If you've known me for any length of time, you probably know that the character of Harry Adams ( Lost Legacy , Uneasy Prey , Cry Wolf , Til Death ) is loosely based on my dad, who had Alzheimer's. And you might also know that my mom later was diagnosed with vascular dementia.  The topics of caregiving and especially caregiver's guilt, of which I'm well acquainted, are near and dear to my heart.  I was honored (and quite frankly, a bit terrified) to join my dear friends Bobbi and Mike Carducci on their Rodger That podcast to share my experiences with the topic. It's one of the hardest interviews I've ever done. Click here to listen. 

It’s been a week since my mom passed quietly from this earth. The last few months have been awful. Those last few weeks had been agonizing. Those last three days, nothing short of torture. For me, at least. Mom was surrounded by some of the most compassionate caregivers I could have wished for. I cannot say enough wonderful things about the staff of Evergreen Personal Care Home and Bethany Hospice. I watched you treat my mom with dignity and respect, love and honor in her final days. And you held me together too. My mom was tough. She was also chronically late. In the last few weeks and days, we wondered how she managed to hang on. There couldn’t be much keeping her alive. A couple of times, she seemed to be looking at something/someone over in the corner of the room. My dad, I’m sure. Once while I was sitting alone with her, I had a little talk with Dad, pleading with him to take her and end her suffering here. Then I remembered something. I flashed back to ...

Love you forever, Mom. Helen Riggle April 10, 1920 - January 4, 2017

I confess. This has been a rough week on many levels. First, the election. I know. We’re all sick of hearing about it, so I’ll be brief. It didn’t go the way I’d hoped. Losing an election is nothing new to me. Not my first rodeo. But this is the first time the loss has left me sick and terrified. Beyond that, all I’m going to say right now is I’m working on some ways to do what I can to make this angry world safer for those who now find they have targets on their backs simply because they’re different. Or because we’re women. More on that another time. Secondly, I’ve had my mom admitted to hospice care. While that term sounds scary, I think it’s going to be one of the best moves I’ve ever made. The team is fabulous. I’ve met or spoken with all of them. They’re as determined as I am to keep Mom comfortable and to give her as much quality of life as possible under the circumstances. Still, it’s one of those steps that make me get in my car, sit behind the wheel, and cry. ...

It’s been a while since I wrote anything about my mom. If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve probably noticed a number of posts recently about long nights in the ER with her. I appreciate the kind concerns and prayers from friends and family. But while I know they’re well intended, the “hope she gets well soon” sentiments cut like a finely honed blade. Mom isn’t going to get well. She has good days and bad. More and more of the latter. Today’s “good days” are about the same as the bad ones a couple months ago. She has vascular dementia. In addition to her mental slippage, her legs have grown weak and uncooperative, adding to her pre-existing balance issues. We plead with her to call for assistance to get out of bed. Unfortunately, she can’t remember that she’s had numerable falls lately, so she continues to try to get up and around on her own, resulting in more falls. And in more trips to the ER. She has dislocated her right hip twice now. She’s hit her head more times ...

A little over a year ago, we had to make the difficult decision to move my mom from her house to an assisted living home. It’s been difficult for both of us on many levels, one of which being the fact I’ve lived two doors away from her for decades. Now I live two doors away from an empty house. Seeing it day in and day out makes my heart heavy. Going through it in preparation to put it on the market has been gut wrenching. I do well for a while, tossing stuff that Mom saved for heaven-only-knows what reason. But then I come across something that has sentimental value, and I choke up. I lock the house, come home, and weep. But this weekend, we’re turning a page. Moving from the Past to the Future. We have a buyer for the house. My grand nephew. Yes, the family home is staying in the family. I couldn’t be happier. He’s moving in over the next few days. I still have to go through Mom’s “stuff” and clear it out. But some of what’s left after a year of my slow archeological dig can...

First, let me say I’ll be very glad when these year-in-review things go away! 2014 was a rough year for the nation and reliving all the horrific news stories is more than I can handle with my current low stock in tissues. Goal #1: Go to the store and buy Kleenex. Seriously, though, it’s time for my annual post about creating goals. If you don’t know the difference between goals and resolutions by now, go back into my archives and pull up a post from January 1 of any year. Last year, my big goal concerned finding balance. I was more or less successful. I met all my deadlines (okay, I was one day late for ONE of them, but I had permission), so I must have done okay staying focused on writing. I did, however, go off the track where exercise is concerned. And family matters completely derailed me for a while. Hey, life happens. You do your best, and you move on. So for 2015, I’m shooting for a do-over on the finding balance goal. I need to continue to maintain momentum...

