Walking with Oreo

 Walking With Oreo

There’s a program in town called Walk with a Doc. It’s designed to encourage people to get outside, stay active, and have a doctor on hand just in case. Me? I don’t need Walk with a Doc—I've got Walk with Oreo.

Broken Arrow, OK (2011)

Oreo entered my life as a furry three-month-old, black and white puppy – part Shih Tzu, part Jack Russell. I'd gone to the local humane society to get a cat. But, before I had a chance to tell the volunteer what I was looking for, a woman came in with a basket of puppies. I looked in and saw Oreo scrambling all over the other pups. I knew this was the pet for me. She was all energy, and her name was Oreo. (I do love chocolate!) Oreo bounced instead of walked, ran instead of strolled, and kept me on my toes from day one. 

Oreo-June 2011

Our first home together had a nice backyard, but no fence. However, we lived in a neighborhood with plenty of sidewalks, so daily walks were easy. We both needed exercise, so that's what we did. No need to fence the yard. 

At first, her little legs couldn't keep up, but before long we were walking a mile a day. 

Even when we weren't walking, we were usually together. If I went somewhere Oreo couldn't walk, I put her in a pet sling and carried her around my neck. She learned to travel in the car and stay in a motel. I bought her a doggie highchair so she could see out the car window and her own doggie suitcase for food and toys. We would drive to parks all over Oklahoma and nearby states, just to walk. 

House training was a breeze, and she never chewed the furniture. I did have to use a playpen to protect her from our cats. They were curious about the tiny, black and white fuzzball. Oreo's active personality made the cats want to "bat" at her as if she was a toy!

"What kind of cat is that?" 

During the first year, she developed bladder stones, requiring surgery. The vet removed a baby-food–sized jar of stones; and from then on, she was on a prescription diet. But that didn't slow her down. We continued to walk about a mile a day, her tiny legs trotting beside me, ears flopping in the wind.

Oreo Post-op

Independent Living – A Cottage with a Fenced Yard (2015, Oreo is 4)

Moving into an independent living community was a new chapter for us. Our little cottage had a fenced back yard where I could easily put her out to potty. It was tempting to stop walking; but I would never let her outside alone. I'd heard a horror story about a hawk snatching a small dog right off the ground, and I wasn’t taking any chances with Oreo. Forget the back yard – we walked the neighborhood. 

Our new community also had a dog park, but Oreo wasn't a social butterfly. Sharing wasn't her thing, and she also had a talent for sniffing out disgusting things to eat, which then made her sick. So, the dog park was off limits. We stuck to our walks, one to two miles a day.

Atria - The Woodland Walks (2018, Oreo is 7)

By the time we moved to Atria, Oreo and I had a rhythm. Our new apartment had a beautiful, wooded path winding around the complex – a peaceful retreat from the busyness of caregiving. If we wanted a longer walk, there was a walking trail nearby that went for miles through south Tulsa.

Oreo loved the wooded pathway the most because she would almost always encounter a squirrel. As soon as she spotted one, she'd yank the leash, speed off after it, and chase it up the nearest oak tree. Then she'd jump and bark as if to say, "I got it! I got it!" I don't know what she would have done if she actually caught it!

"I got it! I got it!"

Island Bay – The Canal Years (2021, Oreo is 10)

This move came with a change of scenery: a canal out front, a boardwalk out back, and a new set of challenges. The boardwalk was old, worn, and uneven, making our walks feel more like an obstacle course. 

The canal was about twelve feet below the apartments, so there was a grassy bank that flowed down from the sidewalk to the canal. One day, Bill was walking Oreo when a squirrel ran by. Oreo jerked the leash, hard, and Bill lost his balance. Before he knew it, Bill was rolling down the hill, arms flailing. A neighbor came running and rescued him. That was the last time he walked Oreo.

Still, Oreo and I kept going, logging our daily miles, navigating the boardwalk, dodging loose boards, and always keeping an eye out for squirrels. Some days, we'd pause to watch the pelicans swoop down for a light snack or the silver mullet leap from the water.

Pelican watching!

