I was going to write today on Facebook what I was thankful for -- on Thanksgiving -- but who am I kidding? There is not enough room on FB for that, so on the blog I go.
I realize that I am a little late in doing so tonight, but I have pretty much been in bed all day sick. That, I'm not thankful for.
But I am thankful that, although I kind of ruined my Mom's Thanksgiving get-together being sick, I am thankful that she is still with us after our little scare this summer and that I was here this week and my mother was able to take care of me. You're never too old to have your mom take care of you.
I am thankful that the Rapid City Journal had enough faith in me to hire me, bringing me to the Black Hills again after being away for 30 years. I say that because it became apparent that nobody else in Wyoming had the same faith in me despite all that I accomplished there.
I wouldn't have been able to come to Rapid City if not for my brother, Ralph, and his wife, Sharon, as they have brought me into their home without hesitation. With my house in Laramie, there is no way I could afford two residences. Thank you, Ralph and Sharon.
I'm thankful for all of my friends and especially my family who have always been there for me.
I'm thankful that Teresa's parents, Frank and Pat Poindexter, still consider me part of the family and call me on occasion just to see how I am doing.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
One blog (to be) gone, one to stay
A couple of years ago I started this blog after my previous sports blog, Wyomingsports.org was retired when I went to work for the Cheyenne Tribune Eagle.
Originally, it was just an opportunity to ramble about sports in an unofficial capacity. Later, I began to write about Teresa's and my struggles with her health and began another blog, Wyomingsports, on Wordpress to separate them a bit, especially when I quit my job at the Tribune Eagle to be at home when Teresa was discharged from the hospital in Denver.
Even after her passing, I kept it up with both blogs, but mostly with the sports blog when I was freelancing and especially when I was not freelancing and still writing on my own covering University of Wyoming sports.
Now that I am a sportswriter for the Rapid City Journal, I no longer cover UW athletics. I guess it is time to retire Wyomingsports. It's kind of funny, looking at my stats, even with a disclaimer on the front page, I still get a handful of people now and then looking at it, likely expecting a UW story.
Originally, it was just an opportunity to ramble about sports in an unofficial capacity. Later, I began to write about Teresa's and my struggles with her health and began another blog, Wyomingsports, on Wordpress to separate them a bit, especially when I quit my job at the Tribune Eagle to be at home when Teresa was discharged from the hospital in Denver.
Even after her passing, I kept it up with both blogs, but mostly with the sports blog when I was freelancing and especially when I was not freelancing and still writing on my own covering University of Wyoming sports.
Now that I am a sportswriter for the Rapid City Journal, I no longer cover UW athletics. I guess it is time to retire Wyomingsports. It's kind of funny, looking at my stats, even with a disclaimer on the front page, I still get a handful of people now and then looking at it, likely expecting a UW story.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
It's no Stradivarius, but I still have a Pee-wee puppet
A few years ago Teresa showed me a violin that a friend gave her … it was from her friend's grandfather after they cleaned out some of his stuff after he passed away.
Teresa told me, "We think it is a Stradivarius. It might be worth something."
Okay, I thought, maybe it is. I knew that a Stradivarius was the best violin in the world, but I admit I knew little else.
"Someday, if we ever need money, maybe we can sell it," Teresa said.
Well, that day came in the last year or so when Teresa was battling her health and our medical bills were getting out of control.
So, I took it to a local pawn shop to see if they knew anything about it. They didn't, but said to contact somebody from the University of Wyoming music department and see what they say.
Teresa told me, "We think it is a Stradivarius. It might be worth something."
Okay, I thought, maybe it is. I knew that a Stradivarius was the best violin in the world, but I admit I knew little else.
"Someday, if we ever need money, maybe we can sell it," Teresa said.
Well, that day came in the last year or so when Teresa was battling her health and our medical bills were getting out of control.
So, I took it to a local pawn shop to see if they knew anything about it. They didn't, but said to contact somebody from the University of Wyoming music department and see what they say.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Remembering the good times
It's been nearly six months since Teresa left this world and is now looking over us in Heaven, and yes, I truly believe that, although my heart aches constantly knowing that she is not physically with us.
Her 46th birthday is July 10, two days from the six-month anniversary of her death.
With her birthday coming up, Teresa's parents will be here in Laramie to see her headstone for the first time and to visit. It will no doubt be an emotional time for all of us.
