Healing

The morning after we arrived in Houston for Christmas, Gus (about 11 years old) refused to walk.  Knowing he is a drama king I suggested we just ignore him -- give him an aspirin -- and let him rest for day.  Hubby kept watching old Gus fall on the floor and moan, decreed that we had to find an emergency vet.

It was the Saturday before Christmas.  Wendy, Hubby's sister, who we were spending Christmas with, had had old cats in the past and she suggested we use her old vet.  After a preliminary phone call away we went.  Actually, it was just around the corner from Wendy's home.

The Houston vet took Gus in and said they would call us when their vet had a chance to see him.  Within the hour they had called with an estimate of what it would cost us just to diagnose Gus -- not to cure him - just see him.  With sinking hearts, it's never good if they have to ask just how much you ARE willing to spend on your pet, we agreed to their estimate.  We also told them we were retired, we lived on a fixed income, and there WOULD be a limit to what we were willing to spend.

Within the next hour the Houston vet office called and said they needed to do an MRI and take pictures of Gus's spine because they couldn't determine the exact problem.  This price was $680.  Again, we agreed but with heavy hearts and empty pockets.

By 11:00 a.m. they called to consult again.  The pictures of Gus showed he had only some slight muscle swelling and had probably just pulled a muscle, all his blood work was clean, and he only needed a relaxing shot and some pain meds to get him back on his feet.  "Right," I muttered under my breath loud enough for everyone to hear, "Mr. Drama King wins again."

"But your dog does had a number of bladder stones and some have leaked down to the tip of his penis.  Clearly he's having some problems peeing.  Shall we operate?"

We were very clear that only Gus's vet in KC was doing any operating on the boy since he had coded during one of his many teeth extractions.  We picked Gus up, doped to the nines and walking just fine, and got a CD with the pictures of his bladder stones for our $608 outlay -- they gave us a senior citizen's discount. 

Fast forward two weeks, we are home, and Gus's vet has made arrangements for his bladder surgery.  "The stones in his bladder are ones we can remove but we don't operate on his urethra, that must be done by the surgical vets in the emergency clinic.  We can try to flush the loose stones back up into his bladder but we can't guarantee that this will be successful."

We asked for price quotes.  "Five thousand dollars minimum for the surgical vet, $1500 for us to try with no guarantee."

Hubby and I talked but only briefly.  "We just can't afford $5000 -- we need you to remove every stone you can and we'll call it a day," we told our vet.  They even had appointment available the next day.

Gussie had his surgery last week and it went perfectly.  The MRI from the Houston vet showed clearly where the stone were and they had not moved.  The floating stones were easy to flush and, in the end, all 11 stones were removed from Gus's abdomen. 

When we brought him back home after the surgery, Gus was pretty bummed out.  His bladder was leaking, blood was seeping, and he felt miserable.  Yet each new day showed improvement.  As the swelling went down, Gus's energy level rose.

We just returned from having his stitches removed.  The vets were thrilled with how pretty his scar looked, how frolicking he felt, and how happy he seemed.  We picked up the new food he is required to eat -- a 20 pound bag of Urinary Special that costs five times what his regular food did -- and he won't like it one little bit.  But if it keeps him bladder stone free none of us will complain (including
Gus, even it he doesn't know it yet). 

To see how happy Gus is today frisking about the park taught me again that money is only useful when it can do good things.  Yes, we had to pull some funds from our retirement accounts and we may find when we're ninety that we needed that money for our own bladder stones -- but that's in the future.  Today we are ALL feeling healthy and it only took a couple of thousand dollars to make that happen. 

Going to the Y

When I retired, we joined the Research rehab facility housed in the old Baptist Hospital, those who know KCMO.  We went there for water aerobics for about nine months and Hubby worked out on the equipment now and then but then winter really set in and it was cold and the water was really cold and the dressing rooms were closed for remodeling and we made up all kinds of excuses not to go exercise.

