Juggernaut for First COVID-19 Jab

When speaking of vaccinations, here in the US, we refer to them as an 'injection' or a ‘shot’ but in England and elsewhere around the UK, they call them a ‘jab.’ No one likes needles. But somehow a ‘jab’ sounds more-to-be-dreaded. Yet in these days of the coronavirus pandemic, there is nothing more highly sought after than a COVID-19 ‘jab’ or 'injection' – whichever way you may refer to it.

Today was our lucky day! Charles and I were both scheduled for our first COVID-19 vaccine injections at 10 o'clock this morning. Everything went smoothly once we found the actual location and we both received the vaccinations from nurses who are now designated as "vaccinators."

The one thing that was confounding was that in the days leading up to the scheduled appointment time, no one had been able to tell us exactly where to go. "St. Joseph Medical Center" was the only information as to the location. Even in the official email confirming the appointment, it only said "St. Joseph Medical Center." 

"St. Joseph Medical Center" is a huge complex. One person said they thought "only the ER entrance was open so it must be there."

I had called the hospital and they refuse to take calls to answer any questions about COVID-19 and only refer people to their website, which does not include the location of where the vaccinations are being given.

I also wrote in through the "MyChart" portal to inquire and received a templated response that was completely useless. It included two phone numbers to call and neither of those were answered by humans and each of them also only referred callers to their website for information. Sigh...

After I had called both numbers to no avail, I wrote a reply back to the templated response I had received to my initial inquiry. I did not expect a response. But I received one. It was the same template as the original one with a line of original text added to it explaining that the employee responding works at a remote location and doesn’t know the answer.

This morning, we headed out almost an hour early ahead of our appointed time.

Indeed, there was a sign out on 19th Street at the ER entrance indicating that the COVID-19 Vaccination Clinic was there. Hooray!

We turned in at the ER entrance and thankfully there was one parking spot available at the far end of the lot. When we made it over to the ER entrance, we were greeted by another sign that said "No COVID-19 Vaccinations Here". What?!?

Beyond that there was yet another sign showing the layout of the hospital campus and the street address of the building where the vaccine clinic was actually being conducted.

We drove to that location – several blocks away – and then found a handicapped parking space in the back lot across the street from the medical center and hoofed it back across the street to the hospital building.

As we approached the hospital entrance, we noticed people coming out doing the 'Happy Dance' and posing for pictures with a wallet card in their hands.

Once inside, we followed the circuitous route around the hallways (marked by blue tape on the floor with demarcations every six feet to maintain social distancing) until we had followed the 'yellow brick road' (in this case 'blue') to where there was a herd of people waiting. Maybe that's what 'herd immunity' is all about?!? (Just kidding...)

There was one man we encountered on the way in, who was following the blue line, but going against the arrows, and he appeared to be like a charging, angry bull. We could only surmise that after he had gotten all the way into the vaccination area he had been turned away for some reason, perhaps not having an appointment. But he would mow down anyone on the blue line in his exit path, if you didn’t get out of his way.

Once we had safely navigated the path, the serious waiting began...and the distribution of clipboards…paperwork…screening questions...and the "clean pens" (so we were informed) ...and then at last into the room with eight computer work stations where nurses and their assistants were administering the injections and scheduling the follow-up second vaccinations.

The ‘shots’ / ‘jabs’ were absolutely painless. Even less painful than my insulin syringes!

The 'vaccinator' was pleasant and professional. It's your choice whether you want the injection in your upper right or left arm in the deltoid muscle (near the shoulder joint).

We were given cards with our follow-up appointments and the record of our first injections.

After that we were sent to a huge Observation Room with chairs spaced six feet apart in which to sit and wait for 15 minutes in case any untoward allergic reactions or symptoms were to develop. The staff in that room also handed out bottles of Nestle's water to anyone, who wanted one. That was a nice touch.

Once the 15 minutes were up, we were on our way. Charles was off to dialysis and I was on my way home for a nap. No ill effects from the vaccine, just drained from the process...

I am doing the 'Happy Dance' in my heart that we are among the fortunate ones who have secured our first dose of the vaccine now and are scheduled for the second one. At least on Round Two, we'll know where to go.

