Time to say Good-Bye

Celebrating his 95th Bithday

I'll be making a solitary journey tomorrow to the plains.   Pappy passed away last week and we will celebrate his life with a memorial service in Lubbock on Saturday.  He was cremated and we plan to scatter his remains in a canyon where many stories of his youthful days occurred.  Sister has been left to follow through on the plans we made for him several months ago.  My heart aches as she struggles to sort through details that would normally fall automatically into place. Brother is named executor of the estate, so my work is done.  I will be alone in the car with my thoughts.  Ol' Abner and Son will travel with Grandson and his girlfriend on Friday to join me. Daughter and her family will come in late Friday.  

I feel the need to be there now.  I'll tell you more about the man we have lost later. Cheers!

New

It will be a brand new year when we awake tomorrow.  I think I'm ready for some new. We've had many new experiences this year, but I can't really brag that it's been much fun.  Ol' Abner has a gently used "new" lung.  While it's wonderful to know that his life has been extended through the blessing of transplant, someone's loved one saw the end of life to allow his gift. That sobering knowledge makes us ever more respectful and willing to jump through the hoops necessary to keep that lung healthy and thriving. 

Enough said about that weighty responsibility.  This year we finished the new playhouse, we lived in Houston (not a new experience) and found some new eating places there.  Ol' Abner finally talked me into a new car, and he bought a couple of not so new ones.  We met some wonderful people this year and those new friends are feeling like old friends already. 

Having always subscribed to the practice that insurance purchased and never needed was a better option than needing it once and not having it, we found ourselves needing to choose new health insurance plans. Maneuvering through the website, holding for hours on end to talk to a real person, then dealing with the issue of the name (names) my dear mother placed on my birth certificate but seldom used! Today I think I can say, all needed coverage has been added to our portfolio. Of course, today is the absolute deadline.  For once I really wanted to finish the process early, but "early time" was truly wasted in frustration. Perhaps I'll let Ol' Abner sort through the coverage for all our dependents with wheels attached.

Daisy is Driving

Driving in traffic, driving long distances, driving in inclement weather, driving with a carload of noisy kids has never bothered me much.  I like to drive and I love to travel the "roads less traveled" or any road I haven't traveled before.  The spontaneous turn on a never noticed road fills me with delicious anticipation. That said, I'm tired of driving. There is something to be said for always having a designated driver if I choose to take the path of imbibing.  Ol' Abner gave up alcohol many years ago when the consequences of diabetes took all the joy out of that little buzz. He took over the "designated driver" role then.  I love having the ability to enjoy the views as we cruise the countryside, sometimes demanding a stop for a better look at the scene through a camera lens. It's been just under a month since he received his fresh new lung. He's breathing well and so far has suffered few of the predicted complications. It's not surprising, he is always a very compliant patient. Driving is not an option for 8-10 weeks post transplant. That means Daisy Mae will continue to chauffeur him about the town.  I'm ready for someone to drive Daisy around and about so I can just gaze at the views of the city!

Pigskin

It is officially the end of the "holiday season" and the beginning of a brand new year.  Or maybe it really is the upswing in anticipation of the Super Bowl!  I suppose everyone loves a reason for a Sunday afternoon party with lots of indulgent snacks.  Oh wait, isn't that what we are doing this afternoon.  After weeks of feasting, we brought in the new year right on time.  Earlier in the evening we enjoyed rib-eye steaks with all the side dishes we love.  We watched a Texas A&M team come back to beat Duke in the second half and for once I was pleased with that outcome. After all, our guests had sent two of their offspring to that illustrious institution. We felt obligated to cheer the team into victory since those same children are enjoying the benefits of that stellar education from the Bahamas and the Pacific northwest.  I found it easy to be thrilled for them since my Red Raiders had soundly trounced Arizona State in their bowl game on the previous evening.  Oh yes, the holiday season is over, but football is NOT!  I can smell the ham from here and the blackeyed peas are almost ready.  We must start this year right!