When our memberships came up for renewal and I started moaning about the $300+ fees, Hubby said, "Let's try out Silver Sneakers.  It's supposed to be free through our insurance."

I did some on-line research but could only find that the program was covered through Humana -- and Hubby and I have our extended Medi-care plans through Coventry.  However, Hubby persisted and eventually got us enrolled in Silver Sneakers -- which is free because Coventry covers the entire expense as a way to get the "elderly" to exercise and stay healthy.

Even closer to our home is the Emanuel Cleaver YMCA so we trotted over and presented our newly minted cards and enrolled before Christmas.  They were busy so we delayed the tour until we got home from Houston but last week we went over and Hubby even got himself a consult by one of their trainers. 

I thought I was in heaven when we got our membership with Research.  The Y is even better - and it's free!  We went this morning for our first water aerobics class and were both pleasantly surprised. 

First, and most important, the water is 10 degrees warmer than at Research.  It was heaven to be exercising in what felt like bath water, lovely warm and soothing -- and really WARM.  The class was not as energetic as we were used to and we still didn't get "individualized" instruction, but we could follow along pretty well since we knew most of the routines. 

For an hour we splashed and kicked and lifted our arms over our heads and it was nice.  Hubby is happy because now we go in the morning instead of at 5:30 at night.  I can tolerate mornings if we're not talking 6 or 7 or 8 a.m. -- this class starts at 9. 

The people were friendly, the instructor seemed competent, the dressing rooms were clean, and we only felt chilly after exiting the pool and drying off in the changing rooms. 

This is going to be eminently doable for us both -- and it's a good way to start off the new year.  Hubby's even mumbling about diet but we had Sonic burritos as a breakfast treat, after class, so dieting is probably off the table, at least for now. 

I'm hoping that as my dexterity improves and my stamina is rebuilt, I will also find my mood improving.  It all looks pretty exciting right now but let's see how we're doing in six months. 

Cooking takes great patience

Probably my biggest fault is lack of patience.  My idea of a great chore is one that I can tackle immediately (who cares about careful planning?) and zip through it, either with ease or difficulty, and get the job done.  I don't want to debate how to get things done -- let's just list the options, chose the one we like best (hopefully it will be the best option) and get to work.  At the end I'm not a big fan of dissecting what went wrong and how the process could be improved.  "Well, that didn't work; let's try something else" is usually my attitude. 

Wendy redid her kitchen this year -- this is an old picture of our preparations for Christmas dinner.

This was never more evident in Houston this Christmas when my sister (in-law), Wendy, needed to bake some cookies to take to a church event.  She's one of the two smartest women I know (the other is you, Debby) and she can work a process until it is perfect.  She pre-plans the plan.  With her cookies we started with a trip to the grocery because one NEVER starts a recipe without all the proper ingredients.  Me, I have the site for substitute ingredients bookmarked on my PC when you find you don't have what you need right in the middle of cooking (this is a good one but there are several others I also use).

Next we found all the cooking utensils we would need and set them out.  Me, I saying, "Let's preheat the oven."  Finally, we set out the butter and eggs to get to room temp.  Now we sit down and study the recipe.  Me, I'd be warming things up in the microwave and would have the eggs and butter beaten already.  I read the recipe as I make the dish. 

Several hours later, recipe thoroughly reviewed, we again venture to the kitchen to measure out all the ingredients into small containers.  "This way we can just dump them when we make the cookies," Wendy explains to me.  By now, I'm cross-eyed with anticipation.  I'd have already had the cookies baked, cooled, and in the tins -- probably a little seared around the edges, missing key ingredients, and rather unsightly.

My job is to read the recipe while Wendy measures.  A lot of containers begin to cover her counters.  It's amazing how many little dishes she actually has in her cabinets.  

Finally we are ready to begin assembling the ingredients for the carrot cake cookies.  Again I read out ingredients as Wendy pours and dumps and stirs and mixes.  The batter looks tasty, the cookie sheets are ready, the oven is heated. 