Lakeside at Campeche Cove - Slowing Down (2023, Oreo is 12)

Our next apartment had lovely green spaces tucked between the buildings. I thought of them as my very own English Garden. Oreo, on the other hand, saw them as battlegrounds – filled with other dogs walking the same paths, sniffing the same spots, and invading her territory! Over time, we figured out which dogs we could tolerate and which ones we couldn't. Still, we logged one to two miles a day.

"I don't know. They smell weird!"

But something else was happening. My once-springy, eager pup began slowing down. Our walks shrank to half a mile - some days, she could barely walk at all.  

Then things got worse.

She stopped eating. Slept all day. Diarrhea. Vomiting. Repeat. I even canceled a cruise because I couldn't bear to leave her. Nothing the vet tried seemed to help. She continued to get worse.

Finally, in the spring of 2024, I took her in one more time and gave the vet an ultimatum: Do something, I told him, or I'll have to let her go.

His answer? A vegetarian diet. I was skeptical but desperate enough to try anything.

Cove at GYB – The Comeback (2024, Oreo is 13)

Just before our move to The Cove at GYB, something incredible happened. The vegetarian diet worked! So much so, I've been cutting back on my meat as well!

Within five days, Oreo bounced back. Her tail wagged again. She had energy. She wanted to walk. She even wanted to run! Suddenly, my frail, aging companion was acting like an eight-year-old—bounding around, eyes bright, and eager to go! 

We began walking again - up to two miles a day! And not just that - she was climbing stairs. Three flights of them! 

Walking with Oreo (2025, Oreo is 14)

Oreo has been my walking partner for 14 years now. We both have some gray hairs, but we're still out there– walking, exploring, living. Acting younger than we really are. 

Because the best way to stay young . . . is to keep walking. 

AI: Rediscovering a Part of Myself

I just finished creating a presentation called AI for Fun and Everyday Life, which I’ll be sharing at OLLI next week. I truly enjoyed putting it together—something I wouldn’t have expected a couple of years ago.

Back then, artificial intelligence wasn’t even on my radar. But after I placed Bill in the VA Memory Care unit, I suddenly had time on my hands and wasn’t sure how to fill it.

At first, I jumped into volunteering. I helped out at OLLI and enjoyed it but stepped away after my supervisor left. Then I edited the newsletter for the UU church here in Galveston, which was also rewarding. Still, I began to realize something important: at this stage in my life—balancing regular visits to see Bill and making time to enjoy my own life—I no longer want a steady, structured volunteer role. Wasn't there something I could do on my own time schedule?

Meanwhile, my kids kept talking about AI. My daughter Shelly, a college instructor, was frustrated that her students were using it to write their papers—poorly. My son Wil, on the other hand, was excited about all the ways AI could make life easier.

Over time, both of them found ways to incorporate AI into their work. Shelly started integrating AI into her teaching, using it for lesson plans, and training her students to use it thoughtfully. She also uses AI and her cat, Sammy, to make her presentations more interesting. 

Wil learned to program with AI and now builds tools for both business and personal use, including TheWelpDesk, an AI that I use to edit images.

Naturally, I got curious too.

I first used AI at OLLI, writing course descriptions for the catalog. Then, as editor of the UU newsletter, I began using it to generate graphics and polish my writing. Bit by bit, I got more comfortable with it—and more intrigued.

This summer, I decided to teach a class on the topic. My presentation, AI for Fun and Everyday Life, is designed to show how AI can be a helpful tool—whether you're writing, planning a trip, creating art, troubleshooting around the house, or just having fun.

Putting this class together taught me a lot. I now have a better sense of what AI can (and can’t) do. But, more importantly, I realized what I'd been missing in my life. I've always loved teaching adults and sharing what I've learned, but I had set it aside when I became a caregiver. Preparing this presentation reminded me how much joy and sense of purpose that role brings me.

I may have started exploring AI out of curiosity, but it’s ended up enriching my life in more ways than one—by helping me stay curious, feel useful, and even rediscover a part of myself.

Grandpa Cratchet - On the Road in Our Motorhome

I'll never forget that day in 1989 when Bill came home from school and said, "We're going to Kokomo, Indiana." 

My eyebrows scrunched up, "What do you mean? Are you quitting school?" 

