Tag Archives: Kathy Anne

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Remembering final big move

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Thirty years ago this week, I piled most of my worldly possessions into a 1987 Honda Civic and set out for what would be the final stop on my fun-filled career in print journalism.

I had spent nearly 11 years pursuing my craft in Beaumont, Texas, but then an opportunity presented itself in a community far from the Gulf Coast … but still part of this vast state of ours.

I moved to Amarillo. People have asked me over the years when I moved to the Panhandle, and I have been able to tell them the precise date. I reported for work at the Amarillo Globe-News on Jan. 9, 1995. I departed Beaumont on Jan. 6; it took a while to drive from the swamp to the High Plains.

I made one overnight stop in Fort Worth to see some dear friends before trudging northwest along U.S. 287.

But I got to Amarillo. I would learn later of a quip I adopted and have used many times: It is so flat in the Panhandle that if you stand on your tiptoes, you can see the back of your own head. 

It helps, too, that the region is so barren that there’s little tall timber to block that view.

The point of this brief blog? It’s to highlight the flexibility and adaptability I didn’t realize I possessed when I decided to move from my native Oregon to Texas in 1984.

They used to run a tourism ad that called Texas a “whole other country.” How true it is. Beaumont not only is a lengthy mileage distance from the Panhandle, the Gulf Coast possesses a whole other culture. Whereas the Panhandle prides itself on its cowboy tradition, the Golden Triangle takes pride in its Cajun southern culture. Both places appeal to me greatly.

Life took another huge turn in March 2013 when my granddaughter came into this world. My bride and I set about preparing to move from the Panhandle to the Metroplex. It took a while, but we got here.

I guess I want simply to salute the journey my career enabled me to take. Kathy Anne and I saw much of this country and a good part of world on that trek. Texas gave us the opportunity to live a wonderful life.

We have been blessed beyond all measure. My journey continues.

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Getting old is OK, however …

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Forgive me for reneging a little on a promise I made regarding this new nutrition and weight-management program I have just begun.

I said I wouldn’t bore you with nitty-gritty details I take at every step along the way. I want to share one item with you. So … bear with me.

The Veterans Administration has a program that teaches us how to control our meal intake and change our lifestyle. I have gotten far too heavy for my own liking. My dear bride’s passing from cancer nearly two years ago sent me into an eating frenzy I didn’t realize was occurring in the moment. But it was.

I am working my way out of that former life. I have just started that long journey. I have decided that my older age — I just turned 75 a little while ago — has robbed me of the discipline I was able to employ many years ago.

Once, in my mid-20s, I had gained a lot of weight. I decided to join my wife, who had just given birth to our first son, in a weight-loss program. It worked famously. I peeled off 52 pounds. If I may sound a bit conceited, I was proud of myself.

Those days are long gone. I have put even more weight on this aging body. I need professional help. I sought it out at the VA and the agency has responded by putting me on this program.

I am entering the program with an abundance of confidence, although I cannot yet declare whether it will bear the fruit I seek.

I can declare — therefore I will do so — that I need the help from the VA nutritionist with whom I am working. Just maybe she will keep me focused sufficiently to reach the finish line after completing my stated goal.

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Here’s to a new year, a new outlook

Here is a sample of the chatter I have seen on my social media circle of friends and acquaintances: I don’t remember ever wanting a year to end like this one. Don’t know what 2025 has in store but has to be an improvement.

You and I know what this individual is talking about. If not, I’ll spill the beans: It’s the presidential election and the result it produced.

This person is a former elected official, a friend of mine and someone with whom I share his disdain over the election result. I, too, wish it had gone differently. It went the wrong way. I am dealing with it.

I have been able, though, to compartmentalize events of 2024 and separate them from the events of the previous year. 2023 was the worst year of my life. I lost my dear bride to glioblastoma (cancer of the brain) at the start of the year; then near the end of the year I let my puppy, Toby, go because of the cancer that ravaged him.

I looked forward to 2024 being a far better year than ’23. For me personally, it damn sure was a lot brighter. If you include the presidential election result, why … even the year that is passing into history turned out better than its immediate predecessor.

I was able to travel in ’23 and in ’24. My trek in 2023 took me to both coasts, where Toby and I visited family and dear friends. The 2024 version allowed me to fly twice to Europe. In the spring, I visited beloved friends in Nuremberg, Germany. In September, I boarded another long-haul jetliner and flew to Greece, where I met my cousin and her son; we soaked up some late-summer sun on the island of Naxos in the Aegean Sea.

Not only that, upon my return from Greece, I received another new member of my family: Sabol the Puppy, who needed someone to care for her. We fell in love at first sight. So … there you go! How can it get any better than that?

I am going to rely on the strength of our Constitution to withstand the pressure it will feel from the new government in DC. My faith in the founders’ wisdom is strong. So is my faith in my government to hold fast and steady in the tempest that awaits.

local news, medical news

New year, challenge await

Long ago, I vowed to cease making New Year’s resolutions for reasons you’ll understand … I don’t follow through on them.

So, what the hell is the point?

