Tag Archives: Kathy Anne

Good news to report … yes, really!

As a general rule I am not inclined to use this blog to bemoan personal matters or bitch out loud about small things that annoy me.

Yes, I know I have shared with you my journey through my grief over losing my bride, Kathy Anne, to cancer. That was important for me to share as I know it resonated with others who have made similar treks through the darkness.

Today I have some good news to share. So, here goes.

I had piled on a lot of extra weight in recent months. I struggled for the longest time to get rid of it. To no avail. That’s changed. I’ve lost almost 15 pounds. I have much more to lose. I’m doing it through a severe lifestyle change.

I’ve long known about the theory “calories in, calories out.” I have reduced my caloric intake. I am no longer eating pastry. I am down to two slices of bread daily. I am consuming my share of veggies and protein in the form of grilled meat. It’s working!

The other thing that I’ve been struggling with has been the aches and pains associated mainly with old age. You know already that I am long in the tooth. I turn 77 in December and I figure that seven years into my 70s means I am officially pushing 80. The main pain source has been my left knee, which I learned recently has a torn meniscus tendon. I wrecked my knee when I took a tumble while exiting my truck. I landed squarely on the pavement in my garage with my knee taking the brunt of it.

My primary care physician referred me to an orthopedist. I went to the doc’s office. He took pictures of my knee and then gave me a shot in the knee to curb the pain. The relief was instantaneous! I know it’s not permanent, but I will deal with its return when it becomes necessary.

One more worrisome ailment also is being targeted. Sleep deprivation. I haven’t slept well for many years. It has caught up with me. But I’ve decided to go to bed the same time each night. I take some deep-breatbing exercises to relax me. That, too, is beginning to help.

I do not intend to keep you posted on my progress. Just know that I have zero intention of returning to the old way of living that caused me so much grief in the first place.

Adjusting to simplicity

One of the many adjustments I have made in my life since I lost my bride, Kathy Anne, to cancer more than three years ago involves the issue of simplicity.

My life today — at this moment — is as uncomplicated as it can possibly be. And that is saying something.

Kathy Anne and I were joined at the hip for more than 51 years. I met her in college, we fell in love almost on sight, we married eight months later. I was 21 and she was 19. We embarked on a journey that took us around the world. We managed to set our feet in 48 of the 50 states that make up our great nation. We produced two nearly perfect sons, one of whom got married to a perfect wife and they delivered us a perfect granddaughter.

Much of that great life crashed and burned on Feb. 3, 2023, when glioblastoma finished its dirty work on Kathy Anne.

The adjustment in my own life began the moment my bride drew her final breath. We all cried. We miss her to this very moment.

But … the adjustment was inevitable. The pain began to recede a little at a time. It became manageable. My tears won’t ever stop welling up in my eyes.

The greatest adjustment has been adapting to a simple life. You know what? It’s nice, man! I can go wherever I want whenever I want. My weekly schedule is fairly full these days, as I have joined a marvelous Presbyterian church, where a gang of new friends invites me to this and that event. I joined the Farmersville Rotary Club, which is a small club in number but it packs a bit of a punch in lending its civic-minded membership to various community service tasks that need doing.

I deliver Meals on Wheels in Princeton each Monday, and the clients I meet at each visit are some of the nicest folks I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

I will now admit to something I’ve kept to myself for the past three-plus years. Every now and then, someone will ask me for my marital status. For a very long time after I lost my bride, I struggled with saying the word “widowed” or “widower.” I have shaken off that emotional burden, although I do admit to some unease with identifying myself as “single.”

My emotional journey is complete. The better news is that I have learned how to live a simple life.

Honoring my favorite Mom

You have said it. Surely you have thought it. Maybe many of you are thinking of it today.

It goes like this: Where would we be without our mothers? The one answer is obvious, in that we wouldn’t be anywhere without them.

My bride and I brought two boys into his goofy world of ours. I cannot tell you where they would be without Kathy Anne there to guide them through life’s trials I can assert, though, that they wouldn’t be the two finest men in the world. My pride in them is real, it is visceral, it is — to whatever degree one should ascribe to it — my legacy.