Flatlander

We are at Sister's house for the Thanksgiving holiday.  One of my favorite things about her house has always been sitting on the back veranda watching the sun rise in the distance.  A beautiful nighttime view of the city lights on the horizon was a treat for my eyes.  No more!  The cotton field that backed their property is no longer a field but a developing sub-division.  Oh my! My holiday may be ruined.   In the name of progress cities must grow and bring new residents, but I still suffer from the "Not in My Backyard!" slogan...and I'll pass it along to Sister.  Sunrise over the rooftop behind was no thrill at all.

A Wandering Mind

Trivial memories float into my mind at the strangest times.  Today is the 50th anniversary of the Kennedy assassination.  With the news coverage, each story provokes a unique trail of memories for me.  On the front page of the Austin newspaper a story highlighted the impact of the news as it soaked in within the Texas Capitol.  One storyline caught my eye: "The excitement was such that Superintendent Irby Carruth announced that Austin schools would close at 2:30 p.m. so students could see the motorcade". (Austin American-Statesman) The story itself was not remarkable, but the superintendent's name jumped out at me.  

Years after the Dallas tragedy, one of my college roommates came back from a visit to her hometown to announce that her parent's close friend had recently remarried and she had an opportunity to be charmed by the new wife.  Superintendent Irby Carruth was that friend.  The new Mrs. Carruth was none other than my favorite high school English teacher.  Even more exciting, she remembered me! Now there's a happy memory in the midst of all this sadness! 

Paper No More

After so many years of moving at the whim of a corporate regime, Ol Abner became quite a talented wallpaper hanger.  With limited time to make a move, we often overlooked cosmetic deficits in a potential home.  If the furniture would fit and the kids could stash their stuff out of sight, we could look past wallpaper that looked like old men's pajamas.  Before we even moved in I was usually checking out wallpaper sample books to pour over for each room.  He knew a couple of weekends would be spent painting and papering, sometimes in a rush before new flooring was installed.   Before he assumed the role of paper-hanger,  I tackled a couple of simple papering projects with a modicum of success.

One newly-finished house we bought  had what looked like grandma's housecoat on the master bathroom wall.  My frugal spouse refused to change out brand new wall paper, thus I lived with it for several years.  When he was traveling I found a sale and bought new paper after a reasonable time of suffering the ugly environment,  Dancing girl dropped by one evening and after a glass of wine, we concluded we could remove the offensive paper and replace it with a fresh new covering in one evening.  

Just as we began to coax the old paper off the wall, Ol' Abner called.  We usually chatted five or ten minutes each evening when he was away.  It didn't take long to catch up on most day's events.  This particular evening, he suggested I call him back when my guest left.  Now he knew it always took the two of us several hours to "catch up" on any day's  events.  I told him it would probably be late, and he assured me he had enough paper work to do that he'd be awake for some time.  I hung up the phone and we went back to work.  Forty five minutes later he called. Paper work was done and he was sure I  had just forgotten to call him.  No, but I was willing to chat as my friend steamed the walls.  Mind you he didn't know she was slaving in our bathroom. He again told me to call when we were through with our visit.   His calls became closer and closer together, to the point that he was totally disrupting our progress.  A project that could have been completed by midnight stretched into the wee hours and we had to leave the medicine cabinets for him to re-install.  Every time he called we would sit down where the phone cord would reach and have another glass of wine. If something was of great importance, he never did get around to that point in any of those conversations.  He was never fond of that wallpaper, but it really was lovely.

He remarked recently that he is so glad that wallpapered walls are no longer in vogue. I do hope it hasn't taken him fourteen years to notice we aren't buying wallpaper.

Punkins

My taste buds are feeling the need for fall flavors, specifically for autumn spices.  I love the taste of cinnamon and nutmeg.  Sage and celery added to cornbread makes a wonderful side dish for poultry or pork.  Perhaps its these first cool days after a long hot summer that spurs the desire for cold weather foods.  Even the restaurants are beginning to push foods reminiscent of cooler seasons.