However, 2025 is going to mark the start of a new journey I intend fully to complete. I wrote on this blog a while ago that I have sought professional help to lose the weight I gained since February 2023. I buried myself in comfort food after losing my dear bride, Kathy Anne, to glioblastoma brain cancer.

I packed on way too many pounds.

I reached out to the Veterans Administration Medical Center where I get my medical care. They have a nutrition program at the Sam Rayburn Clinic in Bonham. On Friday I will engage with a nutritionist to begin a 16-week class on building a better, healthier lifestyle.

The VA calls the program MOVE. I don’t know what MOVE means, although the all-capital-letter identifier suggests it’s an acronym; I’ll ask when I sign in Friday morning.

I used to have sufficient self-discipline to accomplish weight-loss goals by myself. That discipline has vanished. I decided to admit to a lack of self-starting ability. The VA has been most helpful in preparing me for the start of this class.

My weight-loss goal is substantial. I hope to achieve it by the end of 2025. I figure that if I succeed in meeting the MOVE goals during my class period, I’ll reach my target weight according to plan.

I won’t chronicle my progress regularly on this blog. I am taking a moment today to tell my friends and family members — and others who read my messages — that this old man is about to try a new approach to achieving what we all want … to live a long and fruitful life.

I am not yet ready to check out of this Earthly world. Therefore … I’ll see y’all at the end of the road.

local news

Christmas … time for joy and reflection

Kids, the day is almost here. Santa will take off soon from the Pole and head to every house on Earth with small children inside. Christians will attend Christmas Eve services sometime tonight and we’ll celebrate the birth of a child who we believe would later die to redeem us of our sins.

The hassles, such as they exist, are behind us. The gift-shopping, the crowds, the occasional short temper will give way to what we know will be a happy time.

Me? I long ago swore an oath to never let Christmas consume me. I don’t believe any holiday is worth the hassle of “getting ready” for it. So, I don’t. I haven’t let it bother me for some time.

I am going to sit back and enjoy my family, who I will see later today and again tomorrow. And, yes, we will reflect on the person whose absence still hurts. My bride has been gone for nearly two years. Kathy Anne loved this holiday season. She took great joy in decorating our home.

I will reflect, though, with joy in the 51 years we had as a couple and will take huge pride in the family we produced.

Yes, her absence will hurt. I also refuse to be saddened by it.

This is a time to be happy. I will be among those who will enjoy it.

Merry Christmas.

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Suffering kitty withdrawal

So help me I didn’t see this coming … not ever in a zillion years.

My first full day back to having my Princeton, Texas, dwelling more or less all to myself has been, shall we say, a challenge. Why? Well, because Sabol the Puppy and I are without our two feline friends, Marlowe and Macy.

They have joined their daddy, my son, who this week moved into his new home about six miles south of us in rural Princeton. My son moved in with me in the spring of 2023 after his mother passed away from a savage form of brain cancer. He brought his cats with him.

I gotta tell ya, Marlow and Macy bonded very nicely with their grandpa … aka me. Marlowe and I have grown particularly close. He slept at the end of my bed with me damn near every night. I would move during the night, perhaps disturb him, and he would walk ever-so-softly toward my face, nuzzle me and purr in my ear. This would last a few minutes, then he would return to his spot at my feet and go back to sleep.

Yes, I miss my son. I was glad he came. I have told him he saved my life, sparing me from much of the grief he, his brother, sister-in-law and his niece were all suffering with Kathy Anne’s sudden illness and departure. We powered through it together.

I say that, but damn, I miss the kitties in a way I didn’t expect.

It’s going to take time. I am used to telling both Marlowe and Macy that I love them. I also am going to my grave believing they know what I was telling them.

When they were hungry, they would let me know. First thing in the morning, they were at my door yelling at me, “Hey, we’re hungry, grandpa!”

I say all this knowing that I am not totally alone. I have Sabol. She is a scream! I leave the house for 45 seconds, return and she acts like I’ve been gone for a week. She has a limitless supply of affectionate licks and she doles them out with extreme enthusiasm.

President Truman once said about life in Washington, “If you want a friend, get a dog.” Sabol is my friend for life.

Still, the house just isn’t quite the same.

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Time for an adjustment

Adjustments come in many forms, too many to count or to tick off … but here’s the thing: I am going through another adjustment as I write this brief blog post.

My son has purchased a house in Princeton, Texas. It’s about six miles south of the home he and I shared for about 18 months. He moved here in the spring of 2023 after we all suffered an unbearable tragedy, the loss of my dear bride to glioblastoma cancer of the brain.

OK, maybe “unbearable” isn’t quite accurate, as we were able to bear it, albeit with considerable pain. My sons, daughter-in-law and my granddaughter have managed to move forward with our lives.

When my son, the older of my two boys, came here he brought a broken heart. We healed together, along with his brother and his family. You see, in February 2023 after 51 years of marriage to Kathy Anne, I was suddenly alone. Then, thanks to my son’s desire to be near his dad, I wasn’t alone. How about that?

