour, we returned to the hotel to wait. It felt like a small delay in what had already been a long journey through illness.

After calling to confirm the medications were ready, Tom set off to pick them up using the drive-through. Not long after, he was back, moving carefully but with purpose. We sat together and took our first doses, each medication with its own schedule that quickly became too much for my foggy mind to manage. Tom, ever steady, worked it out for both of us.

That night brought me something I had not experienced in weeks. Rest. True rest. My coughing eased, even if only slightly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I slept deeply. When I woke, I noticed a subtle shift. Not a full recovery by any means, but a hint that the medication was beginning to do its work.

Tom did not fare quite as well overnight. His coughing persisted, and the night was difficult for him. Given his existing lung condition, we know his path to recovery may take longer. Even so, there is a shared sense of cautious optimism between us now.

As I sit here, still tired but slightly clearer in thought, I find myself looking ahead. I am hopeful that I will recover enough to attend Miles’s graduation on Thursday, a moment we have been looking forward to for so long. There is also his graduation party next Sunday, and Tammy’s barbecue on Saturday. These small, meaningful gatherings feel especially important now.

So here we are, on a day meant for remembrance and togetherness, finding our own quiet version of both. We are grateful we chose to seek care when we did. It was the right decision, and one that may very well have changed the course of this illness.

For now, we rest, we heal, and we hold onto the hope that in the coming days, we will step back into the world a little stronger than we feel today.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, May 25, 2016:

While shopping at the Carrefour market in Bali, I couldn’t resist stopping to admire these colorful Dragon Fruit. For more photos, please click here.

Day 8…Minnesota Family visit…The illness continues…

Posted by worldwide-admin on with 0 Comment

Here we are, eight days into our twenty-three nights in Minnesota, and it feels as if time has taken on a strange, heavy quality. The days pass, but not in the usual way marked by plans or small adventures. Instead, they blur together in a haze of coughing, fatigue, and the quiet hope that tomorrow might finally be the turning point. So far, it hasn’t been.

As of today, I have been battling this dreadful RSV virus for twenty-four days. Saying that number out loud feels almost unreal. It’s over three full weeks of this relentless illness, and still no clear end is in sight. Just when I thought perhaps I was inching toward improvement, my body had other plans. Over the past few days, I developed what can only be described as a full-blown sinus infection. It arrived with a vengeance, the kind that makes your head feel as if it cannot possibly contain the pressure building inside it.

Every time I coughed, it felt like my head might explode. That is not an exaggeration. It was a sharp, bursting pain that stopped me in my tracks and made even the simplest movement feel daunting. I have had sinus infections many times over the years, usually after the flu or another virus, so I recognized the signs immediately. There is a certain familiarity to it, an unfortunate knowing that settles in when you realize your body has gone down this road again.

Thankfully, I travel with the same antibiotics that have worked for me in the past when these infections refuse to resolve on their own. A few days ago, I started the prescribed dose, hopeful but cautious. Today, for the first time, I noticed a subtle shift. My head no longer throbs when I cough, and the cough itself feels a bit looser, less harsh and unyielding. It is not a full recovery by any means, but it is something. And right now, something at all feels hopeful.

Tom, on the other hand, is not improving. Watching him struggle has been difficult, especially knowing how stubborn he can be when it comes to seeking medical care. For days, I have gently encouraged, and at times firmly insisted, that he go to Urgent Care. Each time, he has hesitated, convinced that he needs more time. But this morning, there was a shift in him. Perhaps it is the sheer exhaustion or the realization that things are not getting better. He said he would decide after his nap, depending on how he feels when he wakes up. I am hoping that today will be the day he chooses to go.

Even the smallest tasks have become monumental. This morning, we faced the simple necessity of doing laundry. Under normal circumstances, it would be a minor inconvenience at most. Today, it felt like climbing a mountain. Tom insisted on carrying the heavy plastic bag filled with our dirty clothes, despite his obvious weakness. I watched him, wanting to take it from him, but also knowing how important it is for him to feel some sense of control.

His trips back and forth to the hotel laundry room were exhausting. Each step felt deliberate, as if his legs were weighed down by something unseen. There is a strange sensation that comes with this kind of illness, where your body no longer feels like your own. Our legs moved slowly, heavily, as though they were laden with lead. Walking was not just tiring, it was painful.

Folding the clothes became my task, and even that required more effort than I thought possible. I found myself pausing often, sitting when I could, gathering the energy to continue. Meanwhile, Tom focused on washing his button-down shirts, the ones that had remained untouched since the cruise. It seemed important to him to get them done, perhaps as a way of reclaiming a small piece of normal life.

Somehow, we managed to finish it all. How, I honestly do not know. There was no sense of accomplishment, only relief that it was over. We returned to our room, both of us depleted, moving slowly and carefully as if any sudden motion might undo what little strength we had left.

And so, this is where we are today. No exciting updates, no new sights or experiences to share. Just two weary travelers, sidelined by an illness that has taken far more than we expected. We are holding on to the smallest signs of progress, hoping they will lead to something more. For now, that will have to be enough.

Be well.

Photo from ten years ago today, May 24, 2016:

Gede, our houseman in Bali, with his gracious parents. For more photos, please click here.