But it boggles my mind why the communication on the part of a mega healthcare system, which until a couple of months ago was St. Joseph Hospital, part of CHI Franciscan Health, but after the recent merger of the two healthcare systems is now Virginia Mason Franciscan Health, is so poor as to create a daunting juggernaut for people – seniors in particular -- to receive simple, clear communication about where they can receive their COVID-19 vaccinations.

Reliving the Magnitude 6.8 Nisqually Earthquake 20 Years Later

 

I can only imagine that adults living in and around the Seattle-Tacoma area today, who were here February 28, 2001, have their own personal memories of the Magnitude 6.8 Nisqually earthquake that struck at 10:54 Pacific Time that morning. What follows is my story…

My husband Charles and I opened a flower shop in the 1990s called Love Me Now Floral Design in the Historic District in Steilacoom. We’d suffered insurmountable financial difficulties and despite having put our hearts and souls into the business, we had finally surrendered to the reality that we had to close the business.

February 28, 2001 was our last day in the shop. I had a medical appointment at the University of Washington Medical Center in Seattle at 11 a.m. to learn the results of a series of tests at the UWMC Roosevelt Clinic. I drove myself to Seattle. Charles stayed behind at the flower shop packing up boxes for our move-out.

Traffic on I-5 had flowed nicely. And when I arrived at the Roosevelt Clinic, it was 10:50. Whew! Perfect timing. Just enough time to find a parking spot in the underground garage and take the elevator up to the clinic on the top floor of the medical center.

I pulled into the garage hoping beyond hope there’d be a vacant spot on ground level, but it was full. I began my spiral down into the garage to the next floor underground. It, too, was full.

I continued down to the third floor below ground hoping and praying for an open parking stall. There wasn’t one.

On down, down, down to the fourth floor below ground – the lowest floor of the underground parking garage – desperate for a parking space as the time for my appointment was edging closer.

But I didn’t see any open spots.

It was 10:54. All at once every car alarm on every vehicle began to wail. All of the cars and trucks and vans in the entire parking structure were rocking back and forth violently. The cacophony of sirens from alarm systems was deafening. The concrete and steel beams of the structure were undulating above my head.

We owned a Chrysler Town & Country LXi minivan at that time and used it for floral deliveries as well as being our personal vehicle. In the driver’s seat of the van, my head was quite high and seemingly close to those beams that were bouncing wildly up and down. So many thoughts were going through my mind – things I’d never thought of before, things I’d never had to think of before – for instance, should I stay upright in the driver’s seat and hope that my neck would be snapped so I’d die instantly? Or should I hope for a possible rescue despite the certainty of being buried alive in the rubble and perhaps try to lie down on the floorboards of the minivan in the hopes that at some point I might be found and rescued – injured, but alive?!? I didn’t know what to do.

The other car in front of me had stopped, so my path forward was blocked.

I decided to jump out of the van. Instinctively, I ran toward the elevator – only perhaps 30 feet away from where my van had been forced to stop.  As I reached the elevator, the power went out and the elevator car crashed with a thud in the elevator shaft. Yes, in hindsight, I know that “In Case of Emergency…” no one is ever supposed to use an elevator. But in that moment, it seemed the most expeditious possibility for escaping from the almost certain fate of being buried alive four stories below ground in the earthquake.

With the power out and the air filling with dust from the concrete that was being pulverized by the gyrations of the earthquake, the only visible light four floors below the earth was from the little green EXIT signs.

All I could do was follow those and run as best I could up the merciless concrete spiral ramp, circling around and around and around. By the time I got up to the level that was two floors below the earth, there was a bit of light leaking through and that gave me hope that I might actually escape.

Eventually I did make it back up to the parking garage entrance and out onto the street level and sidewalk beside the medical center. But then what?!? What was I going to do?!? Was I going to go back into ‘that’ building? And try to go to my medical appointment – as if nothing had happened? Or was I going to walk back down into that dungeon of darkness and try to retrieve my minivan and head for home? I didn’t know what to do.

Everyone from inside the building had exited out onto the sidewalk. Of course, there was terror that the building’s façade would collapse on us, so we all stayed out there for a time until the ground motion had settled down.

