a bushel of fresh corn...

... bought at the store when it was a cheap as it will get at 4 ears for $1. Purchased on sale, to make creamed corn for freezing. We brought  it home on Saturday after lunch, to shuck, de-silk, wash, scrape, put in a big pot to blanch/simmer and go in the freezer. Not sure how many quart zipper bags the forty-plus ears will fill when it gets cool enough to dip up, but thinking about what a treat it will be to have available to pull out in the cold dark days of winter, heat and eat. Yum.

It was not nearly as messy as I remember: the last time there was splatter all over the counter top, me, sink, floor - so I am beginning to wish I had purchased  more. But not thinking that with enough enthusiasm to be willing to go back to the store for another bushel, to start all over with shucking, scraping, cooking, etc. Now that the mess is cleaned up, I am highly unmotivated to want to do it again today. So even though I can say: 'that wasn't so bad', I have no interest in doing it again...

We bagged it up after supper, and put two full cups = one pint in each zipper bag, put them in the freezer. P. will take them withe her when she leaves after lunch on Sun. to return to TN and enjoy eating the creamed corn, remember warm sunshine of summer when the cold winds blow next winter. Her dad sat and watched us fill the bags and commented on how good it would be in the coming year. I said you need to adjust your thinking: this corn is not for you, it is all going to Tennessee tomorrow.

a funny tale...

... for your amusement, at the expense of The Man Who Lives Here.  But he was the one who told the story, so I do not feel badly about repeating it to entertain others. He has a hearing loss problem, and has been wearing aids in each ear, for some years. The aids were supplied, free of charge, by the Veterans' Administration. When The Man was fresh out of high school, he volunteered to join the Air Force, and was trained as a jet engine mechanic. Spent a number of years working on airplanes at a base in south Georgia, long before the idea of hearing damage would have occurred to anyone. All that time around the very loud, high-pitched whine of jets being tested and actively in use has caused him to have noticeable hearing loss as he ages.

When he began to realize he was having difficulty and discovered the VA would provide help, the nearest facility where he could be tested was in Tuskegee AL. He made an appointment and went for the evaluation, eventually fitted out with aids in each ear. Which have been very helpful as he ages and his acuity continues to decline.

You will remember that he periodically makes a trip to south MS, when he thinks the people at his favorite gaming facility have been lonesome without him. He continually gets invitations to come and visit, though I am sure they are much happier to see his money. They love for him to come and stay over a long weekend when there is a blackjack tournament going on, even staking him to a starting pot with which to gamble/guess on the cards. Expecting, I assume, that after he plays cards and gives all the money belonging to the casino back, he will then give them a pile of the cash he brought along from GA.

He was in Biloxi weekend before last, accepting another invitation to come for a visit with his pockets stuffed full of money for them to slowly siphon off, as he participated in a blackjack tournament.  You might recall that old country music song, I think by Johnny Cash, about the man who worked in Detroit and stole car parts each day to smuggle out in his lunch box? Ending up with a vehicle that was assembled with parts manufactured over many years? When the cash is eased out of your pocket in minuscule portions, you are making small donations on a daily basis buying lottery tickets or putting change in the slot machines, you simply don't feel like you are being robbed. It does not feel like someone in a ski-mask with a gun stuck in your ribs, but it disappears in drips and dribbles. And just as gone as throwing it out the car window.

I got periodic reports by phone, as he made his way to the semi-finals of the competition. But, as you might expect, at some point, most are eliminated. He was not the big winner, but said when he got home he 'enjoyed' the trip. I assume he continued to play with the resources he had when he left home, and did come back with enough to be willing to share some of it with me.

He also reported that during the time he was there, playing cards, he lost one of his hearing aids. Did not notice it at the time, as they are so light-weight, it is hard to realize that the small device is not in your ear, enhancing your hearing ability. When he did realize that one was missing, he reported the loss, hoping it would be found nearby, as the cleaning crew would discover it and turn it in to the front desk. The reception desk did notify him, but when he went to retrieve the tiny device: it was  not His! Hmmmm.....

He has already called to make an appointment for a replacement. And reports when he goes for evaluation/testing next week, he expects they will replace the aids for both ears, as technology has improved so dramatically since he was first issued aids years ago. I am hopeful that the new ones will make our lives easier. He will hear better and we will not get so annoyed and aggravated with each other when one cannot hear and the other gets weary of not being heard.

being a tourist...

The monument is in celebration of the three hundredth anniversary of the founding of the first permanent English settlement in North America, which was, of course, Jamestown. The next hundred-year anniversary is drawing near... but no mention of how they plan to celebrate.