For me the ultimate Autumn food would be pumpkin.  Ol' Abner refers to them as "gourds" and despises even the smell.  Oh woe is me.  I indulge in anything pumpkin as the season progresses.  Pumpkin pie, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin flavored coffee, pumpkin roll, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin soup and of course a pumpkin smoothie to start my day.  One of my favorite caterers offered an autumn cooking class a decade or two ago and I still pull those recipes out when I feel this welcome urge.  She used the entire pumpkin. The pulp, the seeds and the rind were all valued in preparation of her treats.  A meatloaf or beef stew baked in a pumpkin hull infused a richness never found before.  Large pumpkins became serving vessels for punches and soups.  Tiny pie pumpkins held yummy dips in a lovely setting on the appetizer table.  We tossed the seeds in sweet or savory spices and baked them.The resulting goodies added crunch to almost any recipe and provided a quick snack food to add to trail mixes or use as a topping.

I even love the color of pumpkin.  The soft orange exudes comfort.  (I refuse to compare it to the "burnt orange" celebrated in this neighborhood) I love it's soft warmth.   Maybe this is a childhood indulgence. Early memories of my grandmother bring to mind a sometimes endearment she used for me.  She would pat her lap and say "Come here Punkin'" signaling that I could sit and rock til sleep just magically happened.  Maybe pumpkins are magical, even after midnight!

Travelogue from Canada

The Parliament Building
Victoria is the capitol of British Columbia

I'm traveling with delight!  My collection of state capitols is growing.  The views are spectacular, the food is wonderful and the people are so very friendly.  Two friends and I flew into Seattle last week.  Gardener Gal from Dogpatch and her sis-in-law have been visiting with Gardener Gal's son and his family. They  welcomed me into their home and I have fallen in love with all of them.

The famous Empress Hotel
We didn't have time for High Tea

 The morning after our arrival, we traveled to downtown Seattle in early morning traffic.  I was counting my blessings that our driver was familiar with the city streets and highways.  Hopping aboard the Victoria Clipper just in time to sail off into the morning mist, we enjoyed a bit of breakfast at sea.

Craigdarroch Castle
Fascinating!

This was the main reason for MY trip

Our three days in Canada were filled with fun views and activities.  Traveling with two youngsters gave me an exciting perspective on places and  sights.  Beautiful trees became a part of fairytale fantasies and adventures of imagination.  Who knew it would be so much fun to return to the hotel after a day in brisk spring weather and journey downstairs to the beautiful indoor/outdoor pool for an evening splash.

After a busy day of sightseeing we're
 back to take in the view from the balcony!

Oh, the flowers, views of beautiful landscapes were constant candy for my eyes.  The island apparently has a perfect soil and climate for the blooming things I love so much.  The Butchart Gardens are the crown jewel of a landscape in full bloom.  I hear it showcases seasonal flowers yearround.  Now I need to plan at least four more visits (oh yes, they have "five" seasons there).

Chasing Wildflowers

Texas wildflowers are the most beautiful in the world.  I know this from viewing experience.  It is the time of year when I begin to salivate over possible roadside views, refusing to take the predictions of the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center for sparse displays too seriously. The tiny purple and yellow early bloomers are already beginning to pop up along my morning walking trails.  Rainfall during the wrong months may have discouraged the hardy bluebonnets from the massive displays often enjoyed in April.  I'll take what I can find, and hope the flowering mustard (aka "bastard cabbage") doesn't succeed in blocking the bluebonnets and indian paintbrush for light and nutrients.

I'll begin driving the backroads in a week or so to see where the plants are beginning to flourish.  That will give me a map for future views.  Years ago, I made this pilgrimage to see the flowers as homage to my mother.  She would terrorize anyone mowing her lakeside yard in an untimely manner.  The wildflowers had to be given time to bloom and seed so the next year's blooms could be assured. The year we lost her, the yard was mowed early and the wildflowers have never come back to that little bit of lakefront.  I'll spot some in this neighborhood and watch them bloom, marking it as an honor to Mammy!

Blurry Lights...maybe not

Night Time Horizon

I've spent many nighttime hours on the highway this month.  Spoiled Rot'n Girl and I left the Texas hills in the early morning hours less than a week ago on a bus traveling to an Indian reservation (with a most lovely casino).  Our nighttime return on a rainy night revealed a captivating view of the Houston skyline at night as it appeared to float up through the fog.  I wish I'd had my camera handy or at least tried to snap a shot with my phone.  Instead I just gaped at the breathtaking view.