With that in mind, we're going to have a little party. The whole idea about coming together like this is to remember Teresa as she lived and not how she died. As much as she could, even to the end, Teresa lived her life to the fullest as a mother, daughter, wife and friend.
Her 46th birthday is July 10, two days from the six-month anniversary of her death.
With her birthday coming up, Teresa's parents will be here in Laramie to see her headstone for the first time and to visit. It will no doubt be an emotional time for all of us.
With that in mind, we're going to have a little party. The whole idea about coming together like this is to remember Teresa as she lived and not how she died. As much as she could, even to the end, Teresa lived her life to the fullest as a mother, daughter, wife and friend.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated
This almost happened to me ... kind of.
A story in the Greeley Tribune about a man whose obituary was published even though he hadn't died, got me to thinking about an incident in college. No obituary of me was published, but there were friends and acquaintances who thought I had passed away.
When I was a student at Black Hills State University in Spearfish, S.D., a fire at a sawmill killed a worker ... a 21-year-old Richard Anderson, also student at BHSU. I, too, was 21 years old at the time.
The story hit the wires services and apparently was heard on the radio by a couple of my high school friends (brothers) who were going to school at South Dakota State University in Brookings, S.D. They had called their mother to find out when my funeral services were, as they had planned to attend. She then called my mother to find out.
I had called my mom to reassure her that it wasn't me and she told my friends' mother that it wasn't me. All was well.
But it didn't end there.
The day after the accident, I missed a certain journalism class to work, covering an event at a nearby local newspaper in Belle Fourche, S.D. Two days later I shocked the professor when I walked into the classroom.
"We thought you had died in the fire," the professor tells me.
"Obviously, that wasn't me," I retorted.
It still hadn't ended there.
A few days later, a knock came on my door. When I answered the door, the man standing there said, "Good, you're not dead."
I think I answered, "Thank you, I'm glad too."
A couple of months earlier, for some reason, I took out a life insurance policy. It was my insurance agent. Evidently, he was sweating bullets for a couple of days, likely thinking he had to write out a check to my survivors.
So as it was, borrowing a quote from Mark Twain, "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."
Slightly like this story.
A story in the Greeley Tribune about a man whose obituary was published even though he hadn't died, got me to thinking about an incident in college. No obituary of me was published, but there were friends and acquaintances who thought I had passed away.
When I was a student at Black Hills State University in Spearfish, S.D., a fire at a sawmill killed a worker ... a 21-year-old Richard Anderson, also student at BHSU. I, too, was 21 years old at the time.
The story hit the wires services and apparently was heard on the radio by a couple of my high school friends (brothers) who were going to school at South Dakota State University in Brookings, S.D. They had called their mother to find out when my funeral services were, as they had planned to attend. She then called my mother to find out.
I had called my mom to reassure her that it wasn't me and she told my friends' mother that it wasn't me. All was well.
But it didn't end there.
The day after the accident, I missed a certain journalism class to work, covering an event at a nearby local newspaper in Belle Fourche, S.D. Two days later I shocked the professor when I walked into the classroom.
"We thought you had died in the fire," the professor tells me.
"Obviously, that wasn't me," I retorted.
It still hadn't ended there.
A few days later, a knock came on my door. When I answered the door, the man standing there said, "Good, you're not dead."
I think I answered, "Thank you, I'm glad too."
A couple of months earlier, for some reason, I took out a life insurance policy. It was my insurance agent. Evidently, he was sweating bullets for a couple of days, likely thinking he had to write out a check to my survivors.
So as it was, borrowing a quote from Mark Twain, "The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated."
Slightly like this story.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Who is Tanisha Poindexter?
Several times a week we still get mail for Teresa. Some of it is junk mail and some of it is still doctor bills.
At first it kind of bothered me, but I know it is going to continue to happen. Whatever.
Today's mail has me puzzled ... more than usual. I'll get to it in a minute.
For those who didn't know, Teresa kept her previous married name -- Clift -- because she didn't want to cause confusion for her daughter, Cassie, as she went through school. Her plan was to change her name to Anderson once Cassie graduated from high school, which she did in 2010.
By that time, though, Teresa was in and out of hospitals and nursing homes. She never got it done for obvious reasons. I kept Clift in her obituary and headstone because I know that is what most people knew her by. Again, I wanted to avoid confusion. It was also still her legal name.