But none of this is about me. It is about Kathy Anne.

I lost her to glioblastoma a little more than three years ago. Her fight against this aggressive brain cancer was brief, but it was savage. I lost her six weeks after getting the diagnosis of a mass on the right side of her brain.

We were married for more than ever 51 years. She was 71 when she took her final breath.

God put her on this Earth to be a Mom. She was a natural. Her mothering instincts were virtually perfect. She always could comfort them when they hurt. She knew how to tease them without damaging their emotions. She always couched her advice into phrases that reminded our sons to trust their own instincts … and that no matter their decision, they would have their parents’ backing.

Kathy Anne taught them to be respectful to adults. She imbued in them a sense of humility. She laughed and cried with them.

And the moment she and I learned we were going to be grandparents was one for the ages. She shrieked, giggled and cried all at once.

Mother’s Day is not the same without my bride. I am continuing to build on the life she and I started. One of the key results of that life-building has been that my family and I are closer than ever.

That is how she would want it.

Now … about that memoir

My network of friends comprises an inquisitive bunch, many of whom are members of that diminishing club of retired newspaper reporters and editors.

They have been asking me about the status of the memoir y’all know I’ve been working on since The Flood. I have a mixed report to deliver. First of all, it’s still alive and awaiting an eventual first draft. Second of all, I have been neglecting it for the past several weeks. I kinda place it on the back shelf.

The good news? I am dusting it off and getting ready to launch the sprint to its finish.

My memeoir has a working title: My Life in Print. It will chronicle my joy-filled career as a newspaper reporter, editor and columnist. It began in early 1976 and ended on Aug. 31, 2012. That’s 36-plus years of offering guidance, my own opinion on issues of the day and sharing with High Plains Blogger readers the experiences I had over the course of that career meeting some truly fascinating individuals. I have had a full life and I want to share some of it with you.

Ol’ Father Time has kinda gotten in the way. I am well past 70 years of age and my old body is showing signs of wear and tear. It has become a bit of a challenge sitting for any length of time in front of my laptop, telling the stories I want to tell.

My bride had this idea when my career as a full-time journalist ended. Why not, she said, write about the career you’ve had? Do it for our boys. So … I did. More on Kathy Anne in just a moment.

The list is long. I have finished writing about most of the names on that list. They include folks you know, some you don’t know and individuals who have made an impression — for good or bad — on me during my journey through life. The memoir also includes some experiences that not every human being has been able to say they have done.

Today I had lunch with two dear friends — a husband and wife — I have known for 40 years. I told them about the circumstances of losing my bride three years ago to glioblastoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer. My friends didn’t know the whole story, so I told them about it. Then my friend, Patrick, asked me, “Have you thought about writing about your story with her?” I said I have actually written about my journey through intense pain, sadness and sorrow on this blog. “Have you thought about publishing them?” he asked. Hmm. Well, I have thought about it, I said.

I believe it’s time to announce another command decision. I am going to find a way to weave some of that journey through the darkness into My Life in Print. If I find a relevant spot to insert a blog entry, I’ll try it, see if it works and then move on.

It’s time to get busy.

‘Puppy Tales’ has returned!

It’s time for me to admit that I have been a neglectful puppy parent … but it has nothing to do with the care I give the pups who enjoy a special place in my family.

You might recall that when I had Toby the Puppy I routinely chronicled the things he would do to make my wife and me laugh out loud. Then came 2023, the worst year of my life. I lost my bride to brain cancer near the beginning of the year. Then I said goodbye to Toby near the end of that horrible year, also to cancer.

I put Puppy Tales on indefinite hold. Then in 2024, Sabol joined my family. She has been an absolute scream. In 2025, my family added Endo, who became BFF with Sabol immediately on joining us in our Princeton home.

Today, I made a command decision. I am dusting off Puppy Tales and will resume telling you stories about the joy of returning to the world of puppy parenthood.

I have a quick story to tell, so here goes.

