Tag Archives: Kathy Anne

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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.

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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.

 

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‘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.

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Learning to cope with pain and with loss

I wrote this blog initially in February 2023 for KETR.org, the website for East Texas A&M University’s public radio station. I want to share it here to report that my journey from the darkness of sorrow has progressed nicely.

Here is a general assumption most will agree is true: Almost every human being who’s ever lived will undergo some form of grief or mourning, that they will struggle to recover emotionally from the loss of a loved one.

Another assumption that is generally accepted is that all humans have their own way of processing that grief. They all deal with it differently from, say, their siblings or their parents or the aunts and uncles or their best friends.

I am going through it myself. A little more than one month ago my wife of 51 years passed away from a savage form of brain cancer. You’ve heard of glioblastoma, yes? It has taken the lives of notable politicians, such as U.S. Sens. John McCain and Ted Kennedy, as well as Beau Biden, the elder son of President Joe Biden.

That it struck Kathy Anne down so rapidly and with such brutality only has worsened the grief I am feeling at this moment. We took her to the ER on Dec. 26, where the doctors informed us she had a mass in her brain. A surgeon took some of it out the next day. Kathy Anne was preparing for radiation and chemotherapy treatment when, on Jan. 26, she suffered a grand mal seizure … from which she never recovered. She passed away on Feb. 3.

Here is another truth: Anyone who endures such loss must take comfort in this bit of truth: No one is alone in their struggle; others have gone through it before and for as long as human beings exist there will be many more who will suffer the immense pain far into the future.

Does any of that lessen the pain in real time? Are we supposed to take that knowledge and then pass it off as something that will just go away – like a common cold or a headache? Not a chance.

They write books about grief and mourning. The world is full of experts who profess to know how they have dealt with it and they impart knowledge to the rest of the world based on their own experience.

Megan Devine is one such “expert” on grief. She suffered a horrible loss when her partner, a fellow named Matt, drowned. Devine holds a master’s degree in psychology and has written a book titled “It’s OK That You’re Not OK.”

She writes: “We all want to talk about our pain. We all carry stories that need acknowledgement. But right now? Right now, when you are in pain, when your loss is primary and powerful? That is not the time for a two-way, give-and-take discussion about the losses we all sustain. Grief comparison and shared grief stories do not bring you comfort. Of course they don’t.”

I know of which she writes. Friends and family members want to say the correct words, except that when they tell you that they “know how you feel,” they really don’t know. They cannot get into the heads or the hearts of the aggrieved. Those who can either are clairvoyant or they possess some unknown super-human power that is exclusive to them only.

Nick Patras is head of counseling at Texas A&M University-Commerce; Patras earned his doctorate in counselor education. He has seen grief and mourning up close, first as an employee in the funeral industry and then as a counselor at TAMUC.

“Our focus here is on the students,” Patras said, explaining that college students must deal with the “death of a grandparent, a parent or even the death by suicide of friends. These students have to navigate their way through the mourning process.”

Grief and mourning, Patras said, “are unique to each individual. Their level of grief will depend on the level of the relationship with the individual they are mourning.”

Students, he said, also occasionally have to deal with a rather unique form of mourning. “Sometimes students who are on academic probation must deal with the loss of their educational and career aspirations,” Patras said. “Students come here and enroll in pre-med, or pre-vet or pre-nursing,” he said, “and then they see their academic potential taken away. They decide that ‘This just isn’t for me.’ Then they see their hopes and dreams are derailed. Many students then go into a form of mourning over that loss, too.”

We all have heard of the various “stages of grief.” They remain a mystery to many of us who are going through it. My own stages deal mostly with the intensity and frequency of emotion that pours forth unexpectedly. It comes without warning, although it is most common when the discussion turns to Kathy Anne. It is getting easier with each day – or maybe two – to discuss life with her without blubbering.

One piece of advice that is worth retaining is to “live each day as if it’s your final day.” Yes. I’ll take that advice. Take nothing for granted and do not allow the little irritations to get you down. It’s OK to burst out with anger, but then let it disappear.

But as we trudge on through the beginning of the rest of our life it becomes easier to avoid even the angry bursts. Honest to goodness … it’s true!

Devine writes: “The way to live inside of grief is not by removing pain, but by doing what we can to reduce suffering. Knowing the difference between pain and suffering can help you understand what thing can be changed and what things simply need your love and attention.”

Devine devotes a section of Chapter 7 to the difference between pain and suffering, noting: “Pain is pure and needs support rather than solutions, but suffering is different. Suffering can be fixed, or at least significantly reduced.” Pain, she implies, remains in some form virtually for as long as we live.

Kenneth Haugk founded Stephen Ministries after his wife died in 2002 of ovarian cancer. He is a pastor and a clinical psychologist who also has written a booklet, “A Time to Grieve.”

In the book, he cites the “Three Ns” of grief. He calls it “normal, natural” and “necessary.” He writes, “(S)ometimes people still feel pressured not to grieve. The message they receive is that grief is optional, abnormal, or even a sign of weakness. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Grief is a normal, natural and necessary process.” Haugk implores us to “give yourself permission to grieve.”

