Tag Archives: Hillsboro

Where’s Our Stuff? Part II

You know that feeling that overcomes you when functioning blind?  Not literally, but the sensation realized outside one’s comfort zone.  Visually, you can approximate the feeling by driving in foggy conditions, where you literally can’t see eight feet in front of you.

Never suffered any mishaps with this fine-looking limo. Photo taken on the grounds of Solebury School, New Hope, PA.

In Pennsylvania, I experienced that dysfunctional feeling several times while driving a six-passenger stretch limo, especially on icy roads, climbing the top of a snow-covered hilltop manor’s long driveway, or the disgustingly narrow Washington Crossing bridge during an ice storm, and especially downtown Philly’s jammed South Street during New Year’s Eve.  My first trip to the Dakota in Manhattan, where the late John Lennon lived, produced a similar tingling the first time I pulled inside the covered driveway of the famous 72nd Street building.

Anyway, I digressed, as I am wont to do.  Alice and I recently moved to Longview, Washington, escaping from Portland, Oregon’s growing pains and rent crisis, accompanied by a reprise of asking what happened to our stuff.

To recap, Alice and I managed some serious downsizing before moving West, so that all our possessions at our two-year Portland location were contained within a 900-square-foot apartment, plus 30 boxes of assorted stuff laid about a dusty, dingy garage.

We already had some heart-stopping moments moving out West and you can read about those here.  (Follow succeeding posts in the archive to learn the resolution.)

Preparing for our second move in three years

In looking around the Internet, which is how almost everyone functions in Portland, I came upon a moving company based in Vancouver, Washington, that specified its territory includes Longview and Portland, with nothing else beyond.  I put down a $100 deposit, and arranged a moving day for September 27th.

As typical, a plethora of tasks were left to the last minute, so we awoke before the sun did.  As the 8 o-clock AM hour began to wane, my phone rang, and the young driver managing our move explained he and his crew would arrive around 9:30.  I gave him instructions how to find our apartment, and like clockwork, three strapping young men showed up on time in a 17-foot-long box truck.

The rented garage across the parking lot was summarily emptied.  While we carefully moved our respective desktop hard drives and monitors into the Ford Escape (“Betsy”), the crew set upon the entire apartment beginning with the upstairs bedrooms.  The queen-sized bed was disassembled, and everything appeared well organized.  My fragile, well-used computer hutch was deftly moved outside.

Two flat-screen televisions were wrapped carefully.  Our newly purchased extra-long sofa was carried outside by two of the guys with nary a complaint or mishap.  As the truck’s contents rose to its top, new rows of stuff utilized its full width.  Alice and I were amazed how the guys managed to fit EVERYTHING into a small, contained space.

Nothing more could fit inside the moving truck.  While the movers were doing their thing, we toted the computer peripherals into the SUV with the rest of our PCs, nonetheless saving a prime space for Millie inside her cat carrier.  Alice packed some odds and ends from the fridge, enabling us to munch upon sustenance during the upcoming 50-mile drive.  Amazingly, everything was packed inside our respective vehicles by 12 noon.

Before setting off to our new Longview address, I asked the driver/supervisor of the crew if he was going to drive to Longview using US-30 (St. Helens Road) paralleling the Columbia River, which involves a nearly 1,500-foot ascent and descent over Cornelius Pass, the route we planned to take.  He declined, saying the crew requires a lunch break in the Vancouver, Wash. vicinity and that they “probably” would take the I-5 route to Longview.

We said goodbye to the truck, professional crew and 99% of our stuff, as we set out to Longview.  I called the carpeting/flooring installer to alert them of our arrival, checking to see if everything was copacetic, only to discover that a problem area in the upstairs bathroom required the crew to work until the midnight hour the previous night.

Arriving in Longview

The carpeting and flooring were in place though, the salesperson assured us, and all was ready for our arrival.  However, when we drove up to our newly acquired garage to unload Betsy’s booty, the carpet people were still working.

“Oh crap!” I thought, although a full crew was hastily vacuuming our newly installed carpet, promising apologetically they would finish in half an hour.  In anticipation of that deadline met, we unloaded the computers and emptied the car, nervously checking our watches, hoping the movers’ arrival would not be imminent.

“Ask, and ye shall receive.”

While waiting for the movers, Alice made sure the front door was clean and spiffy.