He brought his two kitties, Macy and Marlowe, with him. They helped spice up the activity in our modest home. They made themselves quite comfy in their new digs. Of course, I had Toby the Puppy when they moved in. Then I lost Toby at the end of 2023.  More heartache ensued, and it was time for additional adjustments.

Then along came Sabol in September. She joined our family immediately upon my return from vacation. this past summer. She has been beyond a mere joy to have. She is a full-fledged member of my family.

Yes, another adjustment.

Now comes the latest episode requiring some change. My son has moved out. Today he took his kitties with him. They’re now ensconced in their new home just a few miles down the road.

Guess what … I am learning all over again to adjust to being — more or less — alone with my thoughts.

But I do have Sabol here. Her desire for affection and her capacity to deliver it are endless.

Life is good, man.

local news

Changing perspective with age

This will come as no great flash to most — if not all — of you, but it is something I want to share anyway as the Thanksgiving holiday draws to a close.

It is that age allows us all to change our perspective on life, on living and on our surroundings.

When I was about 15 years or so of age, I once complained to Mom and Dad that I didn’t like being called “Johnny” by my relatives. I preferred “John,” I protested. “That’s what my friends call me,” I said. I don’t recall Mom and Dad’s response, other than they must have realized I was just a smart-ass teenager.

Sixty years later, on the eve of my 75th birthday, I know relish being called Johnny by those family members who are still around and who called me that name back in the old days. Now I realize why they did that. You see, I am my paternal grandfather’s namesake. I now realize my Papou was the original John Peter Kanelis and I was “Johnny” to avoid any confusion at family get-togethers.

Also around that time in my still-young life, I recall deciding that I didn’t want to live past the age of 55. I must have bought into the rock singers’ notion that “we shouldn’t trust anyone older than 30.”

Fifty-five seemed ancient to the 15-year-old who at the time didn’t realize he could still squeeze a lot of quality of life at that ripe old age. I barely remember 55 these days and, yes, I have enjoyed a fruitful life built on a family I helped produce with the woman I married when I was 21 and she was a 19-year-old hottie.

I have seen many wonderful places in my life, done some remarkable things in pursuit of the craft I enjoyed for nearly four decades as a print journalist.

Yes, age has brought it all home to me.

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Many reasons to give thanks

I have done this many times over the years I have been writing this blog.

I set aside some time to give thanks for the blessings with which I have been bestowed. This year, as in 2023, is different in one important way. I am celebrating my bride’s favorite time of the year without her.

During most of our married life, Kathy Anne was like the Looney Tunes character the Tasmanian Devil. whirling through the house, decorating it with secular and religious decorations to celebrate Christmas … and along the way she would throw in some Thanksgiving do-dads to commemorate this particular holiday. And all the while she would complain how she wasn’t “very good at decorating.” Which, of course, was nonsense.

I have tried my best to adorn my North Texas home with holiday decor. I fall far short. But … my heart is still full of thanks.

Thanksgiving Day will include some time with immediate family. My sons, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter will be here to have dinner that — drum roll, please — I will have prepared! I will have some help from my precious daughter-in-law who is preparing a couple of side dishes and dessert.

So, for that I am thankful on this holiday.

We’ve all been through a trying and tempestuous election season. It didn’t turn out the way I wanted, but I learned long ago to accept decisions that go the “wrong way” simply by dealing with it.

We still live in the greatest nation on Earth. I am grateful for all that it gives me, such as the freedom it grants for me to vent, for instance, on our government. And I will do plenty of venting for sure in the years ahead.

Life is good and will continue to be good.

local news

No pairing of these words

High Plains Blogger readers likely know already of the word-pairing I announced long ago when I declared I never would write the words “President” and “Trump” consecutively … and please note that I avoided doing so in this sentence.

Here’s another pair of words you won’t see from me when referring to pets that are part of my family. They are “pet” and “owner.”

Here’s the deal. Pets, be the cats or dogs, become members of my family. Therefore, I don’t “own” them any more than I own my sons. My bride, Kathy Anne, and I brought two baby boys into this world in the 1970s and they have grown into the two finest men I know. I don’t own either of ’em.

Therefore, I don’t own Sabol, the pooch who joined my family when I returned from vacation in September. She is the second puppy who became a member of my family. I lost Toby the Puppy in December 2023 to illness. Then, Sabol came along and, oh brother, she is a fantastic addition to my household.

I have two grandpuppies, Ryder and Dak, and two grandkitties, Macy and Marlowe. Obviously, I don’t own the puppies, either, as they live with my son, my daughter-in-law and my granddaughter. Macy and Marlowe moved in with me when my other son arrived in the spring of 2023.

My bride and I considered ourselves to be more drawn to cats than dogs for many years. We had many cats in our home over the 51-year span of our marriage. We had two of them in Amarillo; we had a calico who joined us in Portland in 1982, then moved with us to Beaumont and then to Amarillo. We were parents to several kitties prior to the calico in Portland.

We tried parenting a couple of pooches during all those years, but they didn’t work out.

Am I being sappy with this blog message about how I use the English language? Sure, I am. So what? Just live with it.

Don’t ever expect to me say I “own” a furry family member.