Before Clift, her maiden name was Poindexter. And yes, she was teased about it.
If she was with us today, you can bet I would be teasing her now. In the mail today came one of those prepaid debit card offers from TurboTax in the name of ... Tanisha Poindexter. That's right, Tanisha Poindexter.
I have no idea how this happened or why it happened. I'm tempted to call the 800 number on the offer to get an explanation. Of course, it would do me no good and likely I would eventually get an offer in the mail myself for Ricardo Poindexter or something like that.
I suppose Tanisha could sound like Teresa over the phone, but she hadn't gone by Poindexter in over 20 years. Did Teresa talk to them at some point? I guess it could have happened when she was in the hospital last year in Denver, but she was discharged in early December.
Maybe there was a Tanisha Poindexter living at this address before Teresa bought the house in in the early 1990s, although I really doubt it. That would be too weird.
I'll probably never really know, unless Tanisha Poindexter gets more mail here.
Then I will have to know.
At first it kind of bothered me, but I know it is going to continue to happen. Whatever.
Today's mail has me puzzled ... more than usual. I'll get to it in a minute.
For those who didn't know, Teresa kept her previous married name -- Clift -- because she didn't want to cause confusion for her daughter, Cassie, as she went through school. Her plan was to change her name to Anderson once Cassie graduated from high school, which she did in 2010.
By that time, though, Teresa was in and out of hospitals and nursing homes. She never got it done for obvious reasons. I kept Clift in her obituary and headstone because I know that is what most people knew her by. Again, I wanted to avoid confusion. It was also still her legal name.
Before Clift, her maiden name was Poindexter. And yes, she was teased about it.
If she was with us today, you can bet I would be teasing her now. In the mail today came one of those prepaid debit card offers from TurboTax in the name of ... Tanisha Poindexter. That's right, Tanisha Poindexter.
I have no idea how this happened or why it happened. I'm tempted to call the 800 number on the offer to get an explanation. Of course, it would do me no good and likely I would eventually get an offer in the mail myself for Ricardo Poindexter or something like that.
I suppose Tanisha could sound like Teresa over the phone, but she hadn't gone by Poindexter in over 20 years. Did Teresa talk to them at some point? I guess it could have happened when she was in the hospital last year in Denver, but she was discharged in early December.
Maybe there was a Tanisha Poindexter living at this address before Teresa bought the house in in the early 1990s, although I really doubt it. That would be too weird.
I'll probably never really know, unless Tanisha Poindexter gets more mail here.
Then I will have to know.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Looking stylish on the job
First of all, I have no right to criticize, but I will at least make fun of. I'm pretty good at both.
While I am on my laptop in my living room continuously staring at the job boards, I notice a lawn care truck pull up across the street. Two young female workers bounce out of the truck and one is dancing. Evidently they were grooving to a tune as they pulled up.
It's still fairly cool out, in the low 50s. Both are bundled up in sweats and baseball caps. They're both wearing basketball shorts. How do I know they are wearing basketball shorts underneath their sweats? On cue, both pull down their sweats below their, uh, drearier, like the cool kids do these days.
Their job evidently is to spray the dandelions, which are beginning to pop up like ... dandelions.
It probably takes them less than five minutes to do their job in this very small front yard.
On cue, as they finish up and get ready to get back in their truck, they pull their pants back up. Evidently it is more difficult to drive with your pants down. Of course, I wouldn't know. Maybe I'll try it some day.
As it turned out, both spent more time making sure they looked right than they did with their actual job. Well, let me clarify. All I can see now is the driver. I'm guessing the other worker did the same.
Nevertheless, the driver takes her cap off and fixes her hair while looking in the outside mirror. She then puts her cap back on, looks in the mirror, then takes it off again. The hair wasn't quite right. It takes a while, but she gets it right, sticking her head out of the window and looking in the mirror ... four more times.
She pulls the hoodie up over her cap, sticks her head out of the window and looks in the mirror.
She puts her sunglasses back on, sticks her head out of the window and looks in the mirror.
They take off. At least she looked in the mirror before pulling out into traffic. Well, I think it was because she was pulling out into traffic. It could have been just to see how she looked as she was pulling out into traffic.
Once they drove off, I mumbled to myself, "At least they have a job."