I have no particular need to grant myself “permission” to grieve. It comes naturally and easily.

The only times I “apologize” is when I cannot complete a sentence while speaking of Kathy Anne. The response always has been in the weeks since her passing that “It’s OK. Take your time. I get it.” The understanding from friends is most appreciated and, indeed, these words expressing that appreciation seem so inadequate.

Feb. 3, 2023 was – without a doubt – the worst day of my life. I watched my bride slip away. The days that come along will be better than the previous days. President Biden – who lost his first wife and infant daughter in an auto accident in 1972, and then his grown son to glioblastoma in 2015 – tells us that one day we will smile when we think of those we have lost.

I know that day is out there.

The triumph over grief and mourning, Patras said, occurs when someone can “come to grips with the new reality and whether that new reality makes sense. It’s all about making sense of that new reality.”

It’s good to rely on the wisdom of those who have experienced deep emotional pain. As Megan Devine writes: “No one can enter the deepest heart of grief. We here, even the ones who know this magnitude of pain – we are not there with you inside your deepest grief. That intimacy is yours alone.

“But together, we recognize each other and bow to the pain we see. Our hearts have held great, great sorrow. Through that pain, we can be there for each other. As our words knock on the doors of each other’s hearts, we become way stations for each other.

“The truth is, also: you are not alone.”I wrote this blog initially in February 2023 for KETR.org, the website for East Texas A&M University’s public radio station. I want to share it here to report that my journey from the darkness of sorrow has progressed nicely.

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Returning … only to say good bye

AMARILLO — I think it was Boone Pickens — the late, legendary oil tycoon — who once told me he didn’t return often to Amarillo “except to attend funerals.

It’s weird saying so, but I am finding myself in the same boat as the former Amarillo resident. My wife and I lived here for 23 years. She’s gone now and I don’t come back much these days. I have returned to attend a memorial service for a friend we both new. Kathy Anne is here in spirit, while I am here in the flesh.

And the sad truth is that my life has relocated from the Panhandle to the Metroplex. Which means that I don’t return often to the community where my wife and I forged a wonderful life.

We made a lot of friends during our time here. I reckon I’ll see many of them as we all bid farewell to a woman who also cultivated many friendships during her 70-something years on the good Earth. I don’t want my return here to revolve only around funeral services. It seems that is the inveviable trend my life will follow.

Whatever. I have returned this weekend. Hope to hug a lot of folks before I head back home.

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Time is relentless … and merciless

Reminders present themselves to me with stunning regularity … and they all say the same thing, which is that time is not my friend, that it marches on without mercy.

åHow do I know that? For starters, I know when I was born and that date tells me I am 75 years of age. I am actually still upright a touch longer than your average American male. I also know when the reminders knock when I see obituaries of friends. I heard this past week about the passing of a friend my bride and I knew in Amarillo. Kathy Anne is gone now, but I am going back up yonder at the end of the month to celebrate Caroline Woodburn’s life.

I am acutely aware that I am not providing a flash for those who are older than I am. They’ve known the obvious longer than I have. However, it is worth mentioning only because I am enough of a realist to understand what we all know to be true … that death is a part of life.

I have lost several longtime friends over the past calendar year. The rate of demise is accelerating. I am not a Pollyanna about this fact of life. Indeed, when I don’t hear from peers of the same age for any length of time, I begin to presume the worst. For instance, a high school classmate of mine — a fellow to whom I’ve grown close since we graduated from high school in 1967 — went quiet on social media for longer than usual. I called him to see if he is still alive. He is! I told the reason for my call and he assured me he is in good shape except for the usual old timers’ issues that plague all of us. We both laughed out loud.

The reminders keep arriving. I am an old man. I don’t expect to check outta here any day soon. However, as we all should understand, all of that can change — snap! — just like that.

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A positive result to report

I want to report to you some astounding news I received this week from my primary care physician … and it appears to be a result of the nutrition class I attended at home offered by the Department of Veterans Affairs.

My doctor has removed my daily dose of cholesterol medication from my routine. She told me my lab results are so positive that she doesn’t see the need to continue taking the pills each day.

I looked at her and said, plainly and simply, “Wow!”

I sought professional help from the VA because I had gained a lot of weight in the two years since I lost my bride, Kathy Anne, to an aggressive form of brain cancer … glioblastoma. I had been taking the anti-cholesterol meds for many years prior to that tragic event. The meds had done their job, reeling in my cholesterol and triglycerides to within range of normal. Indeed, when I first saw a doctor in Amarillo way back when, he told me the substance they drew from my arm “didn’t even look like blood.” My lab numbers were off the charts. He declared that I was fortunate to have avoided serious impairment or death by a stroke.

The VA nutrition program was intended to jump-start a weight loss effort. That didn’t happen. Although I have peeled a few pounds off this overfed old man’s body. What did happen was a change of lifestyle. I can state with clear honesty that I have changed my eating habits. I forgo the junk food that would formerly entice me.