This lion's head is a small detail seen on all four sides of the tall obelisk. I am quite fond of carved stone that might appear to be similar to gargoyles, so the carved lion caught my eye.

Ship in the foreground is the "Susan Constant", with smaller ships being obscured by the largest of the three, all replicas of the ones that made the voyage bringing the first permanent settlers from England to the New World.

... while visiting in Virginia. We went over to Jamestown on Tuesday. Rain was predicted, and we got in a little. I don't mind rain, or being in it, but do not like to get my feet wet and have to walk around or spend the rest of the day with wet socks and shoes on. I cannot abide cold clammy feet. Have been around long enough to know that cold feet make me miserable. And also know that warm and dry 'way down there at the far extreme part of my person are an absolute necessity. We kept mostly dry, so it was an interesting day.

Jamestown in a good distance up the James River from the coast, which I did not know. I would have thought they would have been so tired of being crammed together on those little boats the adventurous souls would have been desperate to get off and jumped as soon as they were close to solid land. It seems that their instructions from the king were to establish a permanent colony that would not be so easily seen or attacked. So the three little boats went in to find a good landing spot that would be suitable for building and settling that would not be near the coastline.

The James is a wide murky river, with a auto-ferry that delivers vehicles and pedestrians across near the original site. Several large boats that have ramps on either end for cars to enter and exit, that are, I assume operated by the state D.O.T, as there is no bridge in the area for crossing. There is something, a unique experience, really gratifying when  you drive a car on a big boat, to be conveyed across a large body of water, arriving in safety and comfort on the other side. I've been on this ferry several times over the years, and would happily go again: open water, the wind in  your face. Neat.

The 'original' settlement is in a state of continual digging. A private non-profit organization has owned about thirty acres since the late 1800's. The National Park Service owns much of the surrounding land, on an island, surrounded by low-lying, marshy areas that flood with the incoming tide. So their is a cooperative administration, with the both providing support and manpower. We had an interesting tour, by a well informed man who was part of the archeology team who has worked there for many years. Peeped into a brick church building that was being excavated, the dirt floor completely dug up to well below the line of outside earth. Several people with small hand tools were down in various holes, under bright flood lights carefully scraping away layers of soil, searching for bits of evidence: metal, buttons, buckles, ceramic sherds, bones, any clue that could be used to put together information about the earliest residents.

We were amazed at the information modern technology can provide with those little bits. Computer analysis can determine what sort of food they ate, what they ate it on, where they came from based on chemical composition of a tooth. Analyze bones for age, gender, whether the individual was upper class or peasant by their nutrition. How long they had been in the 'new world' could be determined: corn based diet or wheat based diet: new vs. old., high protein vs. high vegetable content. You see this sort of stuff in television shows, but it is really real. The insight computers can give are astounding.

Then we went to the place nearby, also on the river,  run by the state of VA, where the replicas of the three boats are docked. "Susan Constant" is the largest, then "Godspeed" and "Discovery". Looking much too small to make trans-oceanic voyages safely. It is hard to believe the people who settled survived the trip across the Atlantic on those small boats. It took five months to get to their final destination, going by the Canary Islands, several stops at islands in the Caribbean for fresh water and supplies: twice the distance and time it would take to come straight over from England. But with no GPS or Mapquest - how would they know that?

workin' + travelin'...

... and then staying up much much later than normal, when we sat and talked until nearly 11:00 p.m. Due to mostly having to be at my place of employ at 5 or 6 o'clock, getting up long before daylight is not unusual. As we all know, it will eventually catch up with you and cause random intermittent napping at inappropriate times, or the desperate need to go to bed the minute you get home from a long day at work. It is amazing I was able to stay awake so late when I got off the flight to Richmond, and sit and chat without dozing off mid-sentence, like someone with a certified sleep disorder.

My favorite travel agent found tickets for me to purchase weeks ago, that would take me to spend several days in VA. Reporting it would be considerably cheaper to leave ATL on Sunday afternoon, as opposed to flying out on Monday, which was a holiday with higher rates. After working for eight hours on Sunday, I jumped in my car to drive to Decatur, where I left my car parked and hitched a ride to the airport.

