WillThink4Wine

I used to have a little red plastic suitcase, left over from my childhood sleepovers. It held all my special memories and all my hopes for the future.

That’s where I saved all of the love notes Mr. X wrote to me while we were in Junior High and High School. I also kept all the ticket stubs from movies and concerts, napkins from restaurants, all the little mementos of our 5 years of dating before we got married. It even has some wedding souvenirs in it and some pictures.
When Mr. X and I divorced and I moved out, I had forgotten all about it. It was in the spare bedroom closet. I asked him for it years ago. He’s since remarried, sold the house and moved.

I wonder… What are the odds that he still has it?

Tags: Aging Gracefully, Mr X, Random Thoughts, Simple Pleasures

Dad’s mowing his newly planted grass.

Some areas are coming up much better than others. For instance this area at the back fence… not so good! Dad ran out of seeds.

This area gets “2 Paws Up” from Grayson!

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Tags: Aging Gracefully, Cats, Dad, Family, Grayson, Weekend Snapshot

Did I ever tell you about the time my BIL nearly killed MotherDear? BIL was traveling on business and was only a few hours from the Deep South so he decided to surprise us for a short visit. He rented a car and drove to the Yellow House, armed with wine and beer. Oh yes, he is and will always be my favoroite BIL!

Dad was taking his afternoon nap. The doorbell rang. MotherDear looked through the peephole, but it was covered. So she meekly asked..

Who’s there?

Candy Gram.

Excuse me, but Who is there, please?

Candy Gram.

MotherDear quickly turned the dead bolt on the door and ran down the hall like a Thundering Herd of Elephants, terror mounting all the way. (Yes, she is still quite spry!)

She shook Dad awake saying “Someone’s at the door and he won’t tell me who he is. He just keeps saying ‘Candy Gram’ and he’s covered up the peephole”.

Dad got up, walked down the hall and looked through the peephole. Because BIL had tipped his head down, all Dad could see was BIL’s hat. Dad opened the door. 

BIL was now in stitches, and no doubt, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Even after several seconds of staring at BIL, Dad & MotherDear were in total shock and couldn’t register who this Land Shark was.

Needless to say, we won’t be doing that anymore. I explained to BIL that while Land Shark is quite amusing, Dad is now 79 years old and MotherDear is 73, and somehow they didn’t appreciate the humor in it quite as much as he did. It may be a good idea to call ahead next time.

And bring more wine!

Tags: Aging Gracefully, Family, Just for laughs

So I walked in from the Office tonight and MotherDear says she had to stop for gas on the way home from the Post Office for fear of running out.

Now to the average person, a mere subject of the land, this wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. But MotherDear is the Pump Princess. She does not pump her own gas. Heavens, No!! That is the duty of HRH Dad.

So I’m running the scenarios through my head, wondering how she managed to keep her HRH Pump Princess Tiara on straight:

1. There hasn’t been a Full Service Gas Station in the magical land of MotherDear in a squillion years
2. Dad happened to be at The Swamp (my Office) this afternoon snooping checking on the fill dirt and grading progress
3. I was at The Swamp, working
4. Al was at The Swamp working on his Mustang he’s so darn proud of

I barely began running through the remaining options when she giggles (as only MotherDear can) and she says to me “I just said “You Hoo, young man!” to the nice young guy on the other side of the pump. And I told him “I never pump my own gas. Could you possibly help me, please?” and he came right over and pumped my gas for me.”

It must be wonderful to be a Princess.

You Hoo, Young Man? My brain is exploding. I wonder, who will inherit her crown?

Tags: Aging Gracefully, MotherDear, Simple Pleasures

I was reading a post over at Green Mountain Country Mama which hit a bit too close to home. She was writing about forgetfulness.

More and more the SisterDears and I have been making light of this new phenomenon in our lives. We joke about how we’re getting more forgetful and that somehow we’re now more subject to gravity because everything keeps dropping.

But you know, this getting older stuff really isn’t for sissies!

To my knowledge there’s no Alzheimer’s in my family, but here’s what happens to me all the time now: I’ll be mid-sentence and a common word which I use all the time simply leaps from my tongue and finds a Hidey Hole in the deep recesses of my brain. It may not come out for hours. Even reciting my ABC’s doesn’t always help. I just have to wait it out.

It was a few years ago when I first noticed it. I was making out my grocery list. I started to write the word ‘celery’ and all I could get out was the ‘c’. At first I laughed. I tried to write it again. Nothing. I could visualize it, smell it and taste it. I just couldn’t pull the word from it’s Hidey Hole.

While driving to the store I tried to summon it again. No luck. Walking to the produce department I felt sure it would come to me. Nada. C’mon, this is not funny anymore! It wasn’t until I passed the fruit section that I was finally able to summon it.

I was lucky that time. It usually waits until the 3:30 AM potty-run to leave it’s Hidey Hole.

Green Mountain Country Mama: Not the First Time

A couple in their nineties are both having problems remembering things. During a checkup, the doctor tells them that they’re physically okay, but they might want to start writing things down to help them remember.

Later that night, while watching TV, the old man gets up from his chair. “Want anything while I’m in the kitchen?” he asks.

“Will you get me a bowl of ice cream?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t you think you should write it down so you can remember it?” she asks.

“No, I can remember it.”

“Well, I’d like some strawberries on top, too. Maybe you should write it down, so’s not to forget it?”

He says, “I can remember that. You want a bowl of ice cream with strawberries.”

“I’d also like whipped cream. I’m certain you’ll forget that, write it down?” she asks.

Irritated, he says, “I don’t need to write it down, I can remember it! Ice cream with strawberries and whipped cream - I got it, for goodness sake!”

Then he toddles into the kitchen. After about 20 minutes, the old man returns from the kitchen and hands his wife a plate of bacon and eggs. She stares at the plate for a moment.

“Where’s my toast?”

As a follow up to yesterday’s post (The Perfect Man) I want to share a story I read on USURP - This exemplifies my definition of The Perfect Man

I Know Who She Is

It was a busy morning, approximately 8:30 am, when an elderly gentleman, in his 80’s, arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He stated that he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am.

I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound.

On exam it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound.

While taking care of his wound, we began to engage in conversation. I asked him if he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go to the nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

I then inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer Disease. As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now.

I was surprised, and asked him. “And you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?”

He smiled as he patted my hand and said. “She doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.”

I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, “That is the kind of love I want in my life.” True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.