Eventually, I gathered my wits about me as best I could and entered the building. I climbed the staircases and went up the several floors to where the clinic was located for my appointment. Everyone there seemed as jittery as I was.

One particularly strong memory is that when the doctor came into the exam room, he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. When he turned on the faucet, rusty, brown water came shooting out.

The next hurdle was to find the courage to choose to walk all the way back down that spiral ramp to the fourth floor below ground to locate my minivan and (hopefully) be able to extricate it from the dungeon.

Nothing ever felt so good as to be able to head out from Seattle on southbound I-5 headed back toward Tacoma and Pierce County. It was an other-worldly experience that afternoon though, because everyone – all of the drivers on the freeway – seemed to be shell-shocked to some extent. People were in a trance-like state as they drove. They were / we were all driving slowly, courteously, looking straight ahead, no one was zipping in and out from one lane to another. It was almost like a massive funeral procession all the way from Seattle back to Tacoma.

We didn’t have cell phones back then, so I didn’t know how Charles was until I was able to get back to our flower shop in Steilacoom. Thankfully, he was safe. Light fixtures fell and boxes toppled over, but Charles wasn’t injured.

The epicenter of the quake was only three miles from our store right out in the middle of the ferry lanes; ferries go from Steilacoom to McNeil Island, Anderson Island and Ketron Island.

At the time M6.8 Nisqually quake happened, we were housesitting for a retired couple, who lived near Lake Louise in Lakewood. They were away on a year-long road trip in their truck and 5^th-wheel trailer. That evening when we closed up the shop and returned to their house for the night, the earthquake had left some eye-popping surprises for us.

When we walked into the kitchen every drawer was open. It was as if the place had been ransacked. Every single drawer had been slid all the way open. We couldn’t believe our eyes! And then when we went into the bedrooms and bathrooms, it was the same in every room of the house. Every drawer had been jiggled all the way open by the rocking and rolling of the earthquake.

We closed all of the drawers and then fixed ourselves some dinner.

After dinner we sat down in the family room. That’s where the fireplace and TV were located, so we’d usually relax there in the evenings.

On the fireplace mantle, the homeowners had a souvenir from one of their previous trips somewhere. I’m not sure exactly what it’s called. I’ve seen this sort of thing in gift shops at Ocean Shores and other beach communities. I’ll just call it a ‘sand frame’ for lack of a better term.

The ‘sand frame’ has several different types of sand and fine gravel in it plus some kind of liquid (possibly oil or water, I really don’t know) and it is sealed between two panels of glass that are mounted in a wooden frame. The frame can be flipped over so that the sand / gravel and the liquids inside mix together and settle out to create interesting patterns. Something of a novelty item…

Neither Charles nor I had touched the ‘sand frame’ that day, night or anytime. But it had just been in even layers of the different types of sediment. We both remembered that.

But that night, February 28, 2001, as we were watching TV, the ‘sand frame’ caught our attention. It had changed. And it had changed dramatically and alarmingly!

It had gone from being even layers of sediment in the frame to having taken on the appearance of two underwater volcanoes erupting with huge ash plumes spewing forth from them. I will include a photo of it. I wish the picture was of better quality. But it boggled our minds to see the transformation that had occurred on the day of the Nisqually quake!

In the days following the M6.8 Nisqually quake, Chambers Creek Road was blocked through Steilacoom in the area by the old paper mill due to damage to the roadway and terrain. Since traffic was not allowed through there on the roadway, we parked back at the mill and hiked in to get a closer look and snap a few pictures.

Two of the pictures accompany my story in addition to the one of the ‘sand frame’.

One shot shows the width of a fissure in the ground along Chambers Creek Road near the mill. There are orange and white traffic cones adjacent to the fissure. Those will give you a good idea of the width of the gash in the earth.

The next picture is near the dam along Chambers Creek Road. There is a massive boulder there. It has been there for a long time. But what was new as a result of the Nisqually quake was that the earth immediately adjacent to it either rose up or dropped away from it by a measurement of at least 18-inches. That’s a very significant movement of earth that I don’t think most people in the area realize even occurred here during the Nisqually quake.