I took Endo to the veterinarian’s office this morning. My intention was to determine her age. The doctor told me she could give me a pretty good guess, based on the condition of Endo’s teeth. We walked in, got our place in the exam room.

Endo’s doctor took a look at her teeth and said she is “between 3 1/2 and 4 years old.” So, there you go. The doc estimated Sabol’s age to be between 6 and 7.

Then I made another command decision. I declared that today, March 31, is Endo’s birthday. I declared also that she turns 4 on this day. “She’s still a young dog,” Endo’s doc told me. The doctor also assured me that she appears to be in excellent health. We had fought off a yeast infection and some skin allergies. Endo weighed about 37 pounds when she first joined me. Today she tipped the beam at 46 pounds, earning her the affectionate nickname of Fatty. She’s not fat, but she clearly has gained weight, which she wears nicely.

Sabol and Endo are still besties. I am grateful they love each other. I had a little fear that Sabol might assert herself as the queen of the house. She didn’t do that, although I do consider her to be the Alpha female around here.

I am looking forward once more to sharing their lives with you. My hope is that you enjoy reading about them, too.

Recalling the ‘worst day’

It’s been a minute or two since I last wrote about the emotional journey I have undertaken since the worst day of my life came and went just shy of three years ago.

I believe my most recent post on High Plains Blogger mentioned that my journey was for all intents complete. That I had turned an important emotional corner since Feb. 3, 2023 when my bride, Kathy Anne, drew her final breath.

Indeed, my suffering is far less intense today than it was three years ago. I can smile, laugh at bawdy jokes and carry on as I used to do with my wife of 51 years. I have redefined “good” as it applies to my personal well-being and I am comfortable with saying I am “good” now. That’s an important thing for me.

I am also going to reveal on this blog a bit of news for you, which is that I am in a relationship with a woman who understands the journey I am still traveling. I won’t go into detail about her, other than to say we enjoy each other’s company.

My journey also has put me in touch with fellow brothers in grief. Many of them have lost their wives even more recently than I lost my bride to glioblastoma, an aggressive form of brain cancer. The question comes from them: I can’t stop crying when I think of her. When will it stop? My answer? It won’t ever stop. Do not try to make it stop, because human emotion can be like a runaway freight train. You can manage it. I know that to be true, because I am able to manage my own emotions.

I had a moment today at lunch with one of my sons. He and I were talking about the upcoming date of commemoration and he recalled having dinner with his Mom and me. During our time together, Kathy Anne announced to my sons, our daughter-in-law, our granddaughter and me that in five years we were going to throw a huge party to salute her being “cancer free.” She was recovering nicely from the brain surgery she had to remove part of the tumor. We weren’t able to have that party, as just a few days later, Kathy Anne suffered a grand mal seizure … from which she didn’t recover.

My son’s recalling that statement from his Mom, however, filled me with sadness. My eyes got wet. I wanted to cry out loud. I held back.

These are the kinds of events that continue to tug at my ticker. But I am able to manage my emotions.

I don’t know what will occur a couple of days from now. I don’t expect the day will overwhelm me. I’ll have to run a couple of errands that will take me away from the house for most of the morning. I’ll drive to Bonham to see the Veterans Administration medics who take good care of me.

Feb. 3 always will be a day I will never forget. Not ever! It comemmorates the worst day I hope to ever experience during my time on this good Earth.

I’ll just add this. Kathy Anne instructed me to be happy if that day ever arrived and like most dutiful husbands I know, I always do what I am told.

Reflecting on future Christmases

I know what you’re thinking, that we cannot “reflect” on events that haven’t yet occurred, as the term applies to the past.

I’ll make a stab at dispelling that notion.

Soon it will be three years since I experienced the worst day of my life with the passing of my bride after a savage bout with glioblastoma, aka cancer of the brain. I miss Kathy Anne every day. We were married for 51 years and one doesn’t lose a life partner without considerable pain.

Christmas was her favorite holiday. My wife would tear through the house like the proverbial Tasmanian Devil. She would deck the digs with boughs of holly, depictions of Santa and Rudy the Reindeer … along with Nativity Scenes depicting the birth of Jesus Christ, which is the real reason Christians celebrate the holiday. And every year she would tell me, “I am not very good at decorating,” which of course demonstrated a degree of false modesty.