While I am on my laptop in my living room continuously staring at the job boards, I notice a lawn care truck pull up across the street. Two young female workers bounce out of the truck and one is dancing. Evidently they were grooving to a tune as they pulled up.
It's still fairly cool out, in the low 50s. Both are bundled up in sweats and baseball caps. They're both wearing basketball shorts. How do I know they are wearing basketball shorts underneath their sweats? On cue, both pull down their sweats below their, uh, drearier, like the cool kids do these days.
Their job evidently is to spray the dandelions, which are beginning to pop up like ... dandelions.
It probably takes them less than five minutes to do their job in this very small front yard.
On cue, as they finish up and get ready to get back in their truck, they pull their pants back up. Evidently it is more difficult to drive with your pants down. Of course, I wouldn't know. Maybe I'll try it some day.
As it turned out, both spent more time making sure they looked right than they did with their actual job. Well, let me clarify. All I can see now is the driver. I'm guessing the other worker did the same.
Nevertheless, the driver takes her cap off and fixes her hair while looking in the outside mirror. She then puts her cap back on, looks in the mirror, then takes it off again. The hair wasn't quite right. It takes a while, but she gets it right, sticking her head out of the window and looking in the mirror ... four more times.
She pulls the hoodie up over her cap, sticks her head out of the window and looks in the mirror.
She puts her sunglasses back on, sticks her head out of the window and looks in the mirror.
They take off. At least she looked in the mirror before pulling out into traffic. Well, I think it was because she was pulling out into traffic. It could have been just to see how she looked as she was pulling out into traffic.
Once they drove off, I mumbled to myself, "At least they have a job."
Friday, May 18, 2012
Just a sucker for hometowns
Let's see, "home is where the heart is, you can never go home," or "home away from home."
What else can I say about home? That'll probably do it.
I recently mentioned on Facebook and to my family that during a visit to my hometown of Hot Springs, S.D., I felt the Black Hills pulling me back.
Walking my dog at Butler Park, I was surrounded by the beauty of the Hills. I thought to myself, "who wouldn't want to live here?"
I guess you can count yours truly as one who couldn't wait to get out of their hometown as a kid. For the most part, I think most of us felt that way, whether we stayed or left.
Now 30-some years later, you look around and realize that your hometown isn't just a bunch of houses with nothing to do. It's a pretty spectacular place. Funny how that happens.
What else can I say about home? That'll probably do it.
I recently mentioned on Facebook and to my family that during a visit to my hometown of Hot Springs, S.D., I felt the Black Hills pulling me back.
Walking my dog at Butler Park, I was surrounded by the beauty of the Hills. I thought to myself, "who wouldn't want to live here?"
I guess you can count yours truly as one who couldn't wait to get out of their hometown as a kid. For the most part, I think most of us felt that way, whether we stayed or left.
Now 30-some years later, you look around and realize that your hometown isn't just a bunch of houses with nothing to do. It's a pretty spectacular place. Funny how that happens.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Once a Cowgirl, always a Cowgirl
It didn't take me long to know what I wanted to put on Teresa's headstone when making final arrangements after she passed away on Jan. 12.
In June 2011, Bob Hammond wrote a column on Teresa's health struggles and tied in her love of the University of Wyoming sports programs, especially women's basketball, and her attempts to get back to cheering for her Cowgirls.
As many of you know, Teresa (Poindexter) is a former Cowgirls basketball player, competing for Wyoming from 1984-87. She graduated with a nursing degree from UW in 1989 and spent many years as a nurse at Ivinson Memorial Hospital and later at the Cathedral Home for Children.
In that column, Hammond wrote, "Once a Cowgirl, always a Cowgirl."
This past season, when it appeared that Teresa was going to be able to come home after a 15-month stay in various hospitals, we talked about her being able to go to a Cowgirls game, likely near the end of the season as it would give her time to recover and be able to sustain the physical aspect of attending a game. Teresa's injuries and illnesses caused her to be a paraplegic.
In a conversation with head coach Joe Legerski, who coached Teresa for one season as a young assistant under Chad Lavin, we talked about Teresa attending a game. Legerski said that when we thought that would be possible, they wanted to do something special for her. He closed the conversation by saying, "Once a Cowgirl, always a Cowgirl."
Unfortunately, we weren't able to fulfill Teresa's wish and after 10 great days at home, Teresa returned to the hospital again and later passed away.