This morning we sit at my sister's home just outside Lubbock, Texas, the city where I suddenly realized I was supposed to be an adult!  It's the place where I reluctantly entered the college of my father's choice, leaving my high school chums behind.  This is the place where I began my first real job. It's the sight of my first auto accident (ouch) and first broken bone, another "ouch" but separate incident. I made plans that made my father proud and my mother cringe.  Among the lights above is the place I first fell in love, had my heart broken, served as a bridesmaid more times than I really want to remember, and yes even decided to become a bride myself.  Both of my children were born in broad daylight leading to sleepless nights within these same city lights.  It may look like a vague photo to some, but to me, it holds a world of wonderful memories.

Winter of Life

I always love the winter holidays.  From the candy dispensing of Halloween, on to the feasting in November, followed by the National Day of Shopping.  By the first week of December, I'm filled with spirit and joy and ready to hang the garlands and drape the tree.  Addressing Christmas cards by hand and including little personal missives makes me feel like I'm visiting with friends and relatives not seen in years.  Oh yes, this is a joyful time of year and I'm not anxious to see it over.  We'll soon celebrate Christmas, plan to ring in the  New Year, then love a little Valentine treat.  I'll be ready to start looking forward to spring!

Throughout the year, we remember birthdays that arrive during all seasons.  Just before we arrived at winter, Ol' Abner's mother marked her 85th birthday.  She was in "Memory Lane", the Alzheimer's unit of a nursing home.  We tried to have flowers delivered to her, but were told that leaving them in the room was not allowed as some of her "guests" often ate anything colorful.  A telephone conversation was very unsatisfying as she had difficulty talking.  Her breath was ragged and I could barely hear her whispered words.  She seemed to be in pain.  This would be her last birthday.  Our niece notified us that it was time to move her to hospice when she was hospitalized in respiratory distress.  We visited on Saturday, and said our goodbyes.  It was clear that life was slipping from her.  On Sunday, with two of her granddaughters and her eldest grandson present, she quietly passed away.

Ol' Abner was her firstborn and by law is responsible for final decisions.  Unwilling to make decisions alone, he proceeded to try to reach his three younger brothers.  The oldest granddaughter had been the primary caretaker for the last three years and he was so grateful for her input as he completed paperwork and gave necessary permissions.  She and the oldest grandson took charge of planning the memorial service. I helped with calls to other family members.

Memories of many years have been revisited by telephone these last few days.  We will honor her life with a celebration this weekend.  I will rearrange the results of the Christmas decorating to dig through some boxes and albums to find pictures of the feisty little woman who gave birth to the love of my life.

Slowly Fading

We have Papa here for a few days.  At 92, with the 93rd birthday approaching, he is more childlike than ever.  When a couple of months pass between visits with him, the mental deterioration is evident.  We had lunch with Sis and Brother in Law earlier this week and retrieved Papa in the process.  He willingly uses the walker that was anathema just a year ago.  He always asks us to simply order for him at a restaurant and gets lost going from one room to the next.  Still, he is ever cheerful and appreciative of our care.

It's painful when he cannot remember many of the good times of the past.  When we discuss events from a decade or more before, he will look with a bit of a blank stare, and then pretend to remember if prompted.  He didn't recognize Son, but when introduced, he seemed to remember the person who now had little resemblance to the youngest grandson buried in his memory.  After a few moments of quiet conversation, the spark seemed to ignite.  Last night he was familiar with Son and Daughter in Law.

Sis and Brother in Law have spent many hours over the last month with photos and talks reminding him of his long and fruitful life.  I had hung pictures we brought from his home at the lake in the bedroom where he now sleeps.  Upon his arrival, I escorted him back to become acquainted with the place where he will sleep for the next week.  He stared a long time at the portraits of his three children and families, one of my mother with him when they were first married, and another taken on a trip with all the adult children after she was gone.  On another wall he looked at some landscape photos taken on the shore and grounds of the home he enjoyed for nearly fifty years.  We talked about the pictures and he interacted a little, but I cannot be sure if he was remembering or humoring me.  Sister is sure he remembers the things she discusses with him, I guess I'm not so lucky.

