Whoops! A red light

Dear People, (City of Fort Worth, Automated Red Light Enforcement)

It is plain to see that I ran that red light.  The worst part of the whole ordeal is that my granddaughter was in the car.  We had spent the day shopping for material to make doll clothes and she had said, “Oh Grannie, that light was red.”  Of course, it was too late.  I had desperately tried to get over, but being unfamiliar with the new roads, waited too long.  (No one was being too friendly.)

I do want to say this, ” I was sure the intersection was clear, but could not get even one more look up to check the light.”

So, to sum it all up – I am really sorry for breaking the red light rule.  Here is my punishment along with sending you the knowledge that my granddaughter (who was in a very tragic accident when a drunk driver hit her mother) will probably only remember that her Grannie Pam ran a red light and that, my friends, is a far worse punishment than the fine!

Love to All

This is where the cowboy rides away

Let me tell all you young people out there.  Dying isn’t an easy job.  The body fights for all it’s worth, and old bodies have been bombarded with all kinds of hardships over many years of rough terrain in life.  And although the body fights, the pain is palpable.  If you are the one in the dying you suffer, you hurt, you try and try and try to get back to where you were, but cannot because the wear and tear is just too great.  Still, you continue on – some with quiet solitude, some with great anguish and noise, some with bewilderment and some just do.  The dying is hard enough, but the ability to muster the dignity is greater than soldiers on the battlefield.  To suffer in silence; to put on the face of endurance for everyone that comes by.  Never show your weakness; never let em see you sweat.  I am learning how families of wounded warriors must feel when their wounded soldier works tirelessly, steadfastly, and resolutely to repair the debasement of their bodies.

Once more, I am checking off another point on my list of things that I wanted in a man who I wrote oh so many years ago.  My list included silly, girlish things like tall, but it also included the oh so important things that make a man like determined, hardworking,  and staunch.  Over 30 years, this last requirement has manifested itself more and more in The Man.  Such dignity.  This is where the Cowboy rides away.

Tough Guys – click for music

I don’t want to share the details

It’s my last post about The Man.  He is deteriorating, and I am loosing strength.  Everyone keeps saying why don’t you call me, let others help, but really what can they do?  Can they take care of his toileting needs?  Can they fix the foods that he likes?  Can they help him dress, change his soiled sheets, help him shave?  Can they talk to him to remind him of intimate moments to try to bring his mind back to the present?  Can they remind him of his role as a father, husband, lover, provider?  Can they infuse me with strength and rest?  It’s all mine at this point.  I intend to see it through.  I have never shirked a task, and this is one rough task.  Pray for his peace.

Looks like a stork thru up here

Two in the kitchen

This was one of the better lines of the day.  What a wonderful day.  Pure chaos.  The Man oblivious to most of it, or so I thought, until he whispered to me, “Do I have a nerve pill I can take.”  One of those, “The Best of Times.”  We had a blast.  We had a great cook, good food, great company, and a lot of laughter.

When the kids were running in and out and all over everywhere and I said, “What happened here?  I swear I only had three kids.” That was when the number one son came out with the line that it looks like a stork thru up here.

A list of highlights of the day:

The anticipation of the arrival of the kids and their families for the first time in six years.

Two brothers hug.

A three-year old telling us that she has new friends!

The arrival and emotional reunion of a grandmother and great-grandmother.

The magic show. (you’d have to be there)

The make-over. (bless you Bay)

The four-wheeler tow truck.

The basketball.

The 1976 truck ride.

The desserts.

The hugs.

The songs accompanied by Jake one guitar.

My brother the electrician and plumber.

Make believe hospital.

I’m sure there are many more memories that will come to my mind as days go on, but these alone will make for conversation for many months to come.

Beauties

Papa’s hands can fix anything – even tired grandbabies

Just to set the record straight

 

I have but one sister.  There will never be another.  She is a unique individual.  Strong, smart, single-minded and there when you need her.  I would never have and will never trade her for any one for any reason.  She can be the most important ally that you have.  We have that trait in common from our dad.  She is and always has been prettier than I, but I like that as well.  She knows how to take care of herself, knows all about old movies, fashion and electrical business.  She is organized and a planner and when she does something she does it right.  She goes all out.

She is not always fun and light, but the good inside of her will come to the rescue like a mother tiger and as for me all the rest is easy to ignore.  I ignore her harshness and her not wanting to be with her family.  I ignore her hard-headed my way or the highway attitude because I know that is what makes her the strong person she is.  There are too many good things to care about the other and besides don’t we want that for ourselves as well?  We don’t want everything we ever do to  be held against us.  We grow and change and learn and we hope that of all the people in the world our family will understand and give us the freedom to do that.

I love my sister, and I know she loves me too.

Death upon us

My mind is just wandering all over the place along with Rods.  We live so close together in this world that I cannot separate myself from him even as he closes this part of his existence.  I feel what he feels.  I know what he will say or think before he does.  The same words come out of our mouths at the same time. I am being swept up in his final chapter and living it with him.

Back to the post 365 to 30…

Speaking of age.  We were speaking of age, weren’t we?  Anyway, as a young person I saw many people troubled by their age.  My grandmother would absolutely not let me see her driver’s license because she did not want anyone to know how old she was.  My reaction to all this phobia about age led me to a system that has worked very well over the years.

After I turned 25 I began answering the question about how old I was by rounding up to 30.  Then, when I reached 30 I was easy to say because I had five years of practice.  It also had the advantage of people saying how well I looked when I said I was 30 and I was anywhere from 5 to 1 year younger.  That continued with the pattern of when I turned 30 I told people I was 35 and so on.  It really was an easy way to slide into the older milestones and people were really beginning to complement me on my looks when I was 50 and said I was 55.

I heard this tactic reinforced in a different sort of way by my brother-in-law who was quite a flirt anyway.  As he aged and began to decline in health, he would always ask people to guess how old he was.  They might guess or they might get out of guessing, but he would always answer by saying he was 100 or 98 or some other usually much higher number than he really was.  He would say,  “I look pretty good for 100 don’t I?”   People had to agree.  He  also cheated at Wahoo.

You gotta admit I look pretty good for my age!