"Let's take a little rest," Wendy advises.  "We've made good process."

My insides are screaming, "Are you kidding me?  We've done nothing.  We have no cookies.  We've been at this four hours already!"

"Um, how about I put the dough on the cookie sheets and bake them?"  I suggest.

"Well, the cookies are not supposed to spread out so you have to sort of squash them into the shape you want before baking.  Since these are going to the church I'd like them to look really uniform and nice," answers Wendy.

"Yeah, sure," I answer with a sweet smile. 

Now, here's where family love takes over.  Wendy knows I've reached my limit on patience.  She also knows that I'm going to plop those cookies on the sheet and shove them in the oven as quickly as I can. 

"Go for it," she replies, with a smile in her eyes, if not on her mouth.  I cover two cookies sheets with oddly shaped bits of dough as quickly as my arthritic hands can move.  Stupid dough is sticky and hard to manage and I've totally run out of the little patience I actually do possess.

"They look great," Wendy assures me as I stuff them in her oven.  "They will be perfect!"

We were to make two batches of cookies:  carrot cake cookies and lemon bars.  After the carrot cake cookies came from the oven and were cooling on racks, Wendy performed the taste test.  They were okay, if not exactly awe inspiring.  The thing was, they weren't very pretty.  They had spread, regardless of what the recipe said, and they weren't uniform in anything other than ingredients. 

 "They'll be fine," Wendy assured me.  Then we decided that buying cookies the next morning was going to be a really good solution for the second selection of goodies to take to the church.  

Now that's family love. 

Wendy in front, me in back opening presents.

Cooking Every Single Day

After I retired I suddenly realized that Hubby, who had always been our main chef, had resigned his culinary duties.  I think he quit partly because standing in the kitchen was so uncomfortable for the arthritic knees and, back then, his erratic heartbeat made cooking duties somewhat frightening. 

I took over the kitchen work two years ago, but not happily.  Diet restrictions because of the heart issues limited ingredients.  "Old Man Taste Buds" limited the variety of recipes that were found "acceptable" at our table.  For  a while there we ate tuna fish salad three times a week.  Boring but Hubby liked it. We could not have tuna casserole -- Hubby does not eat "hot" tuna of any sort.

Then swallowing became a problem and suddenly, the always successful steak and roast dinners were off the menu.  Hamburger in all forms was okay and pork chops seemed to go down when steak would not.  I worked the heck out of all the hamburger casserole recipes I could find, but most were deemed either "unsavory" or "too bland" or simply "boring."

Spring, summer, and autumn seasons provided us with interesting fruits and some vegetables that Hubby can/would still eat.  However all the blood thinners mean that leafy green vegetables, the ice berg lettuce and the cabbage that Hubby really likes, were on the restricted lists.  Now that we are in deep winter, we're back to green beans, beets, and corn. 

Baked potatoes, once a favorite, now won't be touched.  I have no idea why, but I can't just serve up a baked potato with hamburger topping -- that meal gets fed to the dogs.  Sausage is good for breakfast but because of the fat and salt content has to be limited.  Same with eggs. 

Then I got "down" -- I'm not sure it was depression, but it sure was dis-engaged.  Cooking became even more problematic because I couldn't think of a thing that would drag me to the kitchen and make me want to "cook."  Hubby and I took to eating entirely different things.  He got chicken nuggets -- something he WILL eat pretty regularly, especially if paired with mac and cheese -- and I'd eat a fried egg sandwich.  He'd have hamburger "something or other" and I'd have oatmeal.  This wasn't particularly healthy for either of us, but it got us through and we weren't dining out or grabbing fast food. 

This morning I woke up, thinking as usual about what the heck I could serve Hubby today -- and felt more inspired.  Actually, this has been happening more and more, lately.  Plus, I've found that if I do all the prep work (brown the hamburger, chop all the onions and peppers and then saute them) Hubby is willing to venture into the kitchen to make some chili or some spaghetti.  This past week I've been slurping up bowls of his chili with abandon. 