We were currently living in Virginia Beach, Virginia, where Bill had just completed his first year of a master's degree program in photojournalism after a medical retirement from the Delaware State Police as a helicopter pilot. 

"No, of course not. We're simply going a different direction for the summer."

A different direction was an understatement! I soon learned that Bill had taken a summer job as an assistant to Sam Bowman who owned Grandpa Crachet's traveling entertainment show. Sam had several teams that traveled the U.S. doing puppet shows at fairs, malls, rodeos, and churches. Bill would be building stages & sets, learning to operate the puppets, traveling to different venues, setting up the stage, and putting on the shows. 

"We're going to be roadies!" My kids exclaimed. The thought running through my mind was, "What has Bill gotten us into?"

As soon as his classes ended for the semester, we packed up our 33' motorhome, left Virginia Beach, and headed to Indiana.

The first few weeks in Kokomo consisted of the same routine for me and the kids. We continued to homeschool while Bill worked with Sam on the sets. But that would soon change.

Gradually, I learned that the kids and I were "considered part of the team" as well. Before long, Wil was working on sound equipment, Shelly was designing costumes, and I was writing puppet skits. And, of course, all of us became puppeteers as well.

Our show consisted of a schoolhouse built on a 16' trailer that we would tow behind our motorhome. The schoolhouse was also the travel container for Grandpa Cratchet's farm truck which was built on a golf cart chassis. 

The driver (Bill) would manipulate Grandpa using his left hand and drive the truck with his right hand. A cloth scrim hung between the puppet and Bill so that he could see ahead to drive, but the audience could not see Bill working the puppet. It actually looked like Grandpa Cratchet was driving the truck! 

Bill riding around as Grandpa Cratchet.

Soon, the stage was built, the trailer was loaded with Grandpa's truck tucked inside, we had rehearsed our parts, and it was time to go. Bill drove the motorhome and trailer; I followed behind in our Dodge Caravan. 

Bill putting the final touches on the Old Schoolhouse.

Our first stop was a fair held at the Yonkers Racetrack in Yonkers, New York. Other than waking up to find my pet cat dead in the stairwell of the motorhome, the show went off without a hitch. There was not a blade of grass or mound of dirt to be found in Yonkers, so our precious cat now resides under the pounding feet of racehorses. 

Our next stop was the Buffalo Mall, in Buffalo, New York. All was going as planned until Bill, while attempting to position the school bell on the roof of the schoolhouse, lost his balance and fell. A visit to the ER confirmed he had broken his left leg. Because of the cast and the small amount of space for the driver, he was now unable to drive the motorhome or Grandpa's truck. So, guess who got those jobs? You guessed it - me!

Here's where things took another surprising turn. On my first day of driving Grandpa, I began the ride down the middle of the mall chatting with the kids. Wil and Shelly were walking next to truck trying to keep the young mall-goers from poking their hands into the truck to grab Grandpa. All of a sudden, the truck sped up and took off down the mall. When I tried to brake, I discovered the gas pedal had fallen to the floor! 

Leaving everyone else behind, the truck and I sped down the center of the mall with shoppers running this way and that to get away from us. A mall cop came screaming up, yelling, "Stop that truck! Stop that truck! You can't drive that fast in the mall!"

Like I didn't know that! 

By now, I'm totally panicked. I yank my hand out of Grandpa's head and begin to feel around all over the floor, desperately trying to locate the gas pedal, while trying to keep my head up so I could see where I was driving. Finally, I found the pedal and pulled it up. The truck came to a stop. 

Luckily, I didn't get arrested, and we finished the event without further excitement. But, before we could head to our next destination, Sam sent us to a welding shop for some repair work on the truck. 

"You'll have to back the motorhome and trailer into the garage," the shop owner ordered when I arrived.

"Back it up? In there?" I said, pointing to the microscopic opening that was the door of the garage. "This is my first day driving this thing. I can't back into that garage with the trailer on! Can't you do it?"

"Sorry, liability issues."

So, I grabbed the steering wheel, looked through the mirrors at everyone trying to tell me which way to the turn the wheel, and, in one try, I backed it in! 

We continued our tour in the northeast and then traveled the Midwest, through Chicago and Detroit, without any mishaps, other than a hubcap flung off a car going 80 mph and hit our front grill. Thankfully no one was hurt other than our grill.