I’ve been looking forward to this holiday. I am not the decorator that my bride was, but my modest North Texas home is full of love not just for the memories we shared, but for the family I will see very soon on Christmas.

We will laugh and carry on. We’ll enjoy the holiday fully. It’s all part of the journey I have undertaken since losing my bride.

I am declaring that my journey is complete. I cannot guarantee that I’ll never shed a tear. Indeed, I tell fellow widowers that they, too, likely will feel a sadness that will sneak up on them. Don’t fight it, I tell them.

I’m done fighting my own feelings. I intend to enjoy this season from this one forward.

Merry Christmas!

Growth makes my head spin

Blogger’s Note: This item was published initially in the Dallas Morning News as a guest op-ed from … yours truly.

It wasn’t long ago, or so it seems, that few among us knew where to find Princeton, Texas.

My wife and I moved to the Collin County community in February 2019 and my stock answer to the question from asking where we had decided to sink our stakes, “Where is Princeton?” was, “We’re eight miles east of McKinney on U.S. Highway 380.” Then came the knowing nod.

Today, six years later, fewer of us have to ask where one can find Princeton. Because the city has become the fastest-growing city in the United States, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.

Here are some numbers. The 2010 Census pegged Princeton’s population at 6,807 residents. The 2020 Census elevated that number to 17,027 residents, except that the 2020 Census figure was obsolete before they posted the signs entering the city. The Census Bureau estimated the city population to be around 37,000 in 2024. But wait! Newly appointed Princeton City Manager Mike Mashburn estimates the actual population to be well more than 42,000 residents, based on the number of water meters that are online.

So, the city has exploded from 6,807 to more than 42,000 residents in 15 years.

And guess what … it isn’t letting up. Not even a little bit.

You might wonder: Why did we pick Princeton? It’s close to Allen, where our son and his family live, and his family includes our only grandchild. My wife found the subdivision one night while scrolling online. She told me about what she found. We found out the houses for sale were within our price range, we selected a house, we negotiated a deal. It was done! And I don’t regret making our investment in Princeton.

The City Council realized it didn’t have sufficient infrastructure to serve the burgeoning population. It enacted a moratorium in 2024 on new residential construction. The first ban lasted six months. Then the council extended it. The council likely will have to keep extending it until two things happen: It can have infrastructure in place and it completes all the pending building permits the city issued prior to declaring the ban on residential construction.

I am not an urban planner, but I do get a snootful from officials throughout my community about the perils associated with this rapid growth.

The Princeton public school system is in the midst of a building boom to accommodate the thousands of students expected to enroll in Princeton ISD. Superintendent Donald McIntyre rolls his eyes when he talks about the growth, saying he “can’t build these campuses quickly enough.” They open new campuses and learn immediately that they are stuffed beyond capacity. The district installs portable classrooms immediately to accommodate the overflow. Lowe Elementary School was erected in 2020 and installed two portable classrooms during its first year of operation. The district is now building an elementary school near the Lowe campus to give students moving into the neighborhood a second place to attend class.

Two middle schools are under construction and in 2027, PISD plans to start building a second high school … and has purchased land to accommodate a third high school eventually.

McIntyre agrees he’d rather have this problem than the kind facing other districts – such as Keller and Fort Worth ISDs – that are having to close campuses. However, the growth explosion makes projecting student population with any accuracy a virtual impossibility.

How does the city provide infrastructure? It must hire more police officers and firefighters. That process, of course, takes time, given that applicants have to complete certification training before they can suit up and report for duty. The Princeton Fire Department recently opened two new stations to serve the population north of U.S. 380 and farther southwest along Myrick Lane. It recently completed work on a water treatment plant near the western city limit. The police department, last I heard, was more than 30 officers short of what it needs to keep the peace and enforce the law in Princeton. Police Chief Jim Waters has his hands full, too, keeping pace. The city recently voted to cease providing fire protection for residents living in the unincorporated areas around the city because the city must provide coverage for the growing number of residents moving into homes inside the city limits.

