The buildings are long and built of red brick, with rows of windows lined up like soldiers. I’m talking about the earlier days of Veteran’s Administration hospitals. I’ve just spent 20 minutes looking for a picture postcard of one that I picked up at an antique store; I thought I’d posted it here because on the back was a note from a father to young daughter, telling her this was where he was. It touched me. Obviously, I tucked it away somewhere; so it is where a lot of personal history winds up, stuck between pages, in the back of drawers, folded inside old envelopes.

When you drive by these old buildings, and people seldom do anymore – or if the do, they are unaware of it – you general see an expanse of lawn and a big brick building from another era. But that is just a part of it. The old VA hospitals of the early 20th century were campuses of such buildings, complete with their own chapels and power plants and barracks type residence halls for employees and fancy homes for the commander and a couple of colonels. And like at almost every other government base, there were duplex houses for the lesser officers and doctors. I’ve lived in that type of housing, newer – built in the 50’s and 70’s, but still a duplex. One building with two mirrored floorplans.

These campuses have winding roads, almost lanes that cross the area the way park roads run. In most areas, they have been repaved, but there are places where the bricks remain. You have to look into your imagination for the other reminders of what was once here. On the grassy areas, you can see the ghosts of men in old-fashioned wheelchairs, nurses in longish white uniforms with caps, fellows on crutches out for a bit of fresh air, blinded men sitting with their faces to the sun.

Oh, and often, there is a large quiet stretch of crosses, row on row, just as the poem says.

I went on a short tour of one of these old places in Danville, Illinois. It is now a community college, where people can get a head start on an education or catch-up on one that they missed for various reasons. They, probably, for the most part, are not what you think of when it comes to college students – especially if you are older. My father once looked at the the people walking along the paths at IU and said, “Why, they are just babies.” Most of us back then were. Fresh-faced and younger than we knew. Sporting high school diplomas and enrolling in traditional classes of Western Civ and English Composition, having no real idea of a major.

A lot of the students at this VA complex – turned community college are there to improve their chance at getting a productive job and establishing a stable lifestyle.

My cousin is a teacher there, has been for a long time. She won awards and has a dedicated legion of former students. I kind of see her like the buildings themselves, brick upon brick to make something big.

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.

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.

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.

A brave and gracious lady.

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.

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.

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?

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.

I was on top of the trash bin, stomping trash – as if I would be up there stomping doughnuts, when my cell phone rang. I worked it out of my pocket and fumbled with the controls and panicked and shouted “Hello?” Well, I apologized to the nurse at North Ridge for startling here when I got there, but the gist of the call was that my friend was not doing well and they could not get in touch with family.

Thirty minutes later at the most I was at the nursing home and I stayed until about 10 am today. It was a step on the path, but not the end. The lady who heads the kitchen, Marla, made up a tray for those gathered and it included hot out of the oven home-made chocolate cookies. Oh, my goodness – they were good. My labs from my doctor’s visit were okay and so I chomped down once and for two agains.

I am always amazed at the caring and response of the people who work at North Ridge and the care and kindness provided by Heartland Hospice.

I came home and mowed the lawn and took a nap. That’s right, after a night in a chair and sweating while mowing, I slept in my clothes. I need to shower. It will be a “Grandma Shower” – get in, toss on shampoo and soap and rinse and get out. I so like being clean and am so annoyed by the chore of the cleaning. Maybe that is because when I was little, I had to stay in the tub until I could call out in all truth to my parents: “I’m wrinkling.”