In the kitchen I peeled and chopped the onions, cleaned and diced the green peppers, shelled the hard boiled eggs and whipped up another round of tuna for lunch today.  However, I also got several small, thawed packages of steak from the frig, diced them, and set them in the crockpot with more onions, green peppers, and spices.  The smell now is delicious.  In a couple of hours I'll dump in some veggies and taters and we'll have steak soup / stew -- soft enough for Hubby to swallow with ease.  Yummy enough to please us both.  

Cooking every day is not something I never thought I'd be doing, but if the cooking equipment is satisfactory (crockpot, even oven temps, good pots and pans) and the larder is full of food we like, it's not too bad a job to hold while retired.  Plus, we save money eating at home and I can control the salt and fat content (to a degree).  Now if we just had a big old box of donuts for dessert . . .

Christmas in January

Hubby gave me eight cans of Airwick Freshmatic Ultra Spray Refills this year for Christmas.  He picked a wonderful scent (I think) -- Baked Apple Strudel -- but he didn't realize that he was giving me refills and not the actual Airwick dispenser.

We have dogs and almost always, at least one is old and slightly incontinent.  Sometimes they just pee on the carpet, the floor, or anywhere convenient or sometimes they just leave little dribbles behind them.  Sweet. soulful Gus, at 11, suddenly began peeing in the house -- oh, not all the time, but now and again if we didn't answer his call from the front door.  Then just three days before Christmas, in Houston, Gus was diagnosed with bladder stones.  We elected to wait until we got home to have the stones removed surgically, but we were darned clear as to why suddenly there had been a few wet episodes in the house.

Old dogs and scented candles are a match made in heaven.  Plus, I like the smell of hot cinnamon in the house during the winter or fresh lilac during the summer.  Usually I get my candles from the warehouse in Branson but we haven't been in a while and suddenly I was down to my last candles this fall.  Thus, Hubby thought that the Airwick, purchased in bulk from Sams, was a good gift.

After Gussie had had his 11 bladder stones removed in early January and was in the process of healing, I began to look around for the Airwick dispenser so I could use my refill cans.  Sams, the seller of multiple refills, had none.  And I wasn't sure exactly what I was looking for, anyway.  Hubby suggested I try the internet and, of course, the purveyor of all things entertaining and interesting, Amazon, had multiple choices, plus even more refills.

Today my new Airwick dispenser was delivered.  We assembled it -- no mean feat -- and now our bedroom smells exactly like a Christmas bakery.  We are both pining for some apple pie or cobbler or strudel. 

I like the gizmo well enough I might consider purchasing a couple more and loading up with refills before Sam's Warehouse sells out.  I won't set the house of fire since there is no flame like with candles and if a doggie has a little accident now we won't have to open windows to air things out. Even better the containers are simple and unassuming (not a decorator item you have to match to something in your house). 

Extended Christmas presents can be fun. 

2014 Restart

I lost my writer's cred somewhere in 2013, along with my energy, my drive, my willingness to leave the house, my ability to sleep, and my zest for life.

That sounds much worse than it actually was.  I stayed awake all night playing Sims 3 on the computer and napped all afternoon, nearly every afternoon.  I didn't read any books but devoured magazines at a frantic pace.  I watched weird TV, thankful for my DVR so I could fast forward through commercials.  I cooked meals every day and I kind of puttered around the house.  I didn't read other people's journals, I quit exercising, I didn't meet friends for lunch or dinner.  I only shopped at the grocery story or on-line for others.  I quit wearing underwear and found that very liberating.  I had my head nearly shaved of my hair and that was the most liberating feeling of all. 

Hubby's heart gained strength and he got well -- as well as a severely arthritic 78 year old can get.  The pacemaker kicked in and did the job we were told in January it would do and at the end of the year we were told that Hubby's heart had a strong, steady beat, his blood pressure was near normal, and the blood flow in and out of his heart was healthy.  Moreover, Hubby had recovered much of the energy he had lost during the three years of erratic heartbeats and hospitalizations for congestive heart failure.  