A half hour went by.  Then an hour had passed.  I checked the elapsed time again: an hour and a half!

“Where’s our stuff?” I worried.

Finally, I received a text from the driver: “Got stopped at weight station.  Getting inspection done.  This time will not count toward your bill.”

“Ah, finally,” I thought, wondering about the station’s location, but relieved to know there was only a slight delay.  An hour passed without further word, so I texted the supervisor again, “What is your status now?”

Within a minute, I received a reply.  “We are stuck at weight station.  There is a problem with our insurance.  We are getting it figured out.  I will let you know as soon as I know more.”

My heart sank.  “What in God’s name?” I mumbled.  I wrote back, “Is your truck being impounded?”

“No,” came the reply.  “Just can’t leave until the system is updated.”

By this time, several of our new neighbors had gathered around, volunteering to help as much as they could.  I looked around and texted, “All our neighbors are hanging about to help us with the move.”  I asked for directions to the weigh station, hoping my appearance could smooth a quicker arrival for the truck.

“I intend to drive there and see what I can do,” I wrote.

“One second,” was the answer.  “There isn’t much you can do.  It’s an issue with our insurance.  They messed up somehow and are working to fix the issue.”

Five minutes later came a phone call from the moving company’s female representative, whom I surmised was the moving company’s part-owner, and she revealed the awful truth.  Our moving company did not have the proper INTERSTATE insurance paperwork that permitted it to operate a commercial moving business from the State of Oregon to Washington.

The Washington State Police had impounded the truck, refusing further movement into Washington, although its contents belonged to Alice and me.  The only way this stalemate could be solved legally, the woman said, was for me to pick up a rental truck, pick up all our cargo, and drive it back personally to our Longview address.

WTF!  The owner was asking the impossible.  He wanted me, an Uber/Lyft driver at the ripe age of 74, to pick up a U-Haul rental truck large enough to hold our possessions – 20 feet long, but lower in height.

Heading south on Interstate-5

The clock read 4:30 pm as I proceeded to correct this move-it-or-lose-it situation.  After one wrong inquiry at a location where I received blank stares, I arrived at the correct rental spot, whereupon I learned that credit card info given to U-Haul turned out to be “not authorized.”  I waited around, twiddling my thumbs, until the owner of the moving company, who shall remain nameless, volunteered a different, acceptable credit card that absorbed the $204.29 charge.

Remember what I wrote about the feeling of operating blind as I began this website post?  Sure, I had experience with limousines, Lincoln Towncars and driving for Uber and Lyft, but steering a 20-foot-long truck in a manner compatible with other commercial drivers along Interstate 5?  Before I was able to realize the full extent of my dread, another “sizable” problem:

“I am stuck in Longview rush hour traffic adding another 10 minutes to my trip,” I texted the moving truck supervisor.  “There is a narrow lane that I am coming to, which is only 10 feet wide.  Do you think I will have a problem clearing that part of the road?”

No response.  The silence was deafening.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly in true white-knuckle fashion, barely clearing the dreaded, offending section to emerge onto the busy interstate highway and drove like I belonged there.  Nevertheless, I proceeded watchfully, looking for the weigh station 20 miles southward.

The weigh station was mostly empty, a fitting scene for the empty feeling in my stomach.

Once I recognized the station on the northbound side south of Exit 16, I turned around at the next exit.  I pulled into the offending area where I was met by the same Washington State patrolman who was the bane of our movers’ existence.  I identified myself by displaying my Oregon driver’s license.

“Okay, you can drive the truck back after it is loaded,” he ordered, “but only YOU can drive.”  He then had me claim our possessions.

Was this a official order by the State of Washington or an invitation to a mishap?

My watch read 6:30 pm, Mount St. Helens was visible in the distance and the Washington State trooper allowed the transfer to commence with one more notable proviso: The contents of the moving truck were not allowed to be unloaded onto the tarmac until reaching the back door of the U-Haul.  Everything inside the movers’ truck had to be rearranged, due to the major difference in dimensions of the two trucks.  Nevertheless, the moving crew’s supervisor managed to direct the whole shebang in 90 minutes.  None of our possessions were left behind, damaged or even dented during the entire ordeal.

The logistics in motion appear as the cover photograph of this post.

