A long dry spell

I may have had something to write here, but I doubt it – my mind has been in neutral. Now, that, mind you, may not be a bad thing since I can come up with some fairly crazy ideas at times. But, to catch up – which involves moving, oh, maybe half a step forward, I am getting ready to leave for Attica, Indiana where Susie lives to start my Memorial Day trip to the Kingman Fraternal Cemetery.

Every day I wake up and if I have not fallen asleep with my glasses on, I immediately reach for them. These glasses (which, yes, Der Bingle, are soon to be replaced) are seldom off my face when my eyes are open. Well, this morning, trip morning, they had fallen off the table and when the alarm went off and I went (Pardon me, Guido) batsh*t trying to get it to turn off. In that process, a bunch of electronic cords/chargers fell on the floor and obscured my glasses. They were lost – right there by my feet. Thank Good my feet didn’t find them.

Stunned by this decidedly non-AmeliaJake event, I loaded the car and then wondered if I had forgotten anything. Okay, the big urn of flowers for Daddy’s grave. After I rested my head on the steering wheel, I got out, got the flowers, got them seatbelted in the back seat . . . and decided to just sit for a couple of minutes. At the rate I was going, backing into a tree was not out of the question.

Okay, I think I can leave now.

Hidden stories

Well, this post started off with a surprise. I typed the first letter in the down here in the body and bells started dinging and the words POST UPDATED appeared. I looked; I couldn’t find any updated post, so, with some trepidation, I will start again.

Blogs are all over the place these days, and if you were to include Facebook, you would find yourself up to your laptop in soap opera type plots. I think, however, there are many other stories out there that are not told, for one reason or another. Maybe I have one; maybe I don’t. But now I’ve started wondering: what are these people thinking that pass by me on the other side of the highway, or walking out of a store, or sitting at the next table in a restaurant?

The stories we tell and the stories we don’t. But like the tree falling in the empty forest, you can’t deny it fell- sound or no sound. Unknown stories swirl around us like radio waves. I feel a crooked smile on my lips as I realize this is the type of thing I ponder. Befuddled might be its description.

Here’s a wee story, though, rather than leave a void:
There is a navy blue eyelet dress hanging where I can see it; it was delivered this morning from Land’s End and it was on sale. I ordered it for Kathryn Feller’s funeral. It is crisp and classic and I think I’ll wear the gold locket that passed down from my great-grandfather. I’m having my hair trimmed and blown out at 8 am tomorrow; Donna of Scizzor Worx is coming in early to do to because at lot of people thought a lot of that 98 old gracious lady, who always thought of others first.

Shifting gears

I have been just meandering around for the past couple of days, confused by a message on my personal GPS map of places in my life. I found myself feeling not at the right spot at times in the day and hearing a faint GPS directional voice saying, “You can’t get there from here anymore.”

For a couple of years, especially when the roads weren’t threatened with ice or snow, I would spend late afternoons and evenings two to three times a week sitting between Clara and Kathryn in Room 420. I was fortunate: Kathryn was my friend and Clara came to accept me as one. We were one almost old lady book-ended by two official ones. (Over 95, dontcha know) One very hot summer, we sat watching for rain, remarking with hope on each cloud that hinted of coming our way, studying any breeze that began moving a plant on the window sill. We played Solitaire at the dining table while waiting for the trays to come. We kept company.

And now, there is no longer a reason for me to keep heading over to Room 420. But it is almost as if my car is asking, “Time to head out? Huh? Huh?” Well, no, but time to look at my map.

So, it is Tuesday morning, after all

Well, time to get on with things. Yesterday was a lie around blah day and the rain was a good excuse to sit inside and nurse an earache. Yesterday was the day after my friend at the nursing home passed away and I felt the shift.

I got to the nursing home on Sunday about 4:50 in the afternoon and she died around 6:20. I stayed until the man from the funeral home came for her and then I left the room in which Clara, Kathryn and I had spent a lot of time keeping company for the last time. I think I forgot to turn off the light.

Maybe my best prayer

Last night as someone lay somewhere in the dying process, a nurse asked me if she was religious. And when I answered, “Yes, very,” the nurse began The Lord’s Prayer.

This morning, as she is  are still on that journey, I began to wonder what I would say if someone asked me what prayer I would use to start my day. Thinking about my personality, hardwired as it seems to be, I think I would have to choose:

Lord, let me keep my mouth shut today.

Well, it’s better than having the pukes

Today, after cool weather well into the spring, it is supposed to get quite warm and by Saturday be 87 degrees in Fairborn. But I will handle Fairborn later; today is Kendallville and it rained yesterday and last night and the humidity is high. Pollen is also way up there, but I’ve been pretty lucky about allergies. I’m a little more aware of it now that I’m older, but no tearing eyes and running nose.

I have done a preliminary stomp of the trash and, knock on wood, we are in good shape for more trash to go in. This afternoon, we may get some sun and maybe the grass, which is tall, will dry out and I can mow. I may have jinxed myself. I put on a pair of shorts I found because jeans and humidity just don’t cut it. The shorts aren’t mine and I’m putting some faith in my belt.

However, I have been putting off going to Wal-Mart and it is becoming urgent – at least as far as paper towels and cleaning supplies are concerned. And grass seed. And dandelion stuff. But, do I want to go in these shorts with this dirty hair and a peanut butter smudge on the shirt I’d put on for stomping and mowing?

Probably not. And I certainly don’t want to go to the nursing home like this, so I am doing a drying-out-the-land Indian dance and hoping to mow, then shower and Wal-Mart myself and then head to the nursing home. (Getting dressed in decent clothes would also be in that line-up.)

The fellow at the nursing home has this extremely fast riding mower that cuts a wide swath. Here at Kendallville, I use this electric thing which is as slow as I walk and narrow to get around things. I’d trade jobs, I think.

I suppose I should go deal with the dishes in the kitchen sink, but maybe there is an Indian dance for them as well.

We have leaves

Not all trees are in full leaf, but we have enough that you can no longer peer straight through a woods. I don’t wonder that Robert Frost didn’t write a poem about stopping by a woods on a summer’s night. It would have been been akin to stopping by a wall.

But, anyway, we also have rain today, and I think it is predicted for some days in the future. I guess we will deal with it. One way or another. Yesterday I broke out my well-known crushable olive-green hatwear. It does get wet itself . . . but it dries fast. Something is off in that logic, but the heck with it. Actually, it is great in the sun, with the mesh crown, and it sops up sweat quite well.

I was really tired last night and kept my head under the blankets long after daylight.

I am declaring full war on dandelions this year. They have annoyed me, popping there heads just above the mowed plane of the grass. I just want to go out there and yell at them.

Uh, could you hear me?

Oh, of course

I spent last night at the nursing home, came home and then started a cleaning period. I sat down and looked at the Kindle Daily Deals and, of course, saw this: Cold Noses at the Pearly Gates.*

I think I’ll just imagine I’m walking along the beach in San Diego.

* Okay, what I really saw was my Amazon page with buy with quick click and all that. I wonder if Amazon would recognize an unauthorized computer? Don’t know, so pulled this up from Barnes & Noble.

http://how-old.net/# – for me, a great website

This is a website that analyzes a photo and estimates your age. The first photo I used said I was 44. That felt good, but I thought I need to get a real close close-up, one that isn’t my favorite: age 53. Woo-Hoo. Now if my insides would be along a similar time line. The guys here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are doubting the results, especially Spiffy – she says 78 . . . on a good day.