For a couple of years after the quake I had a very difficult time with going into parking garages – above or below ground – and elevated roadways where there might be any motion or instability of the structure. That day, February 28, 2001, was more traumatic for me than I realized at the time. That brush with death, the possibility of being buried alive, was something I had a tough time shaking it (no pun intended).

I’m thankful Charles is the patient person he is. He stood by me through it all, and it wasn’t easy over those next two years. The one bright spot in the trauma of that day – February 28, 2001 -- was that my test results at UWMC were negative and that was a huge relief, so I was glad that I had not only survived the brush with death four stories below ground that morning, but also that I had stayed for the follow-up appointment.

I'm Invisible to Equifax! So, No Norton Anti-Virus or Norton LifeLock Identity Theft Protection

 

Last year we bought a new computer that came with an anti-virus program. Recently we had decided to purchase the often-advertised and highly-touted Norton Anti-Virus with LifeLock Identity Theft Protection that offers up to $1M of coverage. 

I entered the requested information online and hit a snag. It said it was unable to complete the transaction and directed me to call a certain number in order to proceed. I was baffled, but I called Norton to find out what the problem was and complete the registration, payment and download. 

The representative put me through what I would describe as an interrogation. Eventually, she put me on hold for about 15 minutes. I was determined to tough it out, so I waited until she returned. 

When she came back on the line, she informed me that they would not be able to allow me to purchase the Norton anti-virus program. 

“What?!?” 

She said that they use Equifax for verification and Equifax had no record of the existence of my Social Security number. She asked me to check my Social Security number again. 

“Are you SURE that is your Social Security number???” 

I told her I have had it since I was a young girl! I know it from memory, but I also have my Social Security card in my wallet. I even offered to snap a picture of it and send it in to verify it, but (of course) she said they “cannot accept that.” 

She put me back on hold again for several more minutes while she conferred one more time with her manager. 

When she returned to the line, she told me that even though they would NOT offer me the anti-virus program for my computer that they WOULD sell me the Norton LifeLock Identity Theft Protection with $1M coverage. 

I told her that was insane! How nutty is it that they WON’T protect my computer (worth a few hundred bucks) but they’ll provide a million dollars of identity theft coverage?!? 

When they’re telling me that they CANNOT even verify that I exist, but NOW they’re willing to offer $1M Identity Theft Protection for someone whose identity they cannot even CONFIRM?!? Ludicrous! And outrageous! 

I told a close friend of ours about this insanity the following day. He works in IT and is an all-around brainy and super-knowledgeable guy. He asked me if we have any credit cards. We don’t. We just have a Visa debit card linked to our checking account where our Social Security is direct deposited. 

He said that’s why we are “invisible” to Equifax. He advised us to at least open a secured credit card account in order to become visible to Equifax. 

But in the meantime, we have subscribed to a different anti-virus software program provider. 

Ironically, within days of that nonsense with Norton, my email inbox has been receiving a steady stream of discount offers from them for both the Norton Anti-Virus program and their LifeLock Identity Theft insurance. Pffft! No thanks.

Teacher of the Century taught lessons for life

September 17, 1927 an unforgettable force of nature was unleashed upon this Earth: Laurel Piippo was born. She’d be 93 this week, but despite multiple, hard-fought battles she waged against four different types of primary cancers (not metastatic cancers, cancers that had spread from one location to another, but each one unique unto itself in their origin), her wild, exuberant life came to an end August 26, 2015. But since it’s her birthday week, I’ve had her on my mind – and always in my heart – I’ve been impressed to share some things with you about Laurel and what she meant to me.

She was my ultimate confidante and I was hers.

Specifically, she gave me her longtime computer, which contained all of her writing of many, many years, not wanting all of the personal stories contained therein to fall into anyone else's hands. I removed the hard drive from it and kept it in a safe for years, but wiped it cleaned a few months ago -- zapped it intentionally with a bulk eraser (degausser) -- to protect her ultimate privacy in life and in death -- so that she could take to the grave all that she had intended to leave untold. My final disposition of her hard drive was in keeping with her wishes. That's all I can say. But there would have been a treasure trove of material there, if she would have consented to do otherwise with it. 

