A Year Later: My Ukrainian Daughter Book Update

Jenya, Egor and Maksym (2025)

One year ago, I used this blog space to make my big announcement - my manuscript entitled “My Ukrainian Daughter” was 98% complete and I was ready to take the next step.  That next step would be seeking representation by an esteemed and successful literary agent who could use all of their skills and talents to engage publishers.  The publishers in turn would compete to outbid each other for publication rights, each offering large sums of money.  That money would be used to fund the defense and rebuilding of Ukraine.  In my mind, all of this would happen in time to ensure the book was in bookstores and on digital platforms for the holidays.  Aim for the stars is my motto.  

Since then, I occasionally get asked “how’s the book project going?”  Obviously, the initial goals proved to be a little optimistic, but I’m happy to say that the project is still alive and a great deal of progress has been made.  Last summer, I made a major effort to attract a literary agent and, along the way, received some useful feedback.  For starters, I learned that the traditional publishing process is a marathon, not a sprint. For most books, a realistic timeline from manuscript to publication is one to two years after a publisher agrees to publish the book. Given the nature and context of the wartime events at the heart of the story, some details would certainly be outdated by the time of publication.  

I also learned that 40,000 words isn’t enough for most agents to get excited about.  I need to write another 30,000 or 40,000 words to get where it needs to be.  Fortunately, there is a lot more of the story to tell.  Despite the war, life goes on for Jenya, Egor and Maksym.   

Egor's Journey Continues

Egor will soon be 11 years old and is very much a high achiever.  He is killing it in school and recently joined the robotics team.  They design and build robots and compete with other schools.  These aren’t toys - they are like miniature Lunar Landers or Mars Rovers.  Despite being several years younger than other kids on the team, he was chosen to be on the competition team because of his knowledge and leadership.  A missile or drone blew up the building that housed his robotics classes, but they just found another place and kept going.

Egor is also deeply involved in sports, and just yesterday, tested and achieved his purple belt in Taekwondo.  He takes English language classes and talking to him is just like talking to an American kid.  This summer, he’s taking guitar lessons and will no doubt be writing better songs than mine soon.  

Jenya's Resilience and Growth

When Jenya isn’t encouraging Egor to live his best life, she’s busy setting and achieving new goals for herself as a web designer and graphic artist.  She still works for 5Points Creative in Roanoke and from all accounts, wins the award for long distance telecommuting every day!  That’s in spite of frequent power outages from attacks on the Ukrainian power grid and frequent attacks on Zaporizhia City, where they live.  She is also teaching Maksym new computer skills, taking English lessons and above all, proudly supporting her country.

The Road Ahead

There is a lot to write about and the book project is very much alive.  I’ve had detailed discussions with a locally based publisher and, when the time is right, I’ll be proudly announcing that it is available for purchase!  Until then, please keep Jenya, Egor and Maksym in your prayers, along with the country and people of Ukraine.

I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. Please share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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Senator Tim Kaine Comes To 3rd Street Coffeehouse

Senator Tim Kaine of Virginia Meeting With Local Ukrainian Community (Photographer Unknown)

During the first week of April, Ukrainians from all over the nation gathered in Washington, DC for the Ukraine Action Summit, Spring 2025. Their goal was very simple - convince the U.S. Congress to continue to fund the defense of their homeland against the brutal and merciless Russian attacks that have just passed the three-year mark. They would knock on every possible door in the halls of power and try to explain why Ukraine mattered, knowing full well that the fate of the homeland rested in the hands of a very divided and remarkably fickle group.

Things haven’t really looked good for Ukraine in many months. Russian missiles, drones and bombs fall like rain on the cities, hospitals, schools and even playgrounds. Shortages in defensive systems and munitions, plus restrictive policies for their use are no match for the seemingly endless supply of Russian weapons. The drastic change in U.S. policy after the elections made the efforts of the Ukrainian community look hopeless, at least to me. The meetings came and went without much (if any) press coverage. Still, my friends from the Roanoke Ukrainian community returned home feeling hopeful that their efforts would pay off. Their main strength is that they never give up. Their hope and courage is inspiring.