Melancholy

With a touch of sadness we finish packing the unmoved items in the house in Dogpatch.  Most of the things left here will go to new owners or off to charity.  I kept most of my cooking pans and utensils in the kitchen in order to finish off the food in the freezer.  That has made for a grumpy old man around here.  I had a dozen or so chicken breasts, a couple of salmon filets and lots of frozen vegetables.  He lumps all three categories as food-of-last-resort, just before starvation.  Yesterday he ventured out and called from the grocery store to see what else I might need to fill in with bread and milk.  I suggested he bring back some yogurt, he brought home hot dogs!  This afternoon he made a special trip to the neighboring town to purchase a bake at home pizza.  I really thought it was a good idea to keep the pots and pans here for cooking, but they are being sadly neglected.

In the basement, Christmas decorations and gift wrap are being sorted for travel, donation, or discarding.  I have found little need in the past couple of years for copious amounts of gift wrap and package decor.  Tiny little remembrances for friends are often delivered in a pretty basket or special bag made to compliment the gift.  Children and grandchildren are not insulted with monetary gifts and usually only receive a couple of little cheerily wrapped packages.  It seems rather silly to haul thirty or forty rolls of paper and all sorts of ribbon.  I will continue to indulge my home in Christmas trees and all the trappings of holiday decor. The favorites have found resident storage spots in Texas.

Metamorphosis

A phone call from daughter and middle grandchild in the midst of irrational exuberance resulted in a short trip down memory lane last week.  They were in a store contemplating the purchase of pre-cut 5" squares of cloth.  Daughter called to asked how many squares they would need to make a quilt.  Just like that, with no reference to said quilt size or choice of pattern, the question was asked.  Of course I inquired whether the intent was to complete a pillowtop, lap quilt, table runner, place mat, or small wall hanging.  NO, NOT a dinky little thing like that, (they set me straight quickly) but a full size quilt worthy of gracing their respective beds.  Notice I use the "bed" word in the plural.  The plan called for each to make a quilt for her very own bed.  Furthermore, this ambitious exercise would be accomplished totally by hand.  A vague mental calculation of the cost of one square times several hundred required to construct just one quilt and I tactfully suggested they might want to cut their own squares.  That led to types of cutters best suited with realization that I owned multiples of the things they would need to begin.  

I offered to prepare a small care package with some starter supplies for them and trotted down to the basement to gather extra cutters, mats, patterns and instruction books.  Of course I couldn't resist sharing a few choice pieces of scrap fabrics.  As I sorted through my "glorious collection" of fabrics (as Ol' Abner calls my "stinkin' stash"), memories surfaced of projects completed years earlier.  I couldn't resist including the remaining five or six yards of a fabric older than my marriage.  It is an olive green with bright orange tropical design from which I made a full length halter top culotte, oh so many decades ago.  It was one of those purchases made when the price was so right that all the remaining fabric on the bolt was bought for a pittance.  That's one swatch of cloth we won't have to move again.  Now I can just wonder what it might become!

Family Heirlooms

I just glanced at my friends list on Facebook and noticed the section of "family" is huge, and I don't even have all my first cousins listed there. My mother would be so proud. She took such pride in family connections...at times I cannot help but wonder about the wisdom of some of that pride. We do not choose the blood connections. I am one of 19 grandchildren on the maternal line and my mother was one of 19 grandchildren on her paternal connection. In addition I enjoy the relationship of a number of "step-cousins" as my mother's generation resulted in many blended families. I'm not sure anyone else on my friends list shows so many relatives in the "family" section. Not all with familial connection to me have been pulled into that list on my page and I wonder if most people just choose not to use that feature.