Laurel lived for opera -- anywhere in the world. Anyone who might have ever made the mistake of thinking that because she loved opera, she loved classical music. Uh, no. She didn't love classical music. She didn't enjoy attending performances of the symphony. She didn't love musical theatre. She didn't love Broadway. She certainly didn't love Broadway show tunes. She LOVED opera. Period. She endured everything else.

She did not want an obituary to be written about her. She definitely did not want a morbid funeral. But she did allow for what she referred to as an "awake wake" and meticulously planned it herself. In other words, she wanted to go out in style -- on her own terms -- and orchestrated a big celebration of life while she was still living, so that she could be present -- AND see who showed up to share her stories. But that was it. Others have written about her, but I dare say I knew her better than anyone. https://www.tri-cityherald.com/.../article33307245.html

It was my good fortune as a student at Kennewick High School to have “Mrs. Piippo” (Laurel Piippo) as my English teacher. She was a wild woman! She even gave me an “F” on a paper I wrote once. It was supposed to be a ‘true story.’ She added that she thought it was “so fantastic, it could not possibly be true. If it was true, you would have received an A+!”

She was not just a great teacher in my own opinion, but even years after her retirement from Kennewick High School when the school celebrated its centennial, she was voted “Favorite Teacher” out of all 100 years that the school had been in existence. Clearly, she earned the title of "Teacher of the Century!" Her husband Toivo Piippo was a beloved teacher and record-setting coach in Richland, Washington. The two of them were a dynamic duo shaping the lives of young people for decades.

It’s not uncommon in school for a student to be sent home to change clothes when he or she has shown up to school in ‘inappropriate’ attire. Classic story about Mrs. Piippo! The Kennewick High School principal sent her home from school one morning to change her clothes. She had shown up to class wearing a paper dress! Yes, indeed. A dress made from paper. It was the ‘60s after all and a freewheeling time, but he didn’t find it appropriate and thought it was just too risqué and potentially risky that someone might just tear it off of her and leave her standing naked in front of the class.

She was known to be tough. Students lived in abject fear of her ‘red pen’ as she would critique their often-feeble attempts at creative writing. If you were a good student, there was no need to live in fear. By ‘good student’ that simply meant if you completed the assigned course work, participated in class (looked awake and alive), and made an effort – you were ‘in like Flynn.’ I was a good student. I loved her from the start.

It was in the mid-1960s and early in her teaching career when my fellow classmates and I were under the tutelage of this zany woman with an expansive vocabulary who opened up a whole new world of literature and experiences for us bringing in people from foreign countries as guest speakers into our classroom. If they were flirtatious with the students, she would quickly put a stop to that.

But just having this exposure to people from exotic places around the world was quite novel and eye-opening. At that time, there were no Black students in our school and Kennewick still had “Sundown laws” on the books. It was as white as white can be. The John Howard Griffin book Black Like Me was on our reading list. When Mrs. Piippo signed my yearbook, she admonished me to, "Remember to beware of foreign men and to stay away from the Ku Klux Klan!"

Every year during her teaching career, she organized trips with her students and family members as chaperones to travel to Europe. Oh, the memories that were made!

Laurel Piippo with grandson Micah shown during a cruise after her retirement from teaching when she had launched her own travel agency to show others the world

When she retired from teaching, she launched her own travel agency. During her lifetime she traveled to more than 110 countries. She would go any length to see an opera production! And to introduce others to the opera.

When she was just a little girl – a second grader – she came home from school one afternoon. As she walked through the house, calling out to her mother, she found her in the master bedroom -- dead. She had committed suicide.

The trauma of that haunted Laurel for the rest of her life.

According to Laurel, her father had never been very involved with the day-to-day lives of the children and was at a loss as to how to care for them. As if it wasn’t bad enough that their mother was dead – and what Laurel had seen that day – her father sent each of the children away to live with other relatives – separating them by great distances and completely breaking up the family. I have always believed that that is what fueled her passion for opera, that the stories allowed her to lose herself in them and let her emotions out, let those tears flow, as she had had to hold her emotions in over so many years about the painful death of her mother and loss of her family when she was a little girl.