Two weeks ago, I got a call from my friend Inna. She told me that Senator Tim Kaine of Virginia was going to meet with the Roanoke area Ukrainian community to brief them on his recent travels to Ukraine, Poland, Germany and Finland. She asked me if they could use 3rd Street Coffeehouse to hold the meeting. They’ve held a number of holiday celebrations at 3rd Street and always come with mountains of wonderful Ukrainian food, so of course I said yes. It was intriguing to me that a U.S. Senator would come to our little music venue to meet with his Ukrainian constituents. Inna asked if Greg Trafidlo and I could perform the song Ukrainian Now that we often perform for their gatherings. They draw strength from the song and songwriters Tom Paxton and John McCutcheon are pleased to know its effect (Greg used to play with Tom and told him).

The big day came, and the Coffeehouse was filled with excitement and, of course, a long counter full of Ukrainian baked delights. Senator Kaine arrived and was welcomed with a large and highly ornate loaf of Ukrainian bread. After a few minutes, he was seated at a small table and the room was hushed as he told of his trip. He recalled being in Ukraine on Palm Sunday, the day that the Russians sent a missile to a playground in Sumy, killing a bunch of kids. His meeting with President Zelenskyy was cancelled as he was responding to the massacre all day, but he met with other leaders. He visited a memorial site in Bucha, where so many were killed in the first weeks of the war. He met with leaders in Germany, Poland, and Finland to get their best views on what was needed. It seemed incredible that all of this was happening at 3rd Street - like a scene out of a movie.

Senator Kaine then took questions for about an hour. They were hard questions from Ukrainian constituents and refugees who were frustrated with America’s shifting policies, values and priorities. Some questions required translation from Ukrainian to English. All were spoken respectfully, but also with great pain, urgency and even despair. Lena spoke of her brother Sasha who had been killed in action just in March. Others spoke of families, friends and entire villages that had once been their homes, now in ruins. Senator Kaine listened to all of them with compassion and answered each fully. He didn’t dodge a single question. It felt like a moment from a history book. You could feel the pent-up emotions from everyone in the room.

Finally, the Senator said “I’ll take one more question and then I’ll join you for some music.” Greg and I took the stage to play Ukrainian Now. The Senator retrieved a well-worn harmonica from his pocket. An accomplished musician himself, he just said “tell what key you’re in and I’ll follow.” And follow he did, like we had rehearsed it for days. Greg and I took a break between verses and Tim filled in with a beautiful solo on the harmonica. There were a whole lot of tears flowing, including Greg and myself. From there, Tim took over and we played This Land Is Your Land, which he led everyone in singing. He finished with a beautiful rendition of Hard Times (Come Again No More) which was written by Stephen Foster in 1854. I’ve played with a lot of really great musicians, but I’ve never had a prouder moment on the stage.

3rd Street Coffeehouse started our 39th year that day. God knew what he was doing when put that little coffeehouse on the corner of 3rd Street and Mountain Avenue. Big things happen there all the time. People are healed. Communities come together to share love, hope, tears, laughter, dreams and music. A lot of prayers are heard there, and a lot of them are answered. Our prayers are with Ukraine. May the war end. May the people and the land be healed. And may we always remember that hope, prayers and love are more powerful than missiles, drones and bombs. Amen

I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. Please share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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Medicare Hell (A Cautionary Tale)

This is a blog post I had hoped never to write, as this story doesn’t make me look too intelligent. That said, I hope that you will learn from my mistakes and don’t do what I did!

Back in the fall of 2023, I made the decision to ditch employer provided health insurance and plunge ahead into Medicare. It was an easy decision as I was expecting to retire soon and was tired of fighting with my employer provided plan over things that were supposed to be covered but often were denied. As anyone approaching 62 can tell you, there are plenty of options and you will receive at least 20 official looking envelopes a week from companies that offer Medicare policies. Sooner or later, we all make the jump to Medicare - how hard could it be?  

So, at the beginning of 2024, I traded the comfort of a single line paycheck deduction for 8 separate policies for my wife and myself. We each had Medicare Parts A (hospitalization), B (regular healthcare), and D (prescription meds). Denise took a plan F (supplemental) and I took a plan G (supplemental). We worked with our plan administrator to get all the payments on autopilot, or at least that’s what I thought we did. 

Early in January, I caught COVID, or maybe it caught me. I’m a little fuzzy on the details for that period of time because brain fog is real. From January through July, I felt like my brain was functioning at about 20% of normal capacity. Focusing on anything for more than 30 seconds felt impossible. And just about every day, there would be 2 or 3 official looking envelopes telling me about all of these Medicare policies and I’d toss them all in the garbage without even opening them. Then one day in early August, I opened one up. It informed me that my Medicare Part B policy had been cancelled for lack of payment.

