It might just be time to start a new quilt. With a couple already in progess, I should finish those before embarking on another patchwork mapping. My thoughts don't always complete one foray before delving deep into another. The brain is locking into a pattern and color mix that may require action soon. Winter is, after all, quilting and knitting season. A need to attach small scraps of fabric together to form a more perfect union and embellish them with bits of yarn or thread often hits my psychic imbalance when the weather turns chilly. Purple and green are dancing in my mind with light to darker shades spinning in a colorful array. Fabrics purchased or saved in those hues have lurked in plastic bins stashed away in the basement for several years. Last night I dreamed of touching each piece as I cut the shapes for the quilt that seems to be calling me. In the same dream I was in a city that I recognized but could not name. I awoke knowing the city was familiar, yet not sure when I had been there. The thought of attaching the fabric pieces together gave me a surreal sense of comfort. If I make the quilt, will it show me the way to the mystery town? When I can identify the city, will I still need to sew the quilt?

PeacefulEasy Feelin'

Our local theatre often attracts one night stands from acts currently featured in the entertainment mecca just across the lake and up the river a bit. Last night we totally enjoyed the performance of a band that sounded very much like one of our favorites from the past. Many of the shows in Branson are tributes to performers from the fifties, sixties and even some from the seventies, so we purchased the tickets for this show with only mild interest. The band exceeded all our expectations and left us wanting to hear them again. The harmonies were amazing and each member of the band exhibited a unique talent as they played to a crowd of baby boomers. We found ourselves jiggling in our seats, tapping our feet and clapping our hands in time to the music. The little theatre here boasts of acoustics well suited to the musical talent we sometimes attract, and last night we heard the proof. The group is call "Take it to the Limit" and they pushed the envelope of Eagles music. I'm thinking it won't be long until we plan an evening in Branson to hear them again.

Just a little Dirt

The first killing freeze occurred on Friday night. I was devastated since my daffodil bulbs remain in the downstairs fridge awaiting a prepared flower bed for planting. All my prevous experience indicates the bulbs must be under nine inches of soil prior to the first freeze! Ol' Abner had promised to prepare a raised flower bed for me at each corner of the driveway. The ground here is very rocky. Digging with a trowel will give way to a tiny indentation about two inches deep before hitting a bit of solid rock. A pickaxe breaks one rock up only to unearth another. Clearly we need a load of topsoil to fill in the gaps where rocks are removed. Our neighbor, Digger Dude aka Ol' Excavator, lamented that he had no topsoil on hand and didn't expect to have any soon. Ol' Abner suggested we just go buy some bagged topsoil and save the trouble of having a truck haul it in. Measuring the flower bed areas, he estimated we would need about a cubic yard of topsoil. That's about one truck load, I think. When we priced the bags at the home improvement store, we concluded we were definitely in the wrong business. Dirt in a bag containing .75 cubic feet of topsoil looked tiny. Each small bag was priced at just under $2. Quickly doing the math, we decided having a truckload haul it in might not only be easier on the pocket, but definitely easier than loading and emptying sixty or so of the tiny but heavy parcels. Remembering another contractor with piles of dirt at his storage lot, we drove by and took down the number to call for topsoil delivery. That was four days ago...and the call has not yet been returned. It's deer season in dogpatch...bet the phone is turned off so his prey won't be spooked!

Rock the Vote

Yesterday was election day. National races changed the balance of power in Washington, while local races left us with the same old status quo. Our little town of 2000 is the largest city in the county. Our much loved mayor died a few months ago and his replacement was appointed by the city council. The interim mayor had served on the city council for several years with a clear desire for more power. Attempts at various times past were squelched by the mayors with whom he served. As a retired police captain from the big windy city, his point of view differed greatly from most local citizens, one being yours truly. Fees for permits have increased steadily at his behest with most council members simply acquiescing to his recommendation. Speed limits have been reset and officers instructed to fill the city coffers with ticket revenue. Signs were removed for no reason other than he personally thought them unnecessary. We are a town of many tourists, most citizens thought a sign directing to the golf course wise...but our newly appointed mayor had the marker removed just after taking office with no notice or warning to the golf course owner. Strange that he and the owner of the golf course had exchanged unfriendly words more than a few times. City employees have been on edge as they must enforce each new edict. In my opinion, his opponent should have had an easy win. After all I voted for him. Small town politics just defies the imagination.