On top of all this, Princeton faces is a stunning lack of commercial development. It recently rezoned a 90-acre parcel on the north side of US 380, expecting to break ground on a massive commercial project. No ground has been broken. The growth continues to be almost exclusively residential, with families being lured to Princeton by the relatively inexpensive real estate prices. And the city has struggled with a contractor and a developer who keep fighting while a massive apartment complex along US 380 seemingly – in the middle of construction — sits idle with little progress being made toward its completion.

I need to mention, too, that traffic has become a nightmare around here. The Texas Department of Transportation has laid out grand plans to build a freeway bypass around Princeton. The state’s road crews no doubt will slow traffic along US 380 even more than what is occurring now as the state seeks to divert through-traffic away from US 380 and onto the bypass.

And only God knows when the bypass will get done.

I have wondered on occasion over the years what it would be like to live in a rapidly growing city such as Princeton, Texas. Now I know. It’s not what it is cracked up to be.

The good news is that it eventually will get done. The city will mature fully and will become a place familiar to anyone seeking a place to call home. I hope I live long enough to enjoy it.

The beard: Making a comeback

The beard is back … or soon will be once I let a few days pass.

The beard has been something I grow and nurture for six months every year during the autumn and winter months. It comes off around first day of spring. I remain clean-shaven for the spring and summer seasons.

I suspended the beard this past season, choosing to keep my puss hair-free during the coldest months of the year. It might have been a bit of homage to my bride, Kathy Anne, who fought with me every spring when I announced the beard was coming off. She liked my face when I covered it in hair. I lost her in February 2023 to cancer and this past autumn and winter, I chose to forgo the beard because, well, she wasn’t around to enjoy it.

I have made a command decision to bring it back.

Now, my best friends, those who have known me the longest, tell me — and I cannot prove the veracity of this statement — that they can set their calendar on the basis of my facial appearance. When the stubble appears, they know it’s fall. Or so they tell me.

Hey, I won’t dispute it. I’ll just go with it and call it good.

 

‘Shock’ doesn’t even describe it

A proverbial show of hands will suffice, so here goes: How many of you have received news that was so shocking, so unexpecrted and so full of dread that you could feel the blood drain from your body as you sought to process the news you have just received?

It happened to me. Forty-five years ago — and it was on a Monday morning, in fact — when I got a call at my desk phone at the Oregon City Enterprise-Courier newspaper. On the other end of the call was my father’s boss. He called to tell me that Dad had died the previous evening in a boating accident north of Vancouver, British Columbia.

Dad was 59 years old. He had taken a couple of his customers to Canada on a thank-you fishing trip, thanking them for the business they did with Dad in his role of sales rep for a major appliance disributor in Portland. Four men were in the boat: Dad, the driver/owner of the boat and the two fellows he took with him for some fishing and fellowship.

Dad and the driver didn’t survive the crash. The two guests made it.

In that moment, I recalled only the last words I had said to Dad before he left on that ill-fated trip: “I’ll see you Wednesday.” I was 30 years old. Dad was the first of my parents to go. Mom would pass four years later.

I mention this because even though it’s been 45 years since Dad perishedi in that boat wreck, I still think of him — and of Mom — every day. My sentimental shelf is getting a bit crowded, though, as I also think each day of my bride, Kathy Anne, and the elder of my two younger sisters, both of whom have passed away recently.

One never stops thinking of loved ones who have left this Earth. You learn to manage the pain that occasionally strikes without warning.

You also learn to appreciate and accept that time is relentless. It’s been 45 years since I felt the blood drain from my body, but I am able to recall every moment of that day as if just happened. I recall telling one of my sisters that Dad was gone and listening to her hysteria over the phone. I remember the drive to Mom’s house with my bride and the paralysis I felt as we sat in the driveway while trying to summon the courage to give her the horrible news … and feeling God’s hand on my shoulder as He told me, “I am here for you,” a moment that filled me with the fortitude to break the news to Mom.

These are the moments one never forgets as we make our own journey through this world.