Many times I have lamented the birth of Facebook after my mother's death. Her phone bill and postage expense could have greatly been reduced. She stayed in touch with old friends from school and never allowed anyone in her family to loose touch. We lost her in 2000. She had just started using e-mail, and was most distressed if we didn't immediately reply to one of her missives. Many times I would receive a phone call asking why I had not responded to her e-mail, sent nearly an hour before. Did I mention that she hated answering machines too? An hour away from home might result in an overheard comment on my answering machine "they've got that *!*&#*! machine on again", only to see three e-mails; one of substance and two follow-ups.

She was far ahead of her time. Social networking, instant messaging and daily posts on blogger would have opened all new vistas for her...actually she expected that before the technology was even available.

Things we do in Cars

The older we become, the more we appreciate the joys we took for granted in our youth. Cruising the streets in cars filled with 23 cent gasoline and pulling into a drive-in restaurant for soft drinks and fries. We spent many hours just occupying the space and visiting with friends indulging in the same summer pastime. It occurred to me just yesterday, that the owners of Stanley's Drive In might have preferred to have a customer willing to buy more profitable foods and leave when the meal had been consumed. We usually spent at least an hour sipping and nibbling after spending less than a dollar. I don't think we tipped the car hops either. Oh yes Stanley's Drive In was the place to learn the latest in relationships, activities, upcoming events and newest drama. Some even stole the salt shakers. I can remember going into a friend's bedroom and seeing a collection of a dozen or more of the little cheap shakers brought out on the tray with fries. She was not a bit chagrined by my horror, in fact, she couldn't understand why I hadn't entered the race to collect more than anyone else. It wasn't long after that Stanley's stopped automatically including the shakers on the trays. Today salt comes in tiny little paper packets and no one notices if you take them with you.

All these little snippets of memories sneaked into my consciousness yesterday as Ol' Abner and I walked around a car show featuring restored and updated cars from years past. He found a 59 Chevy in the same color he once drove proudly. His first car was a '55 Chevy and he saw several of the same body style but not the same paint scheme. He remembers the cars themselves. I didn't know him then...but I remember many fun times in cars like those.

Westward Ho

It was time to take Pappy home to his little lake in West Texas. Sometimes we just drive him home and other times we continue on with a short visit after he is comfortably deposited in his own space. I have suffered from a hankerin' to visit Santa Fe for several years and finally stomped my foot and demanded that Ol' Abner come along with me. It took him several weeks to warm to the idea...until I was able to find a favorite outlaw there. A former family member, removed by divorce but kept close in our hearts, turned up with a website when searching on a social network. I promptly fired off an e-mail hoping to hear back from her before we left home. It was less than a day until her reply appeared.

Some connections never end and my Mammy loved this one. The outlaw, formerly cuz-in-law, brought such joy to my mother during her time in our family. When the divorce was final, our attachment didn't end. Over ten years have passed since she accompanied us to the "Little Cabrito" canyon in New Mexico to scatter my mother's ashes. We corresponded by e-mail a time or two afterward and I lost track when a Christmas card I sent was returned and we moved, acquiring a new e-mail address.

Her reply to my missive included an invitation to not only see them while we were in Santa Fe but to stay at their home. We accepted and arrived to open arms that immediately were familiar. So many changes in the last ten years had little impact on the connection to this vibrant exciting woman. Now we are the grandmothers and our children live in many different cities. Our husbands have all gray hairs on their heads. We choose to mask our gray a bit. A late night visit after the fellows adjourned to their beds, brought laughter and a tear or two. She lost her mother just months ago and the knowledge that my mother was available to welcome her into heaven gave great comfort. Her father suffers from Alzheimers and she was saddened to hear that Pappy is no longer mentally sharp. The more things change...the more they stay the same. That tune floats in my mind with a certain satisfaction that things that matter really never change.

On our way to Santa Fe, we hopscotched up North a bit to have a meal with my sis and her husband, on to spend a night and visit with an uncle and aunt. The following morning we continued on to stop for a call on another uncle and aunt before following the highway south into Santa Fe. As we traveled home, a stop in the city where I grew up, allowed us to spend a night with good friends since college days. I think I'll write about that tomorrow. Right now I just want to indulge in the delightful memories of our time in Santa Fe and thoughts of my mother. Amazing...gone from home over a week and not one night in a hotel, my mother would be proud!

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.