Unseen tree in den

Alison and Summer erected a small tree on a table in the den. I am bracing myself to look at it; their taste is different from mine. They have a thing for lights – lots of them. We won’t mention ornaments. I know. I know. It is supposed to be about the spirit of the season – a family bonding activity. Last year I stepped back when it came to the big real tree and ended up considering it funky. I sort of could not stand to look at that tree. I think this year I will throw good will and Christmas spirit to the wind and decorate it as tastefully as I can – for Mother and for me.

I don’t know – it is as if someone threw Christmas festivity and good cheer into a blender with coal and humbug and this is what came out – AmeliaGrinch.

Sydney is better

I thought I had posted this yesterday – but it’s not here. Maybe something distracted me or maybe it was a lot of senior moments all in a row. I do the Peyton Manning system of pill delivery: Open the mouth and fire that baby on a bullet pass right down the throat. As the vet’s says, “… Haven’t choked a dog yet that way.” Yesterday morning I took him to the fairgrounds and there was a spring in his step, an enthusiasm to his trot. And he’s been eating and drinking, although I have cut way back on his food . . . and now those milkbones look really tasty to him.

Monday was a strange day. The appraiser came in and spent about three hours going through the house and outbuildings. He was very nice and respectful and at one point said, “She certainly liked to read.” We came across Aunt Sara’s opera glasses from way back when and I found the library society’s booklet from 1900 about the bylaws of Lima High School’s book-lending procedures. At the back they listed the former presidents and secretaries. Men were always the president. But I recognized names in the secretary column: First Grace Wisler, then Anna Wisler, then Sara Wisler, then Jessie Wisler – three great-great aunts and a grandmother.  Also listed were alumni classes – about six per class. I guess Old Doc Wade must have been too young to have made that edition – must have graduated in 1901.

Years and years later, he would tell Grandma, “Jessie, your heart will never kill you.” He was right. And when Grandma broke her hip, he was there in the operating room and made the orthopedic surgeon repeatedly re-set it until it was just right.

The guys from Miller’s Garage in Middlebury pulled the 1981 Oldsmobile diesel out of the basement garage and hoisted it on a flatbed and took it to Max Myers for evaluation. It’s black and long and, well, just big. Daddy bought it when Quentin was born, because he bought a new car when Robert William was born. Who knows, maybe we’ll get it revved up and I’ll show up on Quentin’s doorstep – hope his driveway is nice and long.

I’m rambling.