Just over 750 registered voters reside in our town. The polls were packed all day with long lines waiting to cast ballots. Word was out via radio and internet that some of the polling places in our county had experienced problems with the voting machines. When the polls closed at 7:30 long lines were still in place. It took a full hour for the last of the ballots to be completed. At midnight when we went to bed, only the early votes had been counted and it was difficult to predict the outcome. This morning's paper of course had no answers, and the newspaper website proclaimed that results would be available very soon at six a.m., and repeated that promise every few minutes until after ten o'clock. I finally put a leash on the critter and we strolled around to Mrs Paw-lie to see if she had any insight. Of course she knew the answer and was just as stunned by the victory of our newly elected Bully in Chief. Yep, even in a tiny burg it would appear that few were even aware of our new mayor's ambitious plans for the city. Final vote tally was 450 to 300...looks like everyone in town voted, yet no one will admit to being one of the 450. Dare I wonder if shenanigans occurred in Dogpatch....

Planning

Ol' Abner has a dental appointment today. I'll ride along since it is scheduled in the capital city three hours south of our spot in Dogpatch. We usually enjoy a little shopping and better restaurant choices on these excursions. Traveling with a current list of things to find in the shopping mecca requires a quick inventory of the the freezer and pantry. I'm feeling the urge to redecorate the bedroom, so a visit to some of the home decor shops might be in order. The rustic look I have enjoyed so long is wearing on my nerves and I'm ready for a fresh new look. Just haven't quite nailed down the concept I want. The ride to and from followed by the wait while he is attended allows lots of time for contemplation. Maybe I'll take along a magazine with ideas and just kick back and listen to my IPod while I look at other people's color schemes and themes!

A chill in the morning air is lasting a bit longer each day. The trees herald the transition from summer to winter with brilliant shows of color. It is almost too chilly to enjoy a carefree cruise on the lake. Last week we ventured out for views of the shoreline color only to be charmed by a regal looking eagle sitting on a tree branch as though it were his throne. I lamented the lack of zoom capability in my camera as the shot just would not pick up any more than a tiny black and white speck in the center of the frame. Capturing the foliage in full bloom was difficult with the limited zoom. Sometimes a bit of whine can be productive. When we returned home, Ol' Abner did a little research on line to find some possible replacement cameras. The following day we traveled to a nearby town to look for them in person. I settled on the one I thought would serve my needs and he ordered it in my favorite school colors, a choice not offered in the retail outlets. Yesterday it was delivered and we happily ripped open the package and began the process of putting all the attachments on the camera box. Once the batteries were inserted it clicked to life and I was ready to play. First I had to go downstairs and finish the project interrupted by the delivery. When I returned, I sat down to read and learn. Twas not to be! The minute I turned on the camera, the dog climbed in my lap and clawed at the hand holding the camera. She was shuddering and wedging her 63 pounds around behind me in the chair when I turned it off and stood up to see what the ruckus was about. She calmed and sat staring at me as though I should be ashamed of myself. When I turned the camera back on, she immediately went into a protective crouch and tucked her tail. I went outside with the camera and she chose to stay inside. Later Ol' Abner picked the camera up from a table and she immediately went into distress. Guess I will have to call the manufacturer on Monday and see if there is a way to mute the signal my poor canine is receiving from the instrument. Otherwise, it may just have to go back...even though it appears to take really nice photos. A panicky dog tends to make the photo experience a bit unsatisfying. Maybe we'll have to respond to a different whine.

Acorns to Oaks

Acorns are dropping everywhere in these hills. Some are huge and some are small. Ol' Abner tells me they are from two different oak species. Some are golden and others are a deep rich brown color, but they all have the signature straw colored cap. The deer and squirrels are hungrily munching and the dog occasionally crunches one up as she stops to sniff around the yard. Thumping on the bedroom roof followed by the sound of something tumbling down, then silence, frightened me the first few times I was awakened from my slumber. I thought something was running on the roof, or somone was throwing things up with the sole purpose of disturbing me. Nature has a way of disturbing even the calmest of moments.