I suddenly didn't have to be the "strong" one, anymore.  I still had to do the grocery shopping, the housework, and most of the cooking, but Hubby was no longer stuck at home, laying in bed, totally depleted.  So I guess I took over for him for a while -- I went to bed and wallowed there. 

Christmas came and we spent it, as usual, in Houston with loving family that cared only that we had come to visit.  We didn't have to be witty or athletic or even helpful -- we just felt loved. That began the start of my resurgence.  I can only thank Wendy and Cynthia for being such supportive family.  

We came home with a sickly pup -- old Gus who is nearly 11 -- and had to invest a small fortune in him (yet again) because he had bladder stones (11 -- just like his age).  He survived but was pretty unhappy for a couple of days.  Now he's up and frisky like we haven't seen in a couple of years.  Just like his pop, he's a survivor.

So it's time that I crawled out of my "hole" and tried my hand at a bit of creativity.  I've been reading some decent literature, not just cozy mysteries or pulp magazines. My brain seems to be engaged once more.  My goal is to begin water aerobic again next week (Hubby and I gave up our lovely membership at the Research Rehab center in favor or a free membership with the Y for Silver Sneakers - when your sweet dog costs over $2000 in two weeks, you learn quickly to cut back on the frivolous stuff in your life). Hopefully a regular exercise routine will help both Hubby and me, physically and mentally. 

If all goes well, I'll be posting here again on a semi-weekly basis.  So Debby, my dear friend, you will no longer have to view a page about the dearly departed and the heartbreak of losing close friends.  Hopefully I will have much, much cheerier things to report. 

Our friend, Lou

They met in 1965.  Hubby had driven his ex-girl friend's mother's car from San Francisco to Des Moines, Iowa.  Lou had come from Monroe, Louisiana.  Hubby was 30 years old, Lou was 23.  They had come to Iowa on a government grant to bring culture for the next several years to the Iowa school systems by singing avant garde / contrapuntal music.  The troupe consisted of approximately 20 members, 10 females, 10 males, 18 of them white.  Only Lou and Hubby were Black (it was the 1960's -- and they were very, very Black).

The troupe was given housing in a small apartment complex in the heart of Des Moines, but when the owner saw Hubby and Lou, it was a "no go."  So Iowa hunted around and found the two men a house where they could live on the outskirts of town.  Lou was a "good, old country boy" who understood the ways of the South -- and consequently the prejudices of Middle America, while Hubby was the city boy who had traveled across the country trying to break into big-city opera.  Lou had just earned his BA degree while Hubby had just spent seven years with the San Francisco opera company, singing minor and chorus parts.

The troupe was thrilled because they had access to the guys' good-sized house for parties and late night shenanigans.  The men bonded.  They ate together, partied, hooked up with the girls.  Hubby lasted two years, then absconded with a mezzo-soprano from the troupe and moved her, pregnant, to the big city 200 miles away.  Lou lasted another year when funding for singing "like cats and barking like dogs" was eliminated.  Then he followed Hubby down to the city.

Hubby's wife gave birth to a son and he started a janitorial business, because singing opera in the Midwest, especially if you are Black, is not exactly profitable.  He found Lou a place to live and they worked together.  They partied together.  They played pool.  Lots and lots of pool.  Hubby's wife bore another son.  Lou's wife, Pearly, came from Monroe and she had a son.  Then Hubby's wife packed up the two boys and moved back home to her family and eventually, moved completely away, after divorcing him.  After leaving Wisconsin,  Hubby had no idea where she had vanished.

This was several years before I met Hubby in 1973 and I've had to piece together most of the stories from those days, through Lou, through Wendy's mother, and from Wendy.  Hubby really doesn't talk about those days, even now.  Eventually Lou knew he wanted to sing and Hubby had pretty well shut down when his family had departed Kansas City.  Finally, Lou and Pearlie and their son Louis, Jr. packed up and moved back to Monroe where Lou began work on his master's degree in vocal music.