So many friends have been asking about my Mom, I realized I needed to post an update. It’s been a rough couple of months for both of us, beginning with the realization that she wouldn’t be able to live independently at home any longer. However, the plan for her to move in with us didn’t set well with her. She repeated she didn’t want to be a burden in spite of my insistence that she wouldn’t be. As of this past Tuesday, Mom has moved to Sunrise SeniorCare , a beautiful assisted living facility. This place is incredible. Heck, I want to live there! Either she’s lying to me or she really does like her new digs. Time will tell. My home will always be open…although I have to admit, where she’s at now is WAY nicer than Casa de Dashofy! For Thanksgiving, Hubby and I picked her up and took her to the family gathering where she oversaw the carving of the turkey. No blood was shed, no fingers lost. With Mom settled into her new apartment, a huge weight has been lifted from my...

It’s been a roller coaster couple of weeks. As I was pounding toward the deadline for my third Zoe Chambers mystery, my mom, who has been having some health issues, had to be admitted to the hospital. Familiar (to me) terms like atrial tachycardia and atrial fibrillation floated around along with a new one: orthostatic hypotension. Basically this means her heartbeat was fast and irregular…and her blood pressure plummeted when she stood up. In the midst of runs to the hospital and conferences with doctors, I completed and turned in the manuscript—ON TIME. But then there was this little matter of the Writer’s Police Academy , something I’d been looking forward to for a year and had paid for months ago. I seriously contemplated staying home. But my darling hubby earned a boatload of brownie points by cancelling his own “guys’ weekend” and staying home to make sure Mom had a ride home when they discharged her and to keep an eye on her once she was home. My brother stepped up big...

Pennwriters board of directors, of which I’ve been a member for more years than I care to count, holds three meetings a year. In February, we have a teleconference meeting. In May we have a short evening meeting the Thursday before our annual conference. And in October, we have the big mega meeting that lasts all day, and during which, we hammer out the bulk of the year’s business. That meeting was this past Saturday in DuBois , PA. This is a new location for us, and frankly, it was a huge improvement. In past years, we met at a “rustic” motel that shall remain nameless to protect the not-so-innocent. I liked their meeting room and the food, but the guest rooms? No internet. No heat. No hot water. Seriously. Cold showers. It could be that the guest rooms were on a hillside above the restaurant and meeting rooms, and the hot water tank was down there and the hot water just never made it up the hill. And it could be that they hadn’t turned the heat on for the season yet. But I froze!...

Yesterday morning as I walked home from a visit with my mom, I heard pounding from across the road. The reason this got my attention is the only things across the road are empty fields and my grandfather’s long-vacant farmhouse. The pounding was followed by a crash, which helped me locate the source of the sound. Someone was on the roof, tearing off the sheeting, and tossing it to the ground below. I grew up in that house. I’ve written about it here before. My grandparents have been dead for over 30 years and the house has gone through several owners since it passed out of the family’s hands. The current owner let it fall into such a state of disrepair that it’s now hopeless. The roof was already half gone, thanks to windstorms. The foundation is collapsing. Most of the windows are broken, their shutters hanging askew. The back door stands open. The front porch has crumbled to a heap. I used to dread the day that the place finally met its end. Now, since I have to look at...

I got nothin’. If you checked out Working Stiffs on Wednesday, you’ve seen all my photography for the week. All that was worth posting, at least. So instead of Photo Friday, I’m beginning the countdown to the conference. The Pennwriters Conference is next week. Technically, it’s Friday through Sunday, but I’m leaving Wednesday so I can attend Tim Esaias’ daylong intensive fiction workshop on Thursday. And I’m not at all sucking up to the teacher by offering him a ride to Lancaster. Last year, as you may (or may not) recall, I was conference coordinator. This year, my sole duty, beyond that of conference Yoda (I sit in my cave in my swamp and offer guidance), is that of photographer. But I think I’m almost as stressed as I was a year ago. This year, I am pitching. The last time I pitched was in 2006. I signed with my agent back then. I un-signed with her this January. So I’m back in pitching practice. No, I’m not ready. Not even close. I have to confess…there was a moment or two yester...