Yesterday I talked with Mountain Girl. She is dealing with some of the same disturbances. Widowed and falling hard for Ol' Taxidermist, she has struggled to come to terms with her plan for the future. Two houses, each shared with a previous spouse, don't really fit her plan although he is pleasantly content to remain in the house where he and first wife raised three children. Each little upgrade makes her feel more like this might become her home, but the doubts persist. Her house, a beautiful home up on the mountain with scenic views and lovely isolation, is on the market. She is moving on from her past life. Her nature is to gather those acorns and make good use of them. She loves building things. They poured a new driveway last week and painted the new garage door. Still she seems to know that sound of acorns crunching on the driveway. No matter how many are eaten or crushed, some will sprout in the spring.

Cities and Towns

I have always loved to see new places. Frequent relocation during my childhood just gave me a thirst for exploring unseen vistas. Nostalgia for a past home remained each time we moved to a new one, but that one would soon become familiar . I love visiting a city for the first time, though that experience cannot equal a return to a hometown from the past. Places may deteriorate with age, be revived by restoration or demolished altogether, but the memories never escape. Watching a college football game yesterday between my alma mater and a college located in a town where I once lived awakened memories of childhood. The back yard of our house was adjacent to the marching band's practice field. In my head I can still hear the drum major's cadence as the drummer clicked out the rhythm. Early morning practice was always sans music, but late afternoon would ring with the full instrumental compliment. Sitting beside the birdbath in the back yard, I dreamed of one day attending that university. Plans made at age ten sometimes must be replaced by the reality of "out of state tuition", but those happy childhood thoughts can come trickling back in at the strangest times.

Indulgence

I heard this morning that it is "national dessert day"! Who knew the nation's sweet tooth could have such a powerful lobby? Timing seems a little off for me though. Just returning from a trip to the Lone Star state, the sweet tooth rears it's strong memory. Dinner with family in the metroplex precipitated a bit of cobbler and ice cream and it's own share of guilt the next day. I managed to overcome the remorse though, just in time to enjoy some yummy alcoholic treats with more family. Later travels along the gulf coast required indulgence in a long ago favorite...crustless pecan pie with ice cream. Ol' Abner made sure he took his before meal dose of diabetic medication and jumped into the fray throwing caution to the wind. Actually not, past visits to that particular trough would never have included one dessert with extra spoons. His comment that it would even be worth feeling "sick" to have a bit of that dessert again was not a precursor to pain. Sharing a bit of the yummy treat didn't seem to have any ill effect on him as we left the restaurant totally satiated. A few extra pounds crept beneath each of our waistbands by the trip's end...guess we had our "national dessert day" all last week. Now it will just have to suffice to read recipes posted by others about the serious guilty pleasures of the past. I won't be baking any of those favorite halloween cookies this year!

Morning

Not generally a morning person, I am shocked that the bed lost it's pleasant comfort prior to 5AM this morning and yesterday too. Wondering if this is one of those stages when the circadium rhythm is rebalancing in my universe or maybe the brain is just running circles around the aging body. Conversations this week with four people from various stages of my past have stirred up the nostalgia while allowing such unexplainable joy from good memories. Late night musings of "remember....." and "what were we thinking..." and "did you know" and even a few "what ifs" and "might have been" comments brought in the laughter. Watching parents age and their memories fade adds even more value to these moments. My plan is to drift into the late years of my life in a state of being "pleasantly addled". Does that mean these treasured visits will no longer be possible? I have to wonder if more recent friendships will ever reach the richness of those from my teens, twenties, thirty-somethings, and forties. See what happens when I don't indulge in my deep sleep well after the sunrise? Who can sleep with all these delicious memories swirling through the mind!

Cheesy

Back in the sixties roquefort dressing was ever so popular at fine restaurants. My father loved it but it was usually very expensive. The rich stuff's availability faded with the arrival of dressings made from buttermilk with a packet of seasoning and a little mayo. Blue Cheese dressing has been the closest relative available to enhance our green leafies for the last couple of decades, should one tire of the buttermilk fare. Roquefort is a cheese from a specific group of caves in France. While it is a "blue" cheese, not all blue cheese is roquefort. Ol' Abner has always turned his head in disgust when anything made with blue cheese was offered.

Much to my surprise, he delighted in a wedge of lettuce slathered in "roquefort dressing" at one of our favorite restaurants last week. When ordering the appetizer, he neglected to specify a dressing on the chilled lettuce wedge, but suggested to me that they probably had some special house dressing like "french" or something for it. When it arrived on a chilled plate with the chunky white topping, he cut a big bite off and exclaimed that it was extrordinarily good. The waitress shared the "secret" that it was not made with real "roquefort" but with the milder gorgonzola cheese.