I scratched my head and wondered what was going on. It turned out that the billing for Medicare Part B wasn’t on autopilot. It also turns out that without Part B coverage, you can’t have Part D or G. I was screwed - no health coverage until I got reinstated. I went down to the local Social Security office, pleaded guilty to being an idiot and asked to be reinstated. They told me I needed to pay up the back payments and they’d do their best to get my Part B going again. It was then that I learned that getting reinstated for Part B involves both the Medicare and Social Security teams working together - two gigantic organizations who were both severely understaffed. They warned me, it might take a while. I wrote the check and said a prayer.

My check for the missed payment didn’t even clear the bank for almost two months, but once it did, it gave me hope. I became a regular visitor to my local social security office – every week I’d stop in and ask for an update. I was nice at first but became increasingly agitated. They always told me the same thing - they had no control over any of it - it was out of their hands. I asked, “whose hands it was in?” They couldn’t tell me. None of them. Every week it was the same conversation. I was fed up. In early November, I contacted Senator Mark Warner’s office and asked for help. They said they would, and I was satisfied that I had sic’d the big dogs on them. But still… nothing. Nothing but the same old story - Two gigantic organizations who were both severely understaffed. 

In early December, I got a call from the top supervisor at the Roanoke Social Security Office. They needed another check to cover the time from August 1st to the end of the year. I happened to have the checkbook with me, drove right down and paid the man. I was getting desperate for something to happen. Finally, in mid-December, he called again to inform me that my Part B coverage had been reinstated. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off me – now I could get sick and not have to worry.

The moral of the story is this - don’t ever miss a Medicare payment. I don’t care if you are in a coma and your arms and legs have been amputated. You need to crawl out of your hospital bed and pay that bill. Because once you get the boot, you may never get back on. And not to go political or anything, but you know what’s happening in DC and government offices all over the land. This could happen to you just like it happened to me. You could literally get sick, die and be reborn two or three times before you get it straightened out.

I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. Please share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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This Blog Post Could Save Your Financial Life!

What would happen to your personal finances if you were incapacitated for a period of time?  Would your bills get paid?  Would taxes get filed on time?  Would you you get sued or your credit take a nosedive because nobody had the legal authority to access your money?  I got a big wakeup call on this very subject late in January and I learned some pretty important lessons that are worth sharing. If you have any kind of financial obligations in life, you’d best listen up - this could save your financial life.

Back in 2009, a very good friend of the family was dealing with breast cancer. At the time, she didn’t know how the disease or her treatment would affect her ability to manage her affairs, so she asked if I would step in if needed.  I said OK, and she had her attorney draw up what is known as a “Durable Power of Attorney” (POA) granting me the legal authority to manage her affairs.  As it turned out then, her treatment was effective, and I never had to step in.  The document was filed and forgotten.  Around the same time, my wife Denise suffered a stroke, and our social life took a big hit.  Our friend took another job in a different city, and we fell out of touch except for the occasional greeting on Facebook.

Fast forward to December of 2024.  Our friend suffered a brain bleed and ended up hospitalized - a traumatic brain injury is what it’s referred to.  This resulted in memory loss and, being hospitalized, she wasn’t able to manage her affairs. Her family tried their best to handle things, but in the days of ultra-high bank security, they weren’t able to access her funds. Someone remembered her saying that she had a signed POA, and I was somehow involved.  They hunted me down on Facebook.  I looked for and found the POA and sent it to the family and, after some discussion, it was agreed that I was in the best position to tackle the role.  It’s been an education to say the least. 

Imagine that you suffer a serious injury or disease that sidelined you, either temporarily or permanently.  Did you know that your spouse or significant other / family member / friends can’t legally access your accounts or assets unless their name is on the account or title? They can’t sell your assets if needed to pay your medical bills.  If you are smart like my friend was, you’ll find someone that you trust and have a POA drawn up and executed (signed and notarized) so that if something happens, your affairs can be handled efficiently and legally.  If this isn’t in place, it can take months to get a court ordered conservator appointed to manage your affairs.  As I’ve discovered, a POA is as important as having a Will or Advance Medical Directive.

Here’s are 5 big things a POA can do for you:

• You get to appoint someone that you trust (your agent) to manage your affairs, not just whoever is available or steps up in a crisis (qualified or not). This allows you to choose someone you trust to act in your best interests and follow your preferences.

• It helps to reduce and hopefully avoid family stress, anxiety and disagreements during an already extremely stressful time, and you can recover without having to worry about your financial affairs.