I left Kennewick High School after my cousin Kenny Howell was killed in a car v. train crash. He and I had both planned to be doctors. But that’s a story for another day…

I went away to a private Christian boarding school for my senior year. But Mrs. Piippo and I had a special bond and we remained in contact. Our letters went from being handwritten to typewritten to composed on the computer to taking the form of email in the later years. We each wrote voluminously back and forth to each other from high school in the '60s all the way through the end of her life -- we were still in regular contact via phone and email.

She was a prolific writer although not particularly tech savvy. I encouraged her to create a blog. She left that for me to do on her behalf. So, I formatted a blog for her. She’d write the articles and email them to me, then I’d upload them to her blog. https://piippospassion.blogspot.com/

We became very close when I was in my early 20s. I was working for a neurologist in Seattle at Northwest Hospital at the time, Dr. Ted Rothstein. Laurel was suffering from some symptoms (twinkling lights in her eyes) that I recognized as scintillating scotoma, a precursor or prodrome of possible impending stroke. She was clueless about the potential significance of it. But I convinced her it was critically important that she be seen in consultation STAT. She trusted me enough to come to Seattle and be seen. Indeed, her BP was sky high and she was on the verge of a stroke. Ever after that, she credited me with having saved her life. That was our bond.

Laurel Piippo (left) hosting elegant tea party with Claude Oliver, Diane Anguanst and Carl Holder

As time went on Laurel had her first bout with cancer, and then another, and another, and another…
Each cancer was a different primary tumor. She suffered so much!

Laurel Piippo faced it head-on and bravely underwent round after round of:

• Surgery

• Radiation

• Chemotherapy

Laurel Piippo raged against the barbaric cancer treatments referring to them starkly as:

• Slash

• Burn

• Poison

Laurel Piippo had T-shirts emblazoned with

• “Slash, Burn & Poison” imprinted on them.

• She would not be silenced.

• She was not going down without a fight!

• And she would not go quietly into that dark night!!!

Her cause, her lifework became laser-focused on improving quality of life and quality of care and treatment for cancer patients. Specifically, the fact that the costs for radioisotopes to treat cancer are exorbitantly high. The reason? Most of them have to be imported to the United States. Why? Because anything and everything to do with radiation and nuclear-anything in the US is viewed in such a negative way, that it is virtually impossible to have the radioisotopes produced in the US in the quantity that are needed for American patients. Consequently, they have to be purchased from other countries and imported at a very high cost.

When she learned about that – and living in Richland, Washington since the early 1950s – she was acutely aware of the goings on at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, she was also aware that one of the major nuclear reactors was being mothballed at a cost of Billions of dollars a year – just to have it mothballed. She researched the issue thoroughly, doggedly and determined that it COULD BE RETOOLED and COULD BE used for the PRODUCTION OF MEDICAL ISOTOPES.

That fueled her crusade to stop the shutdown and mothballing of that reactor and instead CONVERT it to the production of medical-grade nuclear isotopes for treatment of cancer patients so that even though the patients would still need radiation therapy, at least it would significantly decrease the cost of their treatment by having the isotopes manufactured her in the United States.

Laurel Piippo devoted 100% of her life-force to building a consortium of scientists, patients, family members, community leaders (Kiwanis & others), and political leaders to try to make that happen. She even organized a “Cancer Fighter Train” – an actual TRAIN – and took ALL of those people who were involved on a sojourn from the Tri-Cities in Washington to a government and scientific meeting in California in the Bay Area to try to convince the Nuclear Regulatory Commission to HALT the process of ‘mothballing’ that reactor at Hanford and instead CONVERT it to the production of much-needed medical-grade nuclear isotopes.

Despite all of the science and all of her energy and all of her best efforts: It didn’t happen.

Laurel Piippo’s friendship to me through the years was a bond that could not be broken. However, in my own family, when I met Charles (who is now my husband) and wanted to just introduce him to my father, I was instantaneously disowned and disinherited. Why? Because he’s black. Or I should say, because my father could not get past the fact that Charles is black and refused to even lay eyes on him or ever even meet him. That phone call was the last time we ever spoke. I had just wanted to arrange a time to have an introduction. But, no, that was not going to happen. That was it. I was no longer part of the family.