His tastebuds craved another of the salads this week, but the chosen restaurant is just over an hour's drive and reserved for special occasions or times when a trip takes us that way. Internet research yielded several recipes for "roquefort dressing". That was the easy part. Still convinced that he dislikes "blue cheese", we began the search for gorgonzola cheese. The fourth grocery store carried one size package of the crumbly stuff, just a little less than the amount called for in the recipe. We hurried home to mix up the dressing and allow it time to chill before dinner.

Tonight's menu:
Grilled skewers of shrimp
Roasted corn on the cob
Chilled wedges of lettuce with roquefort dressing and diced tomato garnish

How things do come back around! My father would have loved that meal. (oh yeah, I think Ol' Abner secretly does like blue cheese.......)

September Eleventh

This is the ninth anniversary of the worst terrorist attack ever inflicted on our nation. It is also my oldest maternal uncle's eightieth birthday. Uncle's mother, my grandmother, would have celebrated her 101st birthday today. A good friend and co-worker will always know that her birthday is easily remembered by all who knew her then. Nine eleven, as we often shortcut the day's description, has had a profound effect on my life. I rejoice in the existence of those born on this day while mourning the loss of the many whose lives ended so suddenly in 2001. For now I offer a prayer of thanks in the hope that Grandma will be eavesdropping. I will call Uncle Vic because he means so much to me and I have the need to tell him. I'll drop a note to Sandy wishing her the best of days. The newspapers and television coverage will continue the marathon commemoration of our national tragedy. I am grateful that I have so much to celebrate today!

Water

Officially, I am a year older having celebrated a birthday last week. That's the least of the story. On the day prior to my planned celebration, Ol' Abner mentioned that he was having difficulty seeing from his left eye. He mentioned this as we were hauling a plastic draped load of furniture on an open trailer from another city in a deluge. He was a little sketchy with the details in one of those "how-can-you-be-so-dense" responses when I questioned the depth of his condition. He has a cataract and recently diagnosed AMD. Since he could still see the little spot in the center of the eye chart posted on the fridge, he vehemently ruled out the possibility that the trouble was anything more than progression of the cataract. The water pouring from the sky caused all other discussion to be postponed. The following day was blessed with rain predictions never fulfilled. We drove over to a nearby city, enjoyed a walk along the water, shopped a bit, then indulged in a delightful dinner. During our leisurely drive home he alluded to flashing and big "floaters" appearing regularly in the field of vision on his left...OH..OH..OH! Relating some of the danger signs listed when researching his condition and the admonition from the medical pros to call immediately if any of that list should occur, I urged him to call for an appointment in the optical lab. He admitted to not wanting to dampen the enjoyment of my birthday celebration and since he had a scheduled foot appointment for today, he had planned to call for a consult in the optical clinic. HMMMMM. Arriving home after regular clinic hours he promised to call Friday morning. I reminded him again, and again and he finally gave up procrastination and called around noon. Response from the optical clinic was "COME RIGHT NOW!". We jumped in the car and drove through sprinkling rain and ever increasing holiday traffic. It's just over a three hour drive via winding mountain roads to the medical center responsible for his care. The diagnosis: Detached Retina (specifically two holes with liquid leaking around them) resulting with vision in the eye in imminent danger. This was not the dreaded Age-related Macular Degeneration changing from "Dry" to "Wet", but equally as threatening. The staff sprang into action, photographing his inner eye, poking it hither and yon, letting him look at charts he couldn't read and then scrambling him into a ready and waiting OR for lazer "tacking". Spring forward to today. His scheduled appointment was conveniently piggy backed with the follow-up from the Friday. He was right about that at least. We left home in sprinkly rain drops and damp roads. On the first hill exiting our town, an oncoming pick-up truck came around the corner in a sideways skid and very nearly helped us over the other side of the mountain. Rain intermittently poured or drizzled all three hours of travel and two more near misses by hydroplaning, sliding and skidding vehicles had us totally on edge. Torrents of water drenching the car made me feel like I needed a towel inside. I really don't like to travel in rain, so it could be said I was in a never ending nightmare. Tonight we are safely home, dry, and thankful for a good progress report on Ol' Abner's eye. Now if all this water will just soak on in and go on into the lake. It could be worse. Tornados are tracing around friends and family in Texas. Enough water everywhere!