Panic has set in. The Pennwriters Conference is only two and a half weeks away and I am NOT READY. I had high hopes of spending the last month before the conference polishing my manuscript and my pitch. I also planned to spend lots of time researching the agents who are scheduled to attend. I was going to be PREPARED. Then Hubby got laid off. Priorities changed fast enough to give me whiplash. Suddenly it’s more important to generate immediate income. Sell Avon. Teach yoga. Writing does not provide that immediate income at the moment, so it’s taken a backseat. Of course, that means I’m battling a severe case of the crankies. Today I at least got to attend my critique group where I produced the second to the last chapter. The story is working. My critique buddies have been totally sucked in and demand to know what happens next when we reach the end of the chapter. It’s hugely satisfying, I might add. But what I really crave is time to fix the little things that need tweaking. Instead, I...

When a person has electricity in the middle of a state of emergency, where most of her friends and family do not have electricity, that person should never mention that she has electricity. Even if that person doesn’t mean to be bragging about dodging a bullet. It’s a law of nature. By simply saying she’s been lucky, the universe will sneak around behind her and slap her. Yes. After being fortunate enough to have NOT lost power during the monster snow storm last Friday, we did indeed lose it on Tuesday morning. Another storm was in the forecast, but at 11AM, it wasn’t doing a blessed thing. I had a ton of online work to do and was attempting to get it completed JUST IN CASE we weren’t so lucky during this second storm, when BAM. Without a flicker or a hiccup, the lights just went out. Oh, I have my computer plugged into a battery-powered surge protector, so I was able to save my work and shut everything down without losing anything. But there would be no more computer work on THAT day....

My grandniece and her cousin shared a birthday cake last weekend. I just love the expressions on all the little faces.

It's my day to post over at Working Stiffs and I've gone all sentimental on Veteran's Day, remembering all heroes, especially my dad.

Lately, I’ve been using the word “tinkering” a lot. Tinkering with chapter 18. Tinkering with the article I’m working on. This morning, I started wondering about the word. I remember my grandfather used it a lot. He tinkered with his tractors. He tinkered with the farm equipment. He’d go out to his workshop and tinker around a bit. My dad was a great tinkerer, too. He tinkered with his car, his truck, and his lawn mower. So I feel like I inherited the term and the practice. But what exactly IS tinkering anyway? I looked it up. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary on my desk, to tinker is to repair or adjust something in an unskillful or experimental manner. A tinkerer is an itinerant mender of household utensils or an unskillful mender. Or a bungler. Hmm. I was good with the repair and adjust part. The mender part, too. But I don’t much care for that unskilled bungler thing. Grandpap kept his tractor and other farm equipment in pristine condition. So did my dad. I would never th...

My pick for my favorite picture of those I shot this week was easy. This portrait of my youngest grandniece is just too cute.

As I write this, I'm sitting in the lobby at our local hospital waiting for my hubby who is having a test for no other reason than he's reached "a certain age." Meanwhile, having watched him go through the preparation for it, I've decided to put a freeze on my aging. Click on over to Working Stiffs for a discussion on The Joys of Aging.

It’s been a hectic week. And I suspect there are several more hectic weeks in my near future. Thirty-four days until my conference coordinator duties are over. I was about to celebrate that fact until I realized what it means. No more putting off the unfinished portion of this week’s to-do list until NEXT week. There are only a very few “next” weeks left. Panic attack! Breathe. Breathe. Okay, I’m better. Here’s a summary of what I’ve been doing. Last Tuesday, my Sisters in Crime chapter gathered at Mystery Lovers Bookshop along with a couple of book clubs to have dinner with author Harley Jane Kozak to celebrate the release of her latest novel, A Date You Can’t Refuse . It was nice to see Nancy Martin there, having climbed out of Deadline Hell. As I mentioned on Wednesday’s Working Stiffs, I spent Thursday in Pittsburgh at the memorial service for the fallen heroes of Zone 5. I’ll post a photo documentation of the day THIS Wednesday on Working Stiffs. Suffice it to say it was exha...