• The person you choose can step in quickly and prevent bad things from happening to your credit.  The last thing you need during your recovery is to be badgered by collection agencies calling on you and not caring that you are disabled.

• By clearly outlining the agent's powers and limitations, a power of attorney can help prevent unauthorized actions and protect you from potential financial exploitation.

• Your agent can interact with various agencies and companies on your behalf, resolving issues and making arrangements when you're unable to do so.

So, what’s the next step?  If you’ve already have a POA in place, sit back and relax or maybe share this post to others who might still need it.  If not, you can consult with a lawyer to see what’s required where you live or even use Legal Zoom or other online legal resources.  It may cost you a few hundred bucks, but if the time ever comes, it is a really important thing to have for both you and your family.  None of us are immune from things that can rob us of our independence and freedom, but this is one thing that you can do in advance to protect everything that you’ve worked for all of your life.

I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. Please share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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Ki Schmucker Past, Kai Schmucker Present

 

Me and Dad - Around 1989

February is a short month, but I always spend a lot of time thinking about my dad, “Ki” Schmucker.  In February of 1990, dad had moved into my home to live out his final days as liver cancer consumed his body.  It was to be the last, and possibly the best days that we would be together and he passed with me beside him on Febraury 23rd of 1990.

Ki was a nickname that he was given by the neighborhood kids back when he was young.  It was a shortened version of Kaiser, as in German Emperor Kaiser Wilhelm II, the last German Emperor and King of Prussia from 1888 until his abdication in 1918.  As dad never did like his given name (Clarence), he gladly accepted the name Ki as an improvement.  I don’t think he quite realized who or what his namesake was.

When World War II came around, Dad enlisted in the Army - Air Corps and was shipped off to Europe to fight the Nazi’s.  He hated the Nazi’s with the passion of one who had seen the blood and destruction of Europe.  After only 6 years, he separated from the Army as a Master Sergeant - quite a jump from a buck private enlistee. The Army offered him a chance to become a commissioned officer, but he turned it down because he had much more power as a senior non-commissioned officer. He saw a lot more than he ever let on and tried to drown those memories in Scotch, as did many others of the Greatest Generation.

As the youngest of two kids, and the only boy, I realized early on that my sister Dorothy was the apple of his eye. That’s not to say I was neglected, I just knew my place in life.  He played catch with me, took me to ball games, taught me how to fish and instilled strong values in me that I still hold and have passed on to my kids.  As I grew older, I learned that despite his blue-collar upbringing and being a career mail carrier, he was held in high esteem by many.  He was a Democratic committee member in Will County and state officials at the highest level all knew him on a first name basis. He was pretty good at getting out the vote.

Dad was a pretty good poker player, which is to say he played a big-money private game every Friday night and, on most Friday’s, he came out ahead.  He also knew his way around a horse track and was known to book a bet or two. His winnings funded a 6 figure bank account that my mother didn’t know about. It was supposed to be a nest egg for my sister and me. When she went into a nursing home, the State of Illinois found it and drained it.  Dad was extremely pissed about that. I told him that while I was grateful for his efforts, we’d be fine without it, and we have been.

Dad passed away on February 23rd of 1990.  I was just 33 years old.  My son Chris was born just 11 months later.  A few weeks ago, Chris and his wife Kaleigh gave birth to a son.  They named him Kai, which is pronounced “Ki”, which is quite an honor and a tribute to my dad and I’m still processing that.  As young Kai grows, I hope to share a lot of stories about his granddad, the original Ki Schmucker.  It’s the cycle of life, which I’m hoping that I get to enjoy for a long time.

Me and Little Kai Schmucker - January 2025

I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. Please share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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Old School Ways Worth Passing Down

 

Carillion Roanoke Memorial Hospital

My dad taught me a lot during his life.  He was old school and passed on important values about right and wrong, how to shake hands with another man, and the importance of setting the hook properly when fishing. But probably the most important thing he passed along was the importance of being present for others in their hour of need, especially if they are hospitalized, and most especially if they are elderly and approaching the end of life.

    He taught me this not by talking about it, but by doing it. Many times, he would bring me along for brief periods of time. I particularly remember visits with my older relatives when they were sick or dying, and the compassion he showed in trying to make them comfortable or just listening when they wanted to talk. He always made sure they knew they weren’t alone, and he’d be there for them even if the going got rough. 