Teresa left a legacy as a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a friend and a caregiver. Even to the end, she was always thinking of others.
Teresa came back to Laramie twice in her life. It was her home. She loved everything about Laramie, the state and the University of Wyoming.
"Once a Cowgirl, always a Cowgirl."
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Fulfilling a dream
I think it is safe to say that I am a dreamer. More like dreaming in my sleep than being a daydreamer, although I do have a plan for when I win the lottery.
Throughout the years, I have had constant dreams about different subjects. After becoming an adult (whenever that was), I dreamed about the old days as a high school athlete. I had to quit sports my junior year for medical reasons, so I never fulfilled my athletic achievements. Hence, I became a sports writer. Naturally in these dreams, even at an advanced age, I dominate.
Since my wife, Teresa, passed away in January, I have been flooded with dreams of her. Some good, some bad. In the good dreams, Teresa is always able to walk again, which makes me feel good when I wake up. I guess it's all about searching for a sign that she is going to be okay.
Throughout the years that I have been with Teresa, I always told her about some of the more bizarre dreams that I had encountered. One of her favorites was one that has me going back to my hometown (Hot Springs, S.D.). In these dreams, I walk the main drag. I usually start around Norm's Pool Hall and end up at either Donnell's store, the Evans Hotel or even the Evans Plunge.
All this time there is a party going on, like a class reunion or a city celebration. Regardless, I would tell Teresa and she always got a kick out of it.
Throughout the years, I have had constant dreams about different subjects. After becoming an adult (whenever that was), I dreamed about the old days as a high school athlete. I had to quit sports my junior year for medical reasons, so I never fulfilled my athletic achievements. Hence, I became a sports writer. Naturally in these dreams, even at an advanced age, I dominate.
Since my wife, Teresa, passed away in January, I have been flooded with dreams of her. Some good, some bad. In the good dreams, Teresa is always able to walk again, which makes me feel good when I wake up. I guess it's all about searching for a sign that she is going to be okay.
Throughout the years that I have been with Teresa, I always told her about some of the more bizarre dreams that I had encountered. One of her favorites was one that has me going back to my hometown (Hot Springs, S.D.). In these dreams, I walk the main drag. I usually start around Norm's Pool Hall and end up at either Donnell's store, the Evans Hotel or even the Evans Plunge.
All this time there is a party going on, like a class reunion or a city celebration. Regardless, I would tell Teresa and she always got a kick out of it.
Monday, March 5, 2012
What do I do now?
In a little over a week, I'll celebrate my 53rd birthday.
Fifty frickin three.
I'm not sure I like the sound of that. And celebrate? Hardly. What's to celebrate?
On my 52nd birthday, I had the day off and made the trek to Denver to visit Teresa, who was just a couple months into her year-long stay at the Colorado Acute Longterm Hospital. I had a hunch something might be going on when I walked past the nurses station as I got a few smiles and grins from the nurses, aides and physical therapists.
Actually I didn't have a clue, really. I say I did, but I'm just kidding myself. It sounds better when I say it.
Just a few minutes after my arrival, the whole nurses station seemed to come into Teresa's room where they sang happy birthday to me, did a little dance and gave me a cupcake with a candle in it. One of Teresa's nurses, Sue, made me a birthday hat from a Depends diaper. I wore it for them. I have proof with a picture that I will likely never show anybody again.
Teresa had it all planned out. I'd give anything to only be turning 52 in a week, instead of 53.
Fifty frickin three.
I'm not sure I like the sound of that. And celebrate? Hardly. What's to celebrate?
On my 52nd birthday, I had the day off and made the trek to Denver to visit Teresa, who was just a couple months into her year-long stay at the Colorado Acute Longterm Hospital. I had a hunch something might be going on when I walked past the nurses station as I got a few smiles and grins from the nurses, aides and physical therapists.
Actually I didn't have a clue, really. I say I did, but I'm just kidding myself. It sounds better when I say it.
Just a few minutes after my arrival, the whole nurses station seemed to come into Teresa's room where they sang happy birthday to me, did a little dance and gave me a cupcake with a candle in it. One of Teresa's nurses, Sue, made me a birthday hat from a Depends diaper. I wore it for them. I have proof with a picture that I will likely never show anybody again.
Teresa had it all planned out. I'd give anything to only be turning 52 in a week, instead of 53.
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