The first crew did their part, now it’s my turn

Then came the fun part.  I drove a fully loaded 20-foot rental truck – filled with all our possessions from our seasoned lives — onto a frenetically busy interstate highway in the dark of night for a full 45 minutes – past mountainsides and over Washington’s military-green bridges.

As tightly as I gripped the truck before it was loaded, I believe the veins on my wrists were on full display as I steered the truck – which seemed to have L-O-O-S-E steering.  I slowed the truck to ridiculous speed at every turn I encountered, until I pulled into the condominium’s driveway in front of our new residence.  A new moving crew had been dispatched to greet me, and I noted the time: 8:45 pm.

“Would you mind backing the truck toward your garage door?” the new supervisor asked.  I pulled forward about 10 feet, put the truck in reverse and proceeded warily until my new “friend” yelled out, “That’s okay.  I’ll take it from here.”

I hit the brake, put the gear shift into PARK, and when I stepped down from the truck’s running board, I saw why he relieved me.  I backed up the truck within a foot of the garage door.  I could have hit the damned thing!

Whew!  I was nearly done.  The crew stayed with us, asking where we wanted every item of furniture or box to be placed inside our newly carpeted, sumptuous apartment.  The moving crew worked tirelessly and when they were finished – at 11:30 pm – they said goodnight.

No one presented us with a final bill, and nothing more was communicated to us ever again.  After 2½ months of silence, it’s safe to assume the final bill was the $100 deposit for the initial contract.  After all, in return for my participation, the owner’s wife promised a “substantial” discount for getting the moving truck and crew released from their Washington Weigh-Station impoundment.

My furnished office is an occasional haven for Millie. She was very content to sleep in the author’s chair the night we moved.

I don’t remember how we ate that day.  I know I slept like a rock after going to bed at 2 am.  Nevertheless, we’re happy in our new condominium, and Alice believes we will never have to move again.

That’s terrific news, because I never, ever want to ask myself, “Where’s our stuff?” again.  That shit gets old – fast.

Alice Is Laid Off

Alice and I received some disconcerting news two weeks ago.  KinderCare is cutting back on her work hours even more.

Alice already was down to two hours a day, although she made herself available to work extra hours when asked to do so.  Alice’s new schedule, according to the Hillsboro office manager, shows Alice “on call.”  The only good part of this: Alice’s commuting expense is reduced.

To see how “on call” was going to work, I waited to report this development until two weeks had gone by.  Now I can relate the result: No work at all.

This unofficial layoff is exacting a toll on my writing work.  Whenever I have free time, I drive for Uber.  That’s because the peak season for tourists has ended, and Uber’s continuing recruitment of drivers has saturated the market.

Some Good News for a Change

Alice appears to be chosen as a participant for a joint research aphasia project created by the University of Washington and Portland State University.  We are awaiting an evaluation of Alice’s brain scans following her stroke, before the good news becomes official.

If she participates, Alice will undergo intensive therapy for six weeks that will target her speech aphasia five days a week.  We are both excited and on edge about her prospects, but I am nervous about mounting financial obligations.  I have become fearful, and it plays havoc on our relationship.

We will see what the future brings, and are grateful for the support by friends and family reflected on this website.  We especially acknowledge the private contributions that lift our spirits beyond measure.

Thank you.

Alice enjoys bacon and eggs for breakfast.
Alice’s  breakfast of  bacon and eggs puts on a happy face.

Our Move Is Complete

Over the last two weeks, Alice and I – with the help of two freelance movers – transferred the entire contents of our two-bedroom, two-bath apartment from Hillsboro to the Tanasbourne section of Portland.  The two of us are now officially Portlanders.

The distance involved (five miles) was relatively minor, considering the nearly 3,000 miles our initial move from Pennsylvania entailed during the fall of 2014.  However, the cost of relocating from Hillsboro was considerably more than projected, and the two-week-long move required a great amount of work on our part.  We’re not as young as we once were.

The Quest, an outdoor marble sculpture and fountain, was carved from a single 200-ton block of marble and situated in front of the Standard Insurance Company's building at 900 SW Fifth Avenue in Portland. The sculpture, carved in Italy from a single 200-ton block of white marble quarried in Greece, was installed in 1970. According to its artist, Count Alexander von Svoboda, the figures represent man's eternal search for brotherhood and enlightenment.
The Quest, an outdoor marble sculpture and fountain, was carved from a single 200-ton block of marble and situated in front of the Standard Insurance Company’s building at 900 SW Fifth Avenue in Portland. The sculpture, carved in Italy from marble quarried in Greece, was installed in 1970. According to its artist, Count Alexander von Svoboda, the figures represent man’s eternal search for brotherhood and enlightenment.  Not all Portlanders look at it this way, though.