Summer Delights

Sometimes I just get tired of hearing friends and neighbors complain about the oppressive heat! I prefer to fully embrace the last lazy days of summer. After all, I no longer have to traipse through the frenzy of back-to-school preparation, one thing not missed. No argument, the dog days of summer can be miserably exhausting just from the weight of the hot humid muggy air that seems unique to the Ozarks. Sitting on the porch for a bit to enjoy my coffee this morning, I looked forward to autumn and the beautiful eruption of color coming along with cooler days. Yes! Look forward! No! No! Enjoy NOW! Next winter I will hear fellow hill folks lamenting the bitter cold and anticipating the arrival of spring! Right now, I will enjoy!
Enjoy the taste of cold watermelon
Enjoy watching hummingbirds in a feeding frenzy
Enjoy a cruise on the lake without needing a sweater
Enjoy a pedicure so barefoot sandals can be worn with joy
Enjoy dead-heading the geraniums, so new blooms can sprout
Enjoy watching tiny fawn's spots disappear
Enjoy a watermelon margarita
Enjoy sitting on the porch to read the morning paper
Enjoy pulling a sprig of mint from a pot on the porch for perking up the fruit
Enjoy fresh rosemary at the bottom of the steps, just to sniff or to add to a dish
Enjoy the sound of birds chirping in early morning (I know this isn't Summer ONLY)
Enjoy the beauty of many shades of green

Holiday What?

Ol' Abner has decreed that the Christmas decorations must be cleaned out soon. In the last couple of years, only one of the four Christmas trees has been erected, using only about a fifth of the tree ornaments encased in plastic totes. Various holiday decor to celebrate the season of cheer, has been left in the basement unused for several years. In the hubbub of the holiday, I usually go down and pull out a few of the containers, remove some of the treasures and lug them upstairs. Many of those "treasures" have never seen the upper level of this house. With multiple moves, we acquired several trees of varying sizes as we migrated from big house to tiny house and back to average size house. Of course all the scratched glass balls can be pitched out, the kitchy gag gifts received in holiday party exchanges should have met that fate when they arrived, and other decorations have not worn well with time. Ok, mentally the task is almost done, uh, maybe not. Those handmade dough ornaments and cardboard frames with photos inserted by tiny hands cannot go. They haven't made the cut for the themed tree in several years, yet I cling to the memories of young hands and faces clutching these little productions. Oh dear, it is only August and I have the urge to go downstairs to reassure myself that the treasures are safe.

From the mouths of dogs

"my halo is temporarily out of order" was the message on the front of our neighbor's shirt. Mrs. "Paw-lie"s attire often reflects her tongue-in-cheek attitude. On the downhill slope of her seventieth decade, she's entitled to a bit of attitude. She loves my dog though, always carrying treats in her pocket, just in case we happen to stop by on our neighborhood excursions. An owner of two canines herself, it's not surprising that one of her shirts proclaims "Today's Agenda" as: "let the dog out, let the dog in, let the dog out, let the dog in, let the dog out, let the dog in..." you get the picture. Her reply to my comment on that one was "Gotta find that other shirt, so I know what to do about the other dog". Her aging pets, both rescued critters, suffer with bad knees and lack of teeth, that somehow enhances their individual charms. Phoebe only had one tooth when she came to live with Ms Paw-lie. The vet had opted to leave that lone tooth so her tongue would not fall out of her mouth. The tiny chihuahua of mixed ancestry walks around now sans that tooth with her tongue hanging out one side of her mouth in search of worms. Her vision is impaired, her hearing gone, but sense of smell is doubly acute. She can smell our dog coming a block away and alerts the household of the coming visitor. The second little fellow is a pomeranian mixed with some other breed. His charcoal grey fur that shoots straight out in thick fluff all over his little body gives creedence to his moniker, Gizmo. He loves to come stomping out barking like an attack dog, he cannot run on his bad knees, only to bask in delight when we bend down to scratch his arching neck. Our labrador retriever plays tag with him in the front yard, and he is always sure he dominated the match. If for some reason the trio doesn't come out to meet us as we walk by, Belle loiters in the driveway, and is not above just having a seat to await them. She will bark loudly to attract their attention if she believes that her presence has not been properly noted. Oh yes, it is pretty clear who is in charge on this side of the mountain.