Hubby sang when the offers came in.  Mostly he ran a handy-man / janitorial service.  Easter, Christmas, graduation musical gigs came through often.  He preformed at Starlight Theater -- hated singing in the warm night air when bugs flew into your mouth the moment you opened it.  He did some opera.  He directed choirs and sang in church choirs when the money was decent.  He did a lot of weddings.

Every summer, Lou would pack up and come to KC to earn money with Hubby.  He and Hubby would work on the big mansions along Ward Parkway.  The owners would come out to see who was singing on their roofs and then invite the men to their parties or their clubs.  Lou played a lot of tennis with the white country club members.   He tried to teach Hubby, but came home thoroughly disgusted, because "that dang man won't run -- he just stands in one spot and you have to hit the ball straight to him." The summers were full of hot days sweating outdoors, and long nights singing their hearts out.  And pool.  Lots and lots of pool.

When I came along, Lou would arrive for a month in June and then Pearlie would bring up her two sons for a week or so before Lou went back home.  Lou had a regular job as a voice professor at Northeast Louisiana State, Monroe but the real money was usually earned during the summers in KC.  Pearlie was a math teacher who was earning her PhD. in education. 

Lou loved cars and he was always so disgusted with the heaps that Hubby would drive.  He'd show up in his new Porche and Hubby would be driving a 1963 Toyota.  I remember riding in the back seat of that Toyota and the two guys were in the front, windows down because there was no air conditioning in Hubby's cars, singing with all their might.  Cars would pull along side of us and suddenly brake to a stop in amazement, just to listen. 

Sometimes Lou would come to sing the Messiah with Hubby at Christmas.  One year we were in a shopping mall when we found one of those "drop in and make your own recording" studios.  I begged the guys to make me a Christmas record so they trudged inside and I took a seat on the bench outside to wait.  I could see the clerks looking at these two men incredulously.

Lou was six feet seven inches tall.  He had a full head of very black, thick hair and wore big glasses.  Hubby is five feet nine, round, and bald.  By then Hubby was probably 47 and Lou was 40.  They were both in work clothes.

Mostly teenagers were using the studio, rather like a karaoke bar today. The clerks were giggling and nudging each other as the men went inside the sound booth.  Eyeballs were rolling.  I couldn't hear anything but suddenly everyone in the store came to a halt.  There was a conference of the clerks, the manager appeared running -- and then from the store came the voices of the two men simply singing "Jingle Bells."  It was being broadcast all throughout the mall.

Lou is a basso profundo -- the most glorious of huge, deep, rich basses.  Hubby is technically a baritone but with a very high, full tenor range.  Together it was like hearing "Jingle Bells" for the first time --  a simple melody that just floats along accompanied by a brilliant crescendo of rich, male voice singing in harmony. They were just having fun with it, not trying to impress or make "good" music.  Soon a crowd had gathered outside the little studio.  The song finished and the men opened the door to exit the booth but the manager hurried over.  

"Please sing another song -- we'll record it free."  The crowd outside had been applauding -- the manager knew a good thing when he saw it.  So the guys went back and did "White Christmas" and the crowd grew larger still.  I could hear people talking, "Man, if they can make you sound like that, I need to go in and record a song.  What do you think?"  We still play this little cassette tape at Christmas time, remember how we laughed and laughed as the guys exited the store and people would ask (as they almost always did), "You two sounded so good!  You have any training?"

Lou and Hubby talked on the phone a lot during the winter.  Usually Lou would call on a Sunday morning to see what jalopy Hubby was driving, how Wendy was, how were the singing gigs.  He'd tell about his family and sometimes Pearlie and I would chat with each other.  He even asked my mother because one summer when he was here he had answered the phone and had quite the conversation with her.  In 1978, Hubby mentioned he thought that we might get married.  "Wait until summer and I'll be best man," Lou told him.

