Fourth of July, 2008

Kevin, June's husband, cooked burgers and brats for all the family, 34, counting cousins, and would not yield his spatula to anyone. The twins are easier to tell apart now, because Daniel is the hairy one, Jacob (shown with Doug) is the smooth one. He's on crutches following foot surgery, but will be back marching as a cadet at Texas A & M this fall. The hairy one is at Baylor, but temporarily working as an intern for McCain at the campaign headquarters in D. C.

reunions

Fifty years ago, those two kids were happy to be married.

Twenty years later, CJ still looks pretty happy.

Doug and Lazara were cautiously optimistic.

June and Sarah Jean always had a lot in common.

Our 50th wedding anniversary was a big reunion of family and friends. Our "kids" planned a big dinner at Pepin's, with every detail carried out: flowers, appetizers, drinks, table arrangements, even a slide show covering more details of the past 50 years than me might have wished. I told Jason I had never seen such a slide show except at funerals, so he said I am "Ready to go." He hosted a big round table, June and Kevin took one, Doug and Lazara had another, leaving CJ and me to host the head table. I tried to make a speech, but was pretty much speechless. The others did much better, and many filled out memory squibs that went in the scrapbook Lazara made. Some of those were better read in the privacy of our home. More to come.

Cappy

I guess this is the only way dogs get obituaries. Our paper is so full of ones about people, there's not much room for news. Most of them are boring, but at my age, it's a good idea to check them out.
Well, Cappy napped out a couple of days ago. He was 14, more or less, and was the happiest dog we ever had. He was so friendly to man and beast, June said he could have been an insurance salesman. She found him rummaging for garbage and wandering the streets of downtown Tampa when he was a youngster. She brought him home, so dirty and encrusted with sandspurs he had to be shaved to get a bath. That was OK with him, but so were meals, shots, car rides, the vet's office, sleeping on the sofa, escaping, it was all good. He particularly liked soft leather such as boot tongues, topsider laces, and suspender loops. Paper products were good, including library books and money. He once ate, and returned, $21.00 in small bills, which I soaked, dried, taped together and redeemed at the bank.
He started slowing down a couple of weeks ago, and Anita and Buddy and I just slowed down our morning walk a bit. One day he quit eating, the next day he quit drinking, and then he lay down on the warm bricks of the patio and quit breathing. Buddy sat with him until the end, and when I saw him walking around him in circles, I took his blanket out and wrapped him up and it was over. Cappy, you will never be replaced. We miss you.

It's hot

Yes, it's hot again, like August in Florida. It happens every year, and every year we're surprised. I'm walking the dogs with Anita every morning, all around the little pond. It's a little less than half a mile, but we're drenched when we get back around 8:00 AM. The dogs are in their little fur coats and their tongues are dragging. Buddy is missing the scooter ride he used to get when I wasn't up to walking yet. Blind as a bat, but he could hop in board and sit between my feet. He would stick his head out when one of his friends came in range, to get a good sniff. He also enjoyed the envy of his friends who had no chauffeur.

The birds and otters are amazing. This morning we noticed about 20 mallards, one muscovy, and a few ibis lined up on the bank, watching the water. There were two or three otters, putting on a show, fishing for breakfast. We haven't seen as many this year as last, when we watched six or eight babies grow up, belonging to two or three families. We have been joined by a roseate spoonbill this year. We've seen them occasionally in the past, but this one is there every day now, eating non-stop. His name is Pinky.

I'm enjoying playing the dulcimer and guitar again. For some reason, the six months of mending didn't make me want to play. Even though I had plenty of time, it seemed like work. I was pretty weak, and that's my excuse. I'm really glad to be past that, and I retired the cane August 6th, six months after surgery. Some of the tunes rattling around in my head need to be put on paper. I just finished putting a lullaby on Tabledit, the music writing program. It was one my Daddy used to sing to me, and I found the words he had printed out on hotel stationery, from Macon, Georgia. He must have gotten lonely on a trip. The music came back when I read the words. If I can figure out how, I'll post it.

exercise is a pain

I finally gained enough strength, according to the doctor, to begin physical therapy. Easy for him to say. My first session on Tuesday was to measure how well I could do certain simple things, like raise my foot off the mat, while lying on my back, then sides, then front. The therapist wrote down that I had worked up to zero. Then he told me to do 2 sets of 20 anyway. That gives me lots of room for improvement. I have eight others, such as hold a ball between your knees, ride a bike, push down with my knee, that I can do. I'm supposed to do these two or three times a day at home. I can't do the bike because I gave mine away when it got too boring.

Medicare will pay for 20 sessions at the clinic. At twice a week, that takes me through August. I am very glad I didn't know in January that I'd still be learning to walk in August. In general, we don't want to see the future, no matter what we say.

Music for mending?

I had looked forward to making music to mend by, filling these long days of enforced idleness. For some reason, it's unsatisfactory, and after tuning the dulcimer and the guitar all I do is plunk around a little bit. I usually sing along with the tunes that have words, La-la-la with those without. I was even writing a few songs, saving them on Tabledit to share. I don't think I'm depressed, because I am enjoying everyday things. I get out on our little scooter and feed grain to the baby ducks down the street, I sit out in the garden and watch the birds and butterflies, I really enjoy a bowl of ice cream in the afternoon. Maybe the music will return. Hope so.

Turtle is home

I made it home yesterday with my newest hip and patched up thigh, and I am enjoying being waited on by family instead of nurses. I appreciate the hard work the nurses do, bless their hearts, but home is where we live as a loved one, not a patient.

It occurred to me, after several weeks of lying on my back, unable to sit up, get up, or even roll over without help, that I was living like a turtle who got caught on its back, waving its little paws about. I could push some buttons on the bed, on the remote, and the "Call Nurse," my favorite, but still was very helpless. The message I kept hearing was loud and clear. It said "You are not in charge here." I never really thought I was, but all doubts have been removed.

I'm also realizing why we had three children. They have been super about stepping in and taking over this house, keeping their dad and now, me, fed and clean. June and Kevin took the first lap, Doug came in for a week, and wee currently have Jason and my sister Susan here, and they will do a handoff to our daughter-in-law Lazara next week. Besides us, they have helped our friend Anita walk the dogs every morning, and take turns giving one of them insulin shots twice week. Now I am giving myself shots twice a day to fight blood clots. Jason said he would do it if I would just bend over my food bowl like Buddy does.

In the spirit of the Easter Bunny, I am hopping around the house on the walker, dangling my left leg in the air. I am so happy to be hopping!