The price of progress in Portland

Portland is booming.  The number of people moving into the area has been overwhelming the city’s resources, although real estate speculators are hungrily maximizing sizable financial rewards.  No one argues with the proffered observation that the “Rose City” – also known as the city of bridges – is being San Francisco-sized.

This hookah bar and restaurant on Belmont Street appears built like a gingerbread house.
This hookah bar and restaurant on Belmont Street appears built like a gingerbread house.

Everywhere one travels appear massive construction projects.  Part of the allure can be attributed to stunning scenery as well as marijuana retail outlets that are popping up to market the wacky tobaccy’s mind-altering products starting October 1.  Traffic snarls continuously challenge long-term residents’ commutes and exasperate newcomers.

But back to Alice and me.  Only two days ago, our new apartment was so crammed with possessions that boxes were piled to the ceiling.  I felt depressed and worried.  Fortuitously, a newly vacant nearby garage was a godsend, but our overflow of goods had to be taken there before the apartment complex’s parking lot was repaved – Sept. 5, as it turns out!

As I look around our 40-year-old rental townhome and walk through its two-story layout, the aesthetics of Alice’s arrangements are striking.  In addition, the landscaping here is not sterile as was the case at the Commons at Dawson Creek.

Living in a multi-ethnic housing complex

Our new neighbors represent a true mix of ethnicities, many of whom are working people.  Yes, Virginia, many are Mexicans, but we represent a true melting pot that abhor the divisions being exasperated by a certain Republican candidate for U.S. President.  More about my feelings on that subject in a future post.

Our new digs should serve as an ideal window on life in Portland while I continue to explore my ancestry.  The photo atop this post shows Alice’s arrangement of the home office from where I write.

Writing is as important as ever.  Trusted, valued family members already archived voluminous records of my mother’s side of the family, but much is unknown about my father’s side.  To remedy this mystery, I submitted a DNA sample to ancestry.com yesterday to see where that might lead.

Looking back

Alice and I dealt with a variety of challenges; we accomplished them because I drove for Uber often over the last eight weeks, leaving Alice alone.  If Portland had not allowed Uber into town, we would not have had the necessary resources for a second move in less than a year.

Room arrangement by Alice McCormick, whose sense of aesthetics knocks me out.
Our living room arrangement by Alice McCormick, whose sense of aesthetics knocks me out.

A word of thanks …

goes out to our Farmers insurance agent, Jasper Torrence.  She and husband Zack treated us to dinner and wine at Golden Valley Brewery’s Beaverton restaurant immediately after the move was complete, and both pledged help in case an emergency arose.  Jasper even greased the wheels so we could donate a carful of non-essentials to a nearby Goodwill outlet.

This couple’s Christian spirit went beyond the call of duty.  (Jasper was born into a minister’s family.)  We shall remember their hands of friendship for a long time, and we hope to reciprocate.

During the next two weeks, I will add more segments of “Virgil’s Story,” and more posts will appear on this blog, too.  To those who stuck with us, I say, “Thanks.”  It means a whole lot to Alice and me.

A Freeway View of Portland

When Alice and I moved west to Oregon, we landed in Hillsboro.  We picked a pleasant apartment complex sight unseen, utilizing the guidance of zillow.com.

We thought Hillsboro was a town, but now it’s a city.  And our apartment is smack-dab in a sterile environment owned by Tandem Property Management, strategically situated across the street from computer-chip manufacturer Intel Corp.

Euphemistically called the Silicon Forest, this land originally was nothing but forest.  Today, though, Hillsboro, rapidly approaching a population of 100,000, is clear-cut of virgin timber, as landscape engineers dot once-fertile land into a hodgepodge of cookie-cutter housing developments, franchised fast-food eateries and industrial parks, all pretending to be greener than the rest.

The lure causing an unprovoked blemish upon this part of the planet: high-tech industry, sometimes perceived as “clean.”  But underneath the sanitary veneer is a plague: the promise of quick riches.