Lou arrived that summer and Hubby agreed that before Lou left we'd get married.  June was long gone and suddenly it was the end of July.  Lou came to me to ask if I really wanted to marry this wayward cuss and when he found out that I did, he told me, "Leave it to me."

Lou on the left; Hubby on the right -- right before our wedding ceremony;  the old Toyota is behind them

"I have to go home sometime so you'd better go get that blood test," he told Hubby.  The next day we saw the doctor for the blood test.  "I have to go home sometime so you'd better go get that license," Lou reminded Hubby.  The next day we got the license.  "I have to go home soon so you'd better call the church and arrange to have the pastor there," he told Hubby.  The next day Hubby called Reverend Cleaver at the church around the corner and set a day and a time.  We got married on a Thursday, had an ice cream cake with Wendy (Hubby's beloved adopted sister), and then the two men left to play pool.  Wendy took me back home.  

Five years later, I gathered all the friends from that time and told Hubby, "We're going to have a five year anniversary and you will have to stay through the entire celebration."  Lou and Pearly came.  Wendy and her mom came.  Assorted friends arrived.  We served a lovely buffet and took pictures and laughed and told stories on each other and two hours in, Lou and Hubby left to play pool. 

5th anniversary, Lou & Hubby had gone to play pool with the men; Pearlie is under the mountain picture; Wendy next to her, and I'm in front of the old TV

Lou and Pearlie and the boys would often meet us in Houston when we were visiting Wendy.  We swam together in the Gulf of Mexico.  We pigged out on fresh seafood.  Lou and Hubby challenged two punks harassing them at the Gulf Service Station.  Then Lou lost his oldest son, something we were never allowed to talk about with him.  More than ten years later, Pearlie died suddenly.  

Eventually Lou remarried, a woman we met only briefly, but she seemed lovely.  On our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary we held a benefit concert and Lou flew up to sing with Hubby for the last time.  I cornered him and explained, that since a reception followed the concert I really needed Hubby to stay for the entire thing -- and Lou said, "leave it to me" -- and Hubby got through the concert, the reception, and the dinner following.  THEN they left to play pool.

Lou, me, and Hubby at the reception following the 25th anniversary concert

 Hubby's aneurysm took most of his voice and the heart problems have left him with only a few notes now.  Lou continued singing his heart out and teaching in Monroe.  He had a third child, a beautiful daughter who is now around five.  The calls on Sunday morning became less, health and age kept the two men apart, but if you asked Hubby who is best friend in the world was, the answer always came back, "Lou."

In late June, Lou called one Sunday morning to tell Hubby that he had a singing gig in Italy.  He would be gone most of July.  He was so excited.  He asked about Hubby's heart, his voice, and which car Hubby was driving.  He asked about Wendy and me.  Hubby laughed with him and the two laughed together just like old times.

Lou's wife emailed us on Sunday that Lou had suffered a brain aneurysm while in Italy, much like Hubby's of 2006, but he was on life support.

On Tuesday, life support was removed and Lou died. 

No more Sunday calls.  No more jokes about new or old cars.  No more Houston visits.  No more beautiful duets -- their favorite was the "Verily" from the Seven Last Words by Dubois -- I shall always regret that I don't have a recording of them singing this wonderful duet but you can hear how others sound singing it by clicking on the links below.

We knew Lou's faults, we knew his talents, we knew his appetite for life.  We knew that he understood what true friendship was all about and in every way he proved he was a deep and giving friend.  

Our sunshine was been dimmed and our lives are diminished. We shall never forget and our stories of our times together will always be a part of our family's history.  It will never be goodbye . . . only until we meet again. 

Links to hear Lou:

A Glimpse of IDE's Mr. Nabors

I Got Plenty of Nothing

Go Down Moses

This is not Lou and Hubby -- make the bass a lot more bass and the tenor fuller:  Verily -- duet by DuBois

Monroe News obit