Anxiously found the gate where I needed to be in ample time for boarding at 5:02, in a new concourse I have never seen before. I did not know "F" concourse even existed (and maybe it doesn't), but I went there and found what appears to be a large shopping mall as well as a dozen or so gates for boarding airlines. When I got to the desk there at gate F-12, I had to ask for a seat assignment, as it did not occur when the ticket was purchased. I sat down to read my book until passengers were called to start the loading process, and waited for a bit to get on. I found my seat a few rows back from the business class (meaning I could get off quicker than the ones all the way in the far back) and stowed my suitcase. Discovered my spot between two very large black men, making me feel like the gooey middle of an Oreo.

It was a uneventful flight, though the weather man predicted thunderstorms and pounding rain for the entire eastern seaboard over the weekend. There is a tropical storm, Alfredo, that came up through the FL panhandle into AL, but nothing noticeable while I was in the sky on Sunday evening. Plenty of rain and flooding according to the news, but here only periodic showers requiring umbrellas or ponchos for those who are out in it.

We went to a parade on Monday to celebrate Memorial Day, sponsored by local American Legion posts, that was sorta' spotty. Only one marching band, lots of antique cars, numerous first response vehicles and a few girl scouts on farm trailers decorated with poster paper cut-outs of GS cookies. Flags and bunting galore and plenty of spectators to applaud and cheer as the parade chugged along.
We sat in the shade in our folding chairs, licked ice cream cones, and occasionally shouted, as parade participants passed by: "hey Keisha!" And "'way to go, Jazmin!" when total strangers puttered along in old cars.

book review: lots of things by Tony Hillerman...

... sadly, he won't be writing any more, so when I get them all read, it will be time to start over.  Sorry, he is deceased. Really light, entertaining reading, if you can overlook the fact there is always at least one corpse that came to an untimely end as well as numerous circumstances that are related to mysterious deaths of native Americans. Often involving some aspect of Navajo spirits, tales from oral history relating creation stories or coyote/trickster.

One of the stories, heard on CD rather than printed book form, was "Skeleton Man." Taking place in the southwest of the US, four corners area where four states intersect, and there are several Native reservations. Some of the story occurs as the main characters trek down into the Grand Canyon in search of diamonds that disappeared when two airliners collided over the Canyon, resulting in many deaths. One passenger had a small case of jewels cuffed to his wrist, died in the mishap, and left a pregnant partner behind. The now adult child is trying to prove her parentage, and hoping to find: not the costly jewels, but the arm it was attached to, in order to get DNA samples and prove her heritage.

Another story, in a book I picked up from a Little Free Library, is part of a trilogy, three published in one volume. This one also required the characters to descend into the Grand Canyon: "A Thief of Time." They were attempting to find an archeologist who was researching Anasazi pottery. The scientist was convinced she could trace a number of pots or sherds to a particular artisian who lived in the canyon pueblos hundreds of years before white men arrived. She disappeared, after deceiving co-workers into thinking she had left the area, while she was trying to discover the source of the pottery. No spoilers here...

Hillerman's two recurring characters are police with the Navajo Nation force, Lt. Joe Leaphorn and Office Jim Chee. There are names mentioned in all the books that are likely very common in the nations: Twosalt, Yazzie, Ironwoman, Highhawk. The people he invents seem to be well fleshed out, each individual imbued with details that make them seem human, complete with frailties and complicated personalities. Over the years I have read a number of the Hillerman books and enjoyed getting to know Leaphorn and Chee.  Recommend you start anywhere with his compendium and take the time to digest, get to know these guys.

book review: "The Last Girl"...

... written by Nadia Murad. After reading a review, a request to the library resulted in them getting the book for me. When someone saw me with the book, they asked if it was good? I said 'no', then gave a brief synopsis. It is not something to be read for pleasure, but probably far more educational than you would expect, providing much more than you want to know. Hard to read and hard to put down.

Nadia lived in a small, fairly isolated village in Iraq. In a culture that is rapidly being destroyed, but  at the time was still intact and flourishing as many of the Yazidi would not leave. Family members would often leave to find employment, but others would stay in their area, marry others of the same background and continue their traditions. A small minority that the Muslims consider infidels, which resulted in the ISIS fighters believing they were worthless, but could be used.

When ISIS overran the village, they killed most of the men, disposed of bodies in a mass grave. Most of the older women and small children had no value, so they were killed as well. The young women were taken to be used as sex slaves, sold or given away, repeatedly raped, considered worthless, of no value so easily abused, and easily replaced.

After being assaulted by many men over time, she escaped. She had to be covered, head to toe every time she left the house, and not often left with the covering that was necessary (to become anonymous and not identifiable) to wear when out in public. At one point she was given to a man who left a door unlocked, and failed to take her clothing, providing the opportunity to gain freedom. She knocked on a random door in a random neighborhood and found help. The family took her in, assisted in getting forged travel documents and helped her get out of the country.