This plague is akin to what is happening to the rest of Portland.  An increasing influx of new residents is moving in, and real estate prices are going through the roof, reaching crisis proportions.  That’s why construction is evident everywhere.  What we are personally experiencing is not an anomaly; one of my Uber passengers calls it the “San Francisco-ization of Portland.”

Tandem Property Management sees the increasing demand for housing as a proper opportunity to raise rental rates unconscionably.  When asked for justification for the disproportionate increase, its on-site manager gave a straight-faced reply, “Well, everyone else is raising their rents.”

Anyone who stays here shall bear witness to a future where a landlord ignores resident loyalty in lieu of the almighty dollar.  Too bad they’re ignoring Intel Corp.’s plan to double carbon dioxide emissions across the street.

A different outlook

Thoughtful landscaping exists at our new residence.  Beware of parking where you don't belong, however.
Thoughtful landscaping exists at our new location.  Be careful where you park, though.

Our new apartment, though, will give a true view of Portland: a panoramic window toward the City’s westbound freeway – US-26 – notably called Sunset Highway, because in the late afternoon, driving out of town focuses drivers’ eyes onto a brilliant, blinding sunset.

We’ll be close to friends and near Portland’s Bethany neighborhood filled with energetic, mature homeowners with whom we might share congenial repartee.  We’ll constantly witness the crush of automobiles heading to and from Hillsboro and points west.

Our new abode has an outstanding neighbor: a property manager by the name of Carlos, who has proved so far to be a gem.  Through a few deft maneuvers as well as divine intervention, the amount of our rent increase is reasonable and, after all the toil and trouble that a move entails, offers a realistic view of the real Rose City.

Alice and I will be closer to the heart of Portland, and I will be able to write and Uber here too.  We’re looking forward to the future.

We Are Moving

A funny thing happened to Alice and me while preparing a post about pinot noir wines in the Portland vicinity.

The roof caved in.

Tandem Property Management, our landlord, formally announced plans to raise our rent more than 50 percent – from $1,050 to $1,600.  Before last weekend began, though, the property manager onsite promised we could lower the increase by $200 if we agree to move to a next-door remodeled apartment when our lease expires.

We salivated at the bait thrown before us, but on Monday, July 20th, as we prepared to bite into the offer, we learned an additional sizable security deposit would be required.  As well, we must use professional movers to complete our end of the deal, and other contingencies were raised to destroy any hopes we might return to the apartment we dearly love.

With one hand, they offered salvation; then applying the other, Tandem took hope away.

Emotions on display

Alice was distraught.  I watched as her voice broke – almost going into tears – after she realized how empty Tandem’s offer really was.  We both tried to explain the difficulty this rent increase posed to Alice’s medical recovery, but the property manager didn’t bat an eye.

The land barons of Hillsboro, who affectionately call this area the Silicon Forest because of Intel’s corporate presence, are doubling down on their perception that well-heeled geeks will flood the area.  And somehow, we’re being punished for touting the Portland area on this website.

Consequently, we advise anyone attracted to move here, “Caveat emptor.”  Let the buyer beware.

On Monday afternoon, we made a good-faith deposit on a different apartment just outside Hillsboro but closer to Portland.  It is far away from the KinderCare location where Alice forged a bond with its toddlers and babies.

Everyone will miss one another.  But we cannot stay and be tempted any longer by the mirage that an affordable apartment exists here for us and Millie, the cat.

We will have to pony up a larger security deposit than ever before to make this move.  Somehow, we’ll do it, keeping in mind the following: We are merely pawns in the real estate appreciation game being played in Portland.

Plaudits to dependable friends

Some good friends stepped up and are helping Alice and me survive this change in environs.  Their names: Pauletta and Terry Hoffman, and Diane and Scott Chill.  The Hoffmans are inspirational cheerleaders, and the Chills led us to a suitable apartment complex where we will make our future home.

Unconscionable increases in rent are turning Portland into an unenviable place, and websites are springing up warning prospective new residents about the pitfalls here.  A Google search turns up some interesting links when you key in the following phrase: “Should I move to Portland”.

You’ll see some of the bad, as well as some of the good.  And for something more personal, this blog should do.

In the photo on top, I’m waving goodbye to the first-floor apartment that Alice turned into a showplace.  The attractive landscaping is performed regularly by Mexican-American helpers who obey Tandem’s instructions as best they can.