That year at Christmas I received a card in the mail from my father. I was quite eager to open it. The front of the card said, “With Warm Holiday Greetings…” but inside he had typewritten “I never did hate Blacks, but I did and I do when they ‘take’ White girls.” His final words to me. He died without having met (much less) ever getting to know Charles, whom he would have had the best time with. Charles would have laughed at all of his jokes and been so loving. Such a shame…

Laurel Piippo with Charles Jones aboard the Link Light Rail train in downtown Tacoma after the three of us had attended a performance at the Pantages Center

Charles and I were married in a lovely outdoor ceremony in Pioneer Park on the Bandstand in Steilacoom alongside Chambers Bay on a warm July summer evening on his birthday now more than 26 years ago.

Charles’ mother was radiant and dressed elegantly that evening.

Left to Right:  Toivo Piippo, Laurel Piippo, Jaynie Jones, Charles Jones and Mattie B. Jones

And it was Mr. and Mrs. Piippo who had driven all the way across the state from the Tri-Cities to ‘stand-in’ as parents for me during our wedding ceremony.

Left to Right:  *Edward Charles Rippe (Bible-bearer), Whitney Cook (flower girl), Debbie Cushon (matron of honor), Rev. Simpson, Jaynie Jones (bride) and Charles Jones (groom)
*Edward Charles Rippe is our godson. Today (2020) he is an internal medicine physician in practice in Manhattan, New York City, NY

Mr. and Mrs. Piippo welcomed us to stay in their home in Richland anytime. Likewise, whenever she or they would be traveling, they would come and stay at our house in the Tacoma area.

Charles and I were delighted to have them as our houseguests. It was an honor and our privilege. I don't drink wine, but wine was one of Laurel's passions and great pleasures in life. She got such a kick out of it when she would be at our house. We don't even own proper wine glasses. But we have crystal stemware water glasses. I would pour her a 'glass' of wine -- full to the brim. I didn't know that that wasn't how it was done. But she was happy to be treated to the extra measure. No complaints.

Charles and I would chauffeur the two of them around to visit local wineries such as the Baron Manfred von Vierthaler Winery in Sumner, a taste of Bavaria locally, with a view of the Puyallup Valley. Happy memories of sightseeing right here without having to travel halfway around the world!

Laurel loved a bargain and would bring back tiny treasures from her travels -- always something she could negotiate a great price on or she wouldn't be happy with it or even purchase it at all. She relished referring to herself as "Cheapo Piippo." She savored getting a bargain and was as frugal as could be. She made her teacher's salary stretch over the years and she certainly didn't waste her savings in her retirement years either.

At other times when they would be flying out of the Seattle area, they would stay at the SeaTac Marriott hotel. With her frequent business and as a travel agent she would always have dining comps. She thoroughly enjoyed treating us to Sunday brunch (especially for free with her comps) at the Marriott. Even though she was always thin, the would take multiple return trips through the buffet referring to herself as "Miss Piggy." What a hoot!

We shared so much love and countless laughs throughout the years.

I could write a book! Hmm... Maybe I should.

And we lived happily ever after...

(But, oh, how we miss her, and this is not quite)

THE END

Pop and Zantac

My family and extended family have always had a passion for cooking, entertaining musically and comically, and for hosting and sharing great meals. Heartburn and reflux have been companion issues for some in the family – notably my father Dan Todorovich, whom I called “Pop” while growing up, and my Uncle Bud Todorovich, whom I knew as “Uncle Sonnie.”


The family member I was closest to was my Auntie Mae. She was a fabulous cook (heartburn was an issue for her, too) and oh, how she loved to laugh and entertain. What a character! Her husband, my Uncle Don, and my father had both become successful in the insurance industry; each had their own agencies for Kansas City Life Insurance. 

Left to Right: Mae Howell, Don Howell, Avis Todorovich, and Dan Todorovich

Kenny was Uncle Don and Auntie Mae’s only child. He and I were closer than close. We had each planned a career in medicine, but he was killed in a car v. train accident during his third year of pre-Med.


In our family we relied on a simple, inexpensive method to treat the symptoms of heartburn: 1-teaspoonful of baking soda dissolved in a glass of water after meals to diminish the acid and get some relief. It’s a simple home remedy that seemed to put the fire out and has been relied on for decades.