Another Bad Hair Day

My hair grows in a circle around my head and down into my face. I have always coveted the perfectly arranged hair of others as it flowed smoothly down the neck and stayed there. Perfect pageboy or flipped up ends that did not flatten on one side and sway on the other were my hairstyle goals in youth, still unattainable in my senior years. My hairdresser is sympathetic but realistically urges me to accept the "quirkiness of my hair" and embrace it's natural tendencies. Hmmm...seems I have heard that advice before with no reference to my errant locks.

Ol' Abner and I embraced parenthood with joyful anticipation, only to be sunken into the panic of a premature birth with limited expectation of the baby's survival. Only prayer and the reassurance of medical professionals that the latest knowledge for treating and supporting our tiny new being were being used, kept us from total dispair. Not only did the child survive, but surpassed the expectations of her doctors as she thrived. Pediatricians at the medical school asked for updates on her condition as we watched for signs of the trauma she had endured in their valiant effort to keep her alive.

She grew and met the milestones considered normal and sometimes advanced for her age. Some habits were brushed aside as unusual, but not cause for serious concern. Her frustrating inability to sleep more than a few minutes often preceded by a crawl around the crib while pounding her head on the mattress. At just over four months of age, awe at her progress in pulling up on four limbs was expressed. Pounding her head...not to worry, she will soon outgrow it, they told me. Mattress replacements every few months throughout her childhood proved them wrong. Our family physician after witnessing some of her strange symptoms in early adolescence advised me to be vigilant but allow her to find her way. He felt she would one day put these "quirks" behind her. A couple of years later a psychiatrist advised me that he could not change her behavior but would help me "accept and celebrate her quirks". There's that advice again. She still wasn't sleeping at night as we replaced yet another mattress.

As a mother herself now, I am not sure if she sleeps through the night or not. She tells me she no longer pounds her head. I guess they were right, she did outgrow it. Her interpretation of our acceptance of her "quirks" translates to lack of structure. Claiming she so craved structure during her childhood, she works diligently to maintain it for her children. The boundaries she refused to accept in her youth have been firmly planted around her children. No tolerance for quirks is allowed if it disrupts the enforcement of her needed structure. The weaknesses Ol' Abner and I perceived in our parents were the very strengths we sought to nurture in our parenting. So strange to see that same reflection in the rearing of the grandchildren. Now if my hairdresser could just reflect a coiffure without quirks!

Footwork

Ol' Abner suffers from diabetes...and "suffer" is an understatement. After nearly a year in denial, he finally allowed the medical professionals to convince him of his diabetic status. Taking oral medication and cutting "sugar" from his diet was the first sacrifice he made. Never in the habit of indulging in the sweet goodies regularly, he didn't think it would take much effort. The fact: his forays into the world of dessert usually involved consumption of a fourth of a cake or half a pan of bread pudding. I learned to adapt recipes to use non sugar sweeteners and he switched to fresh fruit to satisfy his newly vocal "sweet tooth" on most days. This method of treating his condition with minor adjustments in the medications has been the pattern for nearly a decade.

In recent months, he was urged to check his blood sugar more frequently and keep a record. It was and still is pretty much out of control. We have found many delicious recipes through the years that shouldn't have this affect on him, unfortunately he didn't read the part about portion control. A recipe producing four servings would be consumed at one sitting. Enrollment in a weight loss program unveiled some unwelcome truths regarding portion size and frequency of food intake. He increased the length and frequency of his walks, much to the delight of the four-legged member of the household. Fried foods have been completely removed from his diet and brown rice has become a staple. He has dropped a few pounds, but is very disappointed that weight loss is so slow.

His podiatrist prescribed special shoes for him a few months ago so that his feet would be protected while he increased the amount of walking. When we arrived at the provider for the shoes, one pair was offered, not the two pair she had prescribed. In addition, the fellow handling the service didn't fit them properly. Returning this week to the podiatrist, we recounted the episode of the shoe fitting. She was livid at the poor fit and lack of adherance to the order for two pair of shoes. We were sent posthaste back to the shoe lab for adjustment and an additional pair of shoes. A different fitter worked with Ol' Abner this time, actually measuring his foot and offering several different styles. The previous issue were dumped in the trash and new shoes for athletic walking were carefully fitted and adjusted with inserts for proper fit and support. Another pair, in a dressier style was ordered since his size was not in stock. We left with instructions to return when notified that the second pair had arrived so that any adjustments could be made. As we left, I was walking behind him like the dutiful wife that I am, and was amazed at the difference in his gait. Yesterday, he walked his usual mile and a half and returned without feeling exhausted. This morning he made the trek in five minutes less.