After Detroit, we were traveling down 13-Mile Road towards our next destination in Wisconsin. It was not a major highway and nor in the best of shape. Bill, driving behind me in the Caravan, suddenly shouted in our 2-way radio, "Stop! Stop! You've lost the trailer!"

I stopped the motorhome, pulled it to the side of the road, and got out. Sure enough, the trailer was in the ditch! And it was in bad shape.

After a call to Sam, another employee came our way to trade out the equipment so we could continue the tour. In the meantime, we had to spend the night behind the repair shop which was in front of a railroad track. It was a not a good night's sleep! 

Eventually, we finished the summer tour, Bill's leg healed, and he drove us back to Virginia. Bill returned to school, and I breathed a sigh of relief. That escapade was over. Now, I can go back to being a homeschool mom.

But that's not the end of the story! 

The next summer, Bill made the decision to "go on the road" for Sam again. This time we lost the trailer on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. The repair shop informed us that the reason this kept happening was that the trailer was too heavy for our motorhome and hitch. 

This didn't end our adventures, but it changed the show. Our stage went back to Indiana; and now, we had just Grandpa Cratchet and his farm truck. And Bill ran the whole thing by himself! Yeah!

    Grandpa Cratchet (aka. Bill) getting stopped by police (publicity photo)

Finally, the kids and I had time to explore the towns and cities where we stopped. We even took a very short, day trip into Canada. 

The rest of the summer was peaceful and uneventful, meaning no more broken legs or trailer accidents. 

The following summer, Bill came home one day and said, "Sam wants us to do the summer tour again." 

"No," I said. "You'll have to go without me."

And that was the end of our Grandpa Cratchet adventures.

I do wish I could remember more about those two summers, but time has erased most of the details. I do remember we had fun when things weren't hectic. We met interesting people. We learned about our country. And the kids acquired some essential work skills.

Would I do it again? Hmmmm. . . 

You can watch Grandpa Crachet here on YouTube. He's still going strong, but a more modern version than we had in the 1980s.

Homeschooling Part 1 and Homeschooling Part 2 begin this series of Memoirs

Downsizing relates the many moves I made during my adult years, including our homeschooling years. 

Homeschooling - Part 2

Homeschooling Part 1 covers the "why" I homeschooled.

At the beginning of our homeschool journey, I tried to run things identical to a traditional classroom. That's all I knew.

Every morning started with the flag salute, prayer, and Bible reading. Then we dove into the “three R’s”—reading, writing, and arithmetic.

Shelly was easy. I handed her a workbook, gave her some short instructions, and she was off and running. Independent and focused.

Wil was a different story. We started with phonics.

“Bat,” I said, pointing to the colorful pictures in the workbook. “Buh, as in ball. Ah, as in apple. Tuh, as in turtle. Now put it together—B-a-t. Bat.”

Over and over, I had him repeat the sounds and try to form the word. But it wasn’t clicking. His eyes clouded with frustration. Mine too.

On to writing. . . but writing brought its own battles. Wil struggled to form the letters. His hand cramped from gripping the pencil. His letters were sometimes written backwards. After a few shaky attempts and many tears, we gave up and moved on to math.

That was the hardest yet. Even the first page of the workbook left him overwhelmed. By late morning, both of us were exhausted. I had tried everything I knew, but nothing worked.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” I said, forcing a smile. “Right now, let’s do something fun.”

Fun, for me, meant nature walks and fresh air. But going outside during school hours felt risky. We lived in a quiet development—large, one-acre lots, but with good visibility. I worried someone would notice the kids the kids in the yard playing, instead of in school, and report us. So, we stayed inside until 3:00 p.m.

We had plenty to do indoors. We read together, created art, did science experiments, and played music. During "after hours" and on weekends, we could venture outside, join neighborhood friends for playtimes, and participate in church activities. 

Thus began our first week of school.

It didn’t take long to realize I was repeating the same mistakes school had made with Wil. He was still struggling—and I wasn’t helping.

“If you keep doing the same things, you’ll keep getting the same results,” a friend once told me. She was right. I needed to try something new.