Uncle Sonnie and his wife Goldie lived in Spokane for a long time, but had also lived in Oregon for many years. While they were living in Oregon, my parents Dan and Avis were living in a condo on top of the hill parallel to and directly east of SeaTac Airport. What a view they had! Spectacular sunsets every day plus seeing the planes flying off to all parts of the globe and arriving from around the world.

In 1981 Zantac hit the market in the US as a prescription drug for the treatment of heartburn. Years later it would become available over-the-counter. In 2019 it was pulled from the market altogether because of a probable link to cancer associated with one of its ingredients. However, in the intervening years, it has given millions of people relief from gastroesophageal reflux (GERD) symptoms.

Uncle Sonnie was being seen by a doctor in Portland, who had given him a prescription for Zantac. He was astonished at the immediate and complete relief of his reflux symptoms. He told my dad about the “miracle drug” and Pop was eager to try it, too.


Yes, it was a prescription drug back then, but Uncle Sonnie said he’d mail my dad a few tablets so he could try it and see if it helped him, too.


As soon as the tiny packet of Zantac arrived in the mail (only a week’s-worth of tablets) Pop tried the Zantac. After all those years of using baking soda after meals, he could not believe the results. Immediate and complete relief! No more need for the baking soda ritual. 


Almost immediately after Pop tried the Zantac, he made an appointment to see his own doctor, whom he rarely visited, to ask for a prescription for the wonder drug Zantac. Mind you, my dad was NOT one to go to the doctor at all. He rarely ever went. But this was an exception. He could not wait to ask about and get started on Zantac. No matter how many years you take baking soda and water, you never really develop a taste for baking soda – you just endure it, because it will give relief of the acid indigestion.


Pop’s doctor was happy to provide a prescription for Zantac for him.


When Pop presented the prescription to the pharmacy and had it filled, he nearly fainted when it was ready. It was $140.00. Again, this was back in 1981. That price was over-the-moon. He was mortified! Not only was he mortified. He was terrified! He declined to buy it and walked away shaking his head. He could not fathom the price. Imagine how many boxes of baking soda that would represent!


He was terrified to have “such an expensive drug” at home. Pop was seriously fearful that “drug dealers” would discover that he had Zantac and would break in to steal it. I am not kidding! He was so alarmed about that possibility that he immediately mailed the remainder of the pills from Uncle Sonnie back to him in Oregon. He did not even want those few remaining tablets under his ‘roof’ making him a possible target. That’s how valuable he perceived them to be.


Pop lived the rest of his life without ever again taking Zantac. From then until his death in 1994, he relied solely on a teaspoon of baking soda in a glass of water to manage his heartburn and reflux.

In Remembrance of Arel Thomas

Death of a longtime, well-known friend this morning: Arel Thomas. He was an entertainer and musician extraordinaire. Perhaps you've seen him perform as "Arel Thomas and The Kicks" and in other ensembles over many decades here in the Northwest, Las Vegas or Reno. He and his wife have been living in Reno for many years. He was a gifted musician from early childhood and came from a musically talented family. But despite all of that, he was also an extraordinary family man and friend. #ArelThomas #Reno #LasVegas #TheKicks #Seattle

One of his longtime musical partners was vocalist and drummer Evan "Brownie" Brown, who passed away a couple of years ago. Evan had also worked for many years at KLAY Radio in Lakewood until cancer sidelined him prior to his death. #EvanBrown #Brownie

I wrote to Arel recently to let him know that KLAY had been sold and was being dismantled. Sadly the end of an era here in local radio. Even though we kept in touch on a regular basis, I had no idea when I wrote to him that day that he was dying. #KLAY

But here is what Arel wrote back that day something that was so insightful -- both powerful and uplifting -- I was astonished by it

Arel's last words to me: "One of the tough steps we go through is watching things disappear or change....good times is just that...time evolves and we experience the vibrations..we are at a time where we can look back and smile at being so blessed to have had the love..the chance to bring smiles to the gift of life. We have been so lucky...enjoy the sadness ..it will turn into love and keep going!! Love and caring is the way...just keep going forward..the light is waiting for all of us!" #LastWords