When she finally was reunited with brothers who had left home prior to the invasion by ISIS, she lived in a bare-bones refugee camp, first in a tent, then in shipping container, with relatives who had also found their way out of bondage. Eventually relocating in Germany, she finally spoke the truth of being brainwashed to believe she was worthless and damaged goods as a result of the sexual abuse, as well as being forced to convert to Islam. Nadia is now a United Nations spokesperson, sharing her experiences and helping to support their human rights programs. She "is the UN's first Goodwill Ambassador for the Dignity of Survivor's of Human Trafficking, currently working to bring the Islamic State before the International Criminal Court on charges of genocide and crimes against humanity."

At the end of the book, in the epilogue, is an explanation for the title. On the last page, in the last sentence of the last paragraph: "More than anything else... I want to be the last girl in the world with a story like mine."

the blooming things...

... I planted last spring are putting on a show. Across the street from my house, at the entrance to the golf course.  The showy lily plants you see here, are glorious right now are actually Easter lilies that can't tell time, to know that it is a month past Easter. Purchased the day after the Sunday holiday last spring when they were marked down and on sale for $1 each. I persuaded the boss to dramatically discount instead of just throwing them in the dumpster, so I could bring them home and plant over there along the edge of the bed to re-bloom every year.

Other things that I have relocated over there that are currently in bloom are some roses that flowered all last summer. They got much bigger than I expected, as they were rescues and were originally in wee little four inch pots. Lots of agapanthus I dug up from my yard and moved: you can barely see blue flowers on tall stalks back behind the lily plants on the right side of the photo.  Several crepe myrtle that will get tall over time and produce watermelon/mauve blooms later in the summer. A couple of the salvia pollinators love that will have little red blooms all summer long and attract hummingbirds, bees and butterflies.  There all more lily plants that I hope will come back: Asiatics that have those wonderfully fragrant blooms, with the dark maroon throat.

I think the only thing I paid full price for was a lantana, that I am not sure survived the cold we had back in January. It has gotten pretty weedy lately, after all this drenching rain we have had, so I need to go and put in a little time getting the undesirables under control.  The course has irrigation, but I don't think the sprinklers cover the entire area I have planted stuff, so some might not thrive or even survive if we don't continue to get sufficient rainfall. I did some watering last spring to get them started, but my intention was for them to be very low maintenance, learn to be independent, survive without much help.

inundated...

... still from copious rains of the stalled system that continues to dump rain in the Chattahoochee River valley area, along the Georgia and Alabama state lines. We've had more than enough to make up for diminished rainfall in recent weeks, with the ground so sodden it will take days of sunshine to dry out. All the creeks and watershed lakes are overflowing, with water standing in places you would otherwise never see puddles - appearing to be shallow lakes from creeks overflowing and filling low lying areas.

I sat here most of the morning at my computer, just two feet away from a big window that faces north. I can see the intersection of two streets, both of which are usually bustling with traffic, especially early in the mornings during commuter hours and school carpool times. Schools are finished for the year, students got out earlier this week, so it should be considerably slower traffic wise until the two neighborhood schools start up again in August.

What happened here today, after the prodigious rains of the past twenty four hours, is a lesson in humanity. My attention was captured this morning by the number of people who put their brains on auto-pilot when they got in their vehicles, headed in to the workplace. There was a big orange barrel placed in the middle of the south bound lane, at the intersection, indicating cars should not be going that way. But no actual sign telling them the road was closed, due to flooding. So hundreds and hundreds of drivers maneuvered around the plastic hazard, only to crest the hill and see muddy water that might or might not be too deep to traverse. The Man Who Lives Here reported seeing some pick-up trucks go headlong down the hill and not return, so perhaps the water level is going down.

All those drivers persisted in making that left turn to head south, going down the street to the point where they could see the street completely impassable. Whereupon they made U-turns in various driveways to take the long way to work or shopping. It was quite amusing to see them come back and take the road less traveled as they realized they could not get through the water in order to head to town.

Since that time, the city has put up a more 'official' barricade, with white painted saw-horses, complete with red, reflective striped tape, as well as a sign that very plainly states: Road Closed. Looking far more business-like than the random orange striped plastic barrel, and obviously more likely to divert to traffic. Most of the vehicles that stop at the corner, appear to be pretty obedient citizens, willing to make a right turn to go around both elbows in order to get to their destinations: work, restaurants or shopping. I can almost