This week, I got some hard numbers that told me my efforts have paid off. I want to share that with you because of the support I have gotten from Blogger Land from those who tell me they want me to stay in the game of commenting on world affairs.

So … there you have it. Life is good. I intend to keep living it for a while longer.

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Declaring victory in this fight

I stand before you today to declare a conditional victory in the war I have been waging … with myself.

About 15 weeks ago, I joined a class of fellow military veterans who reportedly struggled as I have with weight control. I sought professional help because I was unable to come to grips with what I determined was my addiction to comfort food.

I smothered myself in comfort food after I lost my bride, Kathy Anne, to brain cancer a little more than two years ago. I reached out to the Department of Veterans Affairs and  lo and behold, I learned that the VA medical center in Bonham has an online class it teaches to veterans just like me.

So, for the past four months I have been taking this course online with the help of a nutritionist who works for the VA. I learned a great deal on how to curb my impulses, how to control myself and how to change my life.

Therefore, I will declare victory in the “changing of my life” aspect. I have done so!

I know what some of you might be wondering: Have I lost much weight? No. I haven’t. The point is that I am able to maintain control of my impulses by eliminating certain snack foods from my diet. I no longer splurge on sugary treats. I measure my portions of meat and vegetables. I consume increasing amounts of veggies and fruits daily. I am drinking an adequate amount of water.

I am feeling like a million bucks.

I had set an ambitious weight-loss goal at the outset. I didn’t reach the finish line. I have dropped a few pounds, to be sure. However, I am going to keep striving. I feel energized if only by the knowledge that I can change my life and, in fact, have done so.

I feel a certain sense of accomplishment and I just want to share it with those of you who read this blog and know a bit of the struggle my family and I have endured. For me, it came in the form of that damn comfort food.

I am happy to declare victory. The time will come when I can declare a victory without condition. I just need to reach that goal I set. I’ll get there.

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Dogs are in fact ‘loved ones’

I saw a social media post that declared, “Losing a dog is almost as bad as losing a loved one.”

Hah! “Almost as bad”? I beg to differ. Losing a dog is just like losing a loved one. At least that’s the case in my house.

I live in North Texas and am the parent of an energetic 6-year-old Chihuahua mix named Sabol,  Sabol joined my family right after I returned from an overseas vacation in September 2024. We met at a park in Princeton and fell in love with each other immediately.

You see, Sabol was living with a woman who is in failing health and her daughter sought to find a new home for the puppy. That’s when I came along. Sabol took the place of another Chihuahua mix pooch I lost in December 2023 to cancer. I wrote extensively about Toby the Puppy over the nine years he brought joy to my household. I lost Toby the same year cancer claimed my bride of 51 years. Indeed, Toby’s passing provided a symbolic bookend to the worst year of my life. I said farewell to Kathy Anne near the beginning of 2023 and I said the same to Toby the Puppy near the end of that horrific year.

I won’t equate the losses. I won’t say that losing Toby was the same as losing Kathy Anne. I will say, though, that letting Toby go after his battle with cancer became too much for him hurt just like “losing a loved one.” I loved Toby very much.

And I love Sabol just as much.

I long ago ceased referring to myself as a “pet owner.” I am a proud “pet parent,.” And like any parent can fathom, losing a loving furry baby brings plenty of pain.

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Another tale of loss

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My reluctance to share this latest twist in my life’s journey has buckled under the pressure to reveal a bit about my family to all of you.

I lost my sister to illness not long ago. She was 14 months younger than me. She had suffered terribly for a long time with a list of ailments too long for me to count here. It was a bout with COPD that claimed my sis. Her heart stopped and the medics couldn’t bring her back.

Georgianne died in the house she shared with her husband.

Sis led a complicated life. However, we remained close despite some differences over many issues dating back to our teen years. It’s difficult to explain, except that I knew her my entire life. She was part of my life the moment I became aware of my surroundings as a toddler.

I have been feeling down in the dumps over the past several days. I guess it’s a feeling of mortality that has gripped me.

My parents weren’t allowed to grow old. Dad was 59 when he perished in a boating accident in 1980. Mom was 61 when she succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease four years later. My bride was 71 when she passed from glioblastoma — cancer of the brain. All but one of my parents’ eight siblings have passed away.

We’re going to gather later this week to celebrate Georgianne’s life in a service at a church she and her husband attended in a rural Washington state community. The next day we will gather at a cemetery in Portland to have her remains blessed by an Orthodox priest from the church where my sisters and I were baptized.

I have no particular need to tell you all of this, other than to put it in the open. I have one sister left and I venture to believe we will be drawn even closer than we are already … and that’s really saying something.

Maybe I should declare a bit of regret that I wasn’t always kind to my departed sister. She had this way of getting under my skin with the occasional statement or opinion that exhibited a stunning lack of awareness that others were hurting.

But … she was my sister. I loved her unconditionally. I will miss her for the rest of my life.