Maybe we now have control of the foot and the mouth. Perhaps he will see a drop on the scale soon.

Summer Doldrums

Surprisingly last week I fielded a couple of comments regarding my sporadic postings. I had thought no one was even reading my musings here, thus no need for regularity of additional content. Still suspecting that I might be the object of a couple of bluffing jokesters, I delayed action. Today I do have thoughts worth saving in my opinion.

During the summer's heat, we tend to either stay inside to maintain our cool, or spend a little time on the boat with breezes cooled by lake water wafting over our sweat soaked skin. Ol' Abner seems to think a boat's purpose is for traveling to a place where fish can be I jerked suddenly from their happy home. I, on the other hand, prefer to just cruise quietly around the lake and enjoy the breeze and the view. I avoid the crazy fast big bass boat at all cost but I am always up for a jaunt on the "picnic boat". When younger family members are here, it serves well to drag them around the lake on a tube. Even then, the same boat can be used as a fishing platform on a moment's notice. Me...I'll just bring my wine along and act as cheerleader for everyone's activity.

Pappy has been visiting since his birthday party in March. He spends most of his nights at brother's house. Ol' Abner and the dog go over to pick him up in the morning. He comes to our house to spend most of his days watching vintage western movies and old TV shows. They remind him of his youth, he says. Until just a few years ago, he was always up for a few hours of fishing. Now his balance is an issue of concern and we cannot get him near the boat. When we drive to the lake shore or to the river, he chooses to sit in the vehicle and just watch. At 90 years of age, I guess one should be allowed sit out the action. His short term memory is not as sharp as it was once, but he tells many stories from his youth. We have heard these stories over and over, and their number seems to be shrinking. Still, anything that stimulates his memory to cause additional recounting of his youth is a treasure. He tells of having never had electricity until he went into the military. Primary transportation in his childhood was a horse. He rode the Texas plains with friends and family. He remembers acts of kindness from neighbors, and tells about a few old soreheads that received due justice. Lately I have started writing down his stories. We have lost so much of the family history because we were too busy or too far away to listen. Mammy wrote of her life in a short memoir a few years before she died. I was so grateful to find it in some of the boxes after she died. We will share Pappy's with him while we can still ask questions to fill in the gaps. I can't think of any better way to spend a quiet summer day. After all, we have seen most of those movies on the western channel at least three times, and Ol' Abner says the fish aren't biting anyway.

Decades

In our family we tend to celebrate birthdays marking a decade of life with extra relish. My "dad" just began his nintieth year of life. Several months of anticipation culminated in a come-and-go-reception two days after his birthday. On the day between, Ol' Abner arrived at the magic age of 65, though no one much noticed. He reminded me he was now Medicare elegible on the 1st day of the month and somehow, that seemed more important than the actual arrival of the new age. The joy of the day evolved around Pappy's becoming ninety. We lost Mammy in 2000. She was diagnosed with a fast growing terminal cancer just a week prior to Pappy's 80th birthday. That milestone came and went understandably with no fanfare. We had joyfully celebrated his 70th birthday with an impromptu call to family and friends to come for lunch at our home. Thankfully they all brought food since I was nursing a broken wrist at the time. Twenty years has passed and this party was not a spur of the moment gathering. A conversation with the honoree last summer planted the seed of celebration. He pointed out that if he "lived til spring" that he'd be 90 years old with a bit of awe. Thinking I might hear some resignation of life in his voice, I fell on my old standby as a remedy. We must have a party!