So, I began researching alternative teaching methods - Montessori. Classical education. Charlotte Mason. Unit studies. Even something called “unschooling.” I had no idea there were so many ways to educate a child!

However, the biggest breakthrough came when I read about learning styles.

I discovered that Shelly and I are visual learners—we learn by seeing. Wil, on the other hand, is an auditory and kinesthetic learner. He needs to hear things, and physically interact with them, to truly understand. 

Now, I had a new plan. I created a more flexible routine – one that blended different curriculum styles and emphasized hands-on, multi-sensory learning. We didn't simply read our lessons; we listened, touched, and explored.

I found cassette tapes that taught phonics through song. We sang, “Ah-ah-apple, buh-buh-ball, cuh-cuh-cat, and duh, duh, dog.” The catchy tune made the consonant sounds memorable.

Reading became a shared experience, with each of us taking turns as able. We’d read aloud from biographies, poetry, and the classics, as well as books about science, history and math. I would read first, then Shelly would take a turn; and, when we came to words Wil could sound out, he’d give it a try. Our old 1828 Webster’s Dictionary became a fixture on the table as we learned new vocabulary together.

Through our reading times, we learned how math developed, what made up the ocean, and how people lived in ancient times. We read about different countries and spun the globe to find them, then created our own paper and plaster maps. Eventually, we could name every U.S. state, the capitols, and many of the world’s nations.

Reading time shifted—from struggle to adventure.

Writing remained a problem for Wil. He did learn to print, albeit slowly and carefully. Teaching him cursive helped his speed a little. Then one day, he found a book on Spencerian penmanship at the library and became obsessed with mastering its elegant swirls and decorative flourishes. Oddly, that motivated him.

Still, handwriting took time—and time was precious.

Around age eight or nine, I taught both kids keyboarding. Free from the tedious physical effort of handwriting, Wil’s creativity and curiosity flourished. 

We next tackled grammar, spelling, punctuation, and composition - every day, both fiction and nonfiction, serious and silly.  

In the car, we told “chain stories”—one person started a tale, the next added a twist, and so on. The kids became masters of surprise endings.

Arithmetic became something Wil could hold in his hands, whether it was marbles, candy, or buttons. By having something tangible to stand in for numbers, he could sort them, count them, move them around, and understand why math worked. He wasn't just learning math-he was doing math.

Once we finished the basics for the day, we moved into the "electives." We learned to draw, blend with colored pencils, and paint with watercolor and acrylics. We studied the master's and tried to imitate their techniques. 

Music time meant dancing on the hardwood floor of our rec room. We spun in circles to the tempo of a waltz, sang the latest pop songs, and pounded out the beat on homemade, oatmeal-container drums with nothing more than wooden spoons.  

In the kitchen, we became mad scientists—building baking soda volcanoes; resurrecting old, discarded radios and TVs; and demonstrating Newton’s laws with wooden planks and marbles.

We hiked our neighborhood woods, gathered leaves, and pressed them in wax paper. The kids filled notebooks with sketches and snapshots of the plants and creatures we’d seen. Our adventures took us to parks, museums, and historical sites. Back home, we cooked up family favorites, sewed, and planted a simple garden.

This became our daily curriculum.

When Wil turned nine, something clicked. The child who had once lagged behind suddenly surged ahead in math and science. His reading was now on level—though he remained a slow, deliberate reader who preferred listening. His handwriting was passable, but with a keyboard or tape recorder, his composition skills were above level.

It had taken me four years to bring Wil up to grade level - four years of tears, laughter, and small, hard-won victories. My original goal was to help him learn to read, write, and do math, but somewhere along the way, all three of us had found a way of life we hadn’t expected. 

Shelly was marching along with very little intervention from me and was at least two grade levels ahead in her studies. Her one problem was math, not her favorite subject, and it remains so today. Shelly now tells me there is a dyslexia for math, called dyscalculia and that she has it. Whoops, I missed that one. Sorry, Shelly! 

At this point in time, I knew I could send them both back to traditional school and they would do fine, but our journey wasn’t over. A new adventure was calling us—We were moving to Virginia Beach.

To read about our many moves, see my post on "Downsizing." 

Coming soon: our homeschooling adventures in a motor home - Grandpa Cratchet.