In less than a month, all our possessions will be moved from the inside, and any subtle reminders denoting we lived here – including our homespun welcome mat – will be gone forever.

Here’s the good news: At our new location, we can barbecue outside on a charcoal grill.

The flaming barbecue in Doylestown will soon become part of our Portland apartment life.
The flaming barbecue in Doylestown will soon become part of Portland apartment living.

Raising the Rent

Do you know the meaning of the word, “unconscionable?”

That sort of thing can happen to you no matter where you live, whether it be in the money-desperate East Coast, or the fascinating ambience reputed to be exuded in Portland.

What is happening to us already is taking place in downtown Portland.

We thought we were safe, but the fast-growth city of Hillsboro, now above 95,000, appears to be vulnerable, due to our proximity to Intel Corp.  The demon appeared to us surrounded by Gummi Bears that have the same false flavor as the handmade card above them.

The card read “We can’t bear to see you leave. Please stay for another year” (accompanied by an image of a teddybear).

The card and Gummi Bears, all hung by a piece of blue tape quietly placed upon our apartment’s front door prior to the Independence Day weekend, were accompanied by a faded letter that detailed a new rental price structure.

You can see those prices on our landlord’s website here.

Our floor plan matches that of the Devonshire.  So the real message we received says: Alice and I have until August 25 to decide whether we can continue to stay in our apartment.

If we do, we’ll pay an additional $550 to our current $1,050 monthly rent, more than a 50 percent increase.  And we must execute a 9-12-month lease to lock in that rate.

If we don’t agree to renewing our lease, we will be charged an additional $750 on top of our $1,050 – a total of $1,800 – on a month-to-month basis, effective September 1.

No wonder I was asked recently how Alice is coming along after her stroke.  I expressed optimism in response, but I’m the one who is worked up into a lather.

And that’s how we got to this point.  Doesn’t Tandem Property Management worry what kind of image this stroke of greed exudes while we try to pay off our medical bills?

That’s the definition of “unconscionable.”

Consequently, we are looking for a new place where Alice’s vision can take root and allow us to contribute to a city called Portland.

If you know a suitable place where the two of us can be comfortable, a cat can roam happily, and that contains congenial neighbors of different generations, drop me a line at [email protected]

We pull our fair share wherever we go, and will continue to do so. But the vibes here reek of greed.

Alice Feels Frustration

Aphasia Taking Its Toll

This has been a rough week for Alice McCormick.  Progress, although steady, has slowed down, and Alice has become reticent to begin conversations with anyone she doesn’t know.

After taking out some frustration on me last night, while fighting back tears today, she explained her speech difficulty, “It’s like wearing a muzzle.”  Trying to soothe some hurt feelings, she continued, “I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Alice’s Ambitions on Hold

Since initiating her return to work three weeks ago, Alice put in two days part-time at KinderCare’s Cornell Road location in Hillsboro – her home away from home – where infants and co-workers adore her.  A 12-week absence due to her stroke, though, required the new director to seek a replacement.

Before one could be found, Alice got her foot back in the door, until the corporate office required Alice’s doctor to certify that she experienced a stroke and recovered enough to fulfill her position’s responsibilities.

A delay ensued, because the doctor’s office required two full weeks to complete the necessary paperwork.  Once faxed to management, last week she was told no opening exists any longer at the location she favors.

Cause for Optimism?

One bright spot exists, but it’s tenuous.  Another KinderCare location a couple miles away posted an opening for which Alice was recommended, and she is invited to visit the center’s manager. However, prospective new co-workers haven’t seen her in action, and there is no assurance they would welcome Alice with open arms.

My partner is sensitive to fulfilling her job duties responsibly, and Alice will not allow herself to be a burden or be viewed that way.

Our medical bills have come due, and dunning notices are coming in.  Both of us are getting nervous, which doesn’t help to ease the difficulties we face daily.  Consequently, we are considering a fund-raising appeal through a reputable company we learned about called “GoFundMe.”  More about this shall follow.

Summing Up

When I started writing our narrative about Alice’s stroke, we decided to be candid about our situation without infringing upon our private lives.  We believe there are many myths and biases toward survivors of stroke.

Therapists we know stress that aphasia is a loss of language, not intellect.  We continue to spread the word, and will persevere with our journey and story.  Thank you for the good thoughts and wishes.

We shall survive.