After much discussing among siblings, a decision was made to have the party in West Texas. Most of his contemporaries and family live in the area or travel there often. Baby sister and her husband retired to a small West Texas town a couple of years ago. She agreed to host the party and we set about tracking down addresses. As the guest list was compiled, Pappy lamented that he might not recognize the arriving guests or worse, not remember them at all. Conversations leading up to the day included reminders of expected arrivals and discussions of his history with them. On the day of the party, he coped well. As guests arrived we escorted most of them to him and made sure he was told of each arrival's identity. He basked in the attention, but moreso in the realization that all these people came in his honor. He has always taken great pride in this "blended family." You see, he is really my stepdad. Brother is really my stepbrother. Mammy was my mother, Brother's mother had passed away earlier, and when his first child was born, she tagged the new grandparents "Mammy and PaPa". Baby sis, Brother and I have been siblings longer than not. As we celebrated this new decade for the family patriarch we came to appreciate the fullness of the blended heritage we have. We look forward to another party on his 100th birthday. We've all slowed down since that impromptu seventieth. Better start working on that next one now!

Not Seeing the Point

As we age body parts begin the inevitable decline, and Ol' Abner seems to be declining at an accelerated rate. Don't get me wrong. The old guy still stalks up and down our little piece of the mountain, climbs the ladder to clear leaves and acorns off the roof, and chops logs and other wood from downed trees. Always an energetic sort, he requires longer periods of rest between his physical endeavors and those same tasks must be of shorter duration these days. I know this appears on the surface a rather mundane observation, but a routine diabetic eye exam yesterday shook his foundation of personal strength. Yep Ol' Abner has developed the dreaded macular degeneration in one eye.

I didn't go in with him to see the doctor. After a two plus hour wait, I opted to go out to the vehicle to check on the dog. She had agreed to make the long winding three hour trip off the mountain with us after a three year hiatus. We thought she had begun to tolerate longer rides and might even begin to travel with us again. This visit, expected to be a fairly routine eyeglass update, seemed the perfect time to bring her along. The wind was blowing very and I was chilled to the bone after walking her around the grassy areas to sniff and greet walkers. When finished I opted to just enjoy the warmth of the passenger seat to wait for my spouse. As the critter and I settled in with my book, he tapped on the window clad in the temporary shades provided in the eye clinic. When I opened the window, he blurted out "I have macular degeneration and I don't want to go blind!"

My reaction to horrifying news is generally disbelief...followed by massive gathering of information. Given the family history, the disbelief was not present, but many questions remained. Uncle JH had developed the condition and we watched as he valiantly attempted to remain independant while his vision deteriorated at a rapid pace. Once we reached the homeplace I set to work to track down the name of a retina specialist I had met many years earlier. Dr Eddie had given a presentation on exactly this condition and treatment options to retard it's progression. After reading a little more about it and researching treatment options, it would appear that Ol' Abner was given instructions that follow standard protocol. Still, I think we may seek a second opinion.

Perfection

I slept late this morning. The warm covers along with a labrador retriever snuggled next to me allowed the luxury of sleep to last long after the emergence of daylight. When at last my pajama clad self shuffled down the hall in search of caffeine, the dog strolled just ahead of me as if awaiting my comments. I poured a cup of fresh brew and glanced out the kitchen window. A fluffy white snow covered everything in sight. It looked as though time had stopped long before I awoke. Now I knew the reason for the dog's smirk. The silent clean look of fresh snow is even more beautiful with the knowledge that one need not venture out into the cold. I walked around the inside of the house checking the view through each window. I watched in awe as a few snowflakes fell. Short moments later a true flurry of snow was falling softly increasing the thickness of my white outdoor carpet. Paw prints in the snow from the front porch with a singular trail circling back to the door showed evidence that early morning business had been concluded. The tiny disturbances were quickly filling with snow. Ah yes, the blanket would soon be smooth and perfect again...or so I thought. Just as the critter started to bark loudly from her perch at the front window, I heard the roar from afar. Around the corner came a huge yellow grader plowing the snow from the street and making long heaps at the side. Well so much for the undisturbed beauty of new fallen snow!

Just One Ordinary Day

The new year was welcomed in Dogpatch with the sound of bombs and rockets. Only the four legged member of our household seemed to mind. We were wide awake, sober and entertained by marathon reruns. To most it doesn't seem exciting, but there is comfort in the warmth of home with mindless passing of time. Ol' Abner shuffled off to bed shortly after midnight lamenting that we missed the ball drop in Times Square on TV. I continued watching the reruns of a show that we seldom watch, but enjoy. It's on one of those channels that we don't often visit since it doesn't offer sports or news....hmmmmm. Now you know who drives the remote at our house. I guess we are pretty ordinary. Today, that ordinariness (is that really a word?)is reassuring. Best of all the sun is shining on this cold winter day. I do so love sunshine!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!