    I knew instinctively that the love and support that he showed were a few steps beyond what people normally did. He was almost kind of a Shaman for our family and the community around the old neighborhood where he grew up. He took calls in the middle of the night like a priest, and he’d put on his clothes and leave until the next day. Even as a youngster, I understood. He never hesitated and never showed any fear, even when the person he saw was potentially contagious. It was his calling.

    As I grew to be a man, I realized that it was my calling as well. There was never any question, and I started receiving calls that my dad used to receive.  I realized that there was much to be gained and much to be learned as I got used to it.  There is a special bond of trust that forms when someone entrusts you with their care in such situations. Sometimes you just listen to stories, memories or regrets. Sometimes you provide forgiveness or closure. Sometimes you just hold hands or give them space. Whatever the case, I always feel like I received the bigger portion of the blessings by being a part of their life during that difficult time.  

    I had the privilege to do this for Dad in the last weeks of his life. I received a call on Christmas evening in 1989. Dad was in the hospital, and I needed to fly home. In the next few days, we found out he had terminal liver cancer.  After a couple blood transfusions, he was discharged. We sold his house and moved him to Virginia to live with me. He passed away on February 23rd of 1990 with me at his side. It was a challenging but very special time for both of us, an experience I’d never trade away.

    For the past few years, I’ve been privileged to be with my mother-in-law Alice for many doctor visits and long hospital stays. We have that special bond of trust that develops, and she knows she can count on me to advocate for her, listen or just hold her hand when she's afraid. She’s been hospitalized with COVID since the day after Christmas, and will likely remain so for a while. She knows she won’t be alone - not on my watch. 

    During our stay, I’ve seen most elderly patients all alone, with few or no visitors. It seems like many of them must fend for themselves at a time when they are the most powerless and vulnerable. Hospitals are scary. Hospital staff seldom have the time to provide anything more than required treatment or checking of vital signs. They aren’t there to listen, hold your hand or just provide the simple dignity of knowing you aren’t alone. I personally think as a society, we need to do a lot better - both for them and for ourselves. As my dad passed these lessons down to me, I am passing it along to you.  

Thank You For Following My Blog 

    I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. And please, share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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Old Headline Brings New Hope

 

Joliet Herald News Headline - August 15, 1945

Embracing the Holiday Spirit: A Call for Peace

The holiday season has officially arrived, and with it comes the familiar wave of stress and anxiety. Each year, I find myself grappling with the challenge of gift shopping, overwhelmed by the crowds in stores and malls. I procrastinate, convincing myself that there’s still plenty of time. Yet, as the days slip away, so does my clarity, leaving me anxious about what to buy for those I cherish. Even more daunting is the question of what I want when asked by others. In past years, I felt lost, weak, and confused. But this year feels different—I finally know what I want for all of us.

A Moment of Reflection

A few days ago, on Thanksgiving Day, as I waited to head to our son Chris and his wife Kaleigh's gathering, I decided to tackle a long-overdue task: cleaning out a bedroom closet. Amidst a jumble of dust, old shoes, belts, and forgotten items, I stumbled upon a newspaper my parents had saved—a relic from August 15, 1945. The bold headline read “PEACE!”

That simple word sparked deep reflection. Those from my parents generation fought valiantly for four long years in Europe and the Pacific. The toll was staggering: over 38 million military personnel and civilians lost their lives in a conflict that was meant to be the war to end all wars. Yet here we are today—conflicts in Ukraine, Russia, and the Middle East; deep divisions within our own country. The path we tread seems fraught with turmoil and uncertainty. Perhaps if everyone could see that newspaper from 1945, we might recognize the direction we’re heading and find a way to heed John Lennon’s timeless call to “give peace a chance.”

Hope for a Better Tomorrow

I understand that envisioning peace in our times can feel daunting—just as it likely did in 1945. But if it was possible then, could it also be achievable now? Let’s hold onto that hope—for Jenya, Maksim, and Egor in Ukraine; for Israelis and Palestinians; for everyone around the globe, especially here in America.

There’s an old Christmas song that resonates with me: “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.” This year, that is my wish for Christmas—not just for myself but for all of us.

A Gift of Peace

As we celebrate the holidays, regardless of our faith or background, we can offer each other the most precious gift: understanding. A moment of genuine human connection. The seeds of peace.

Who knows? Maybe future generations will discover our legacy and realize that change is always possible, one small act of kindness at a time.

Thank You For Following My Blog 

I welcome your thoughts and experiences in the comments below. And please, share this post with others who value both humor and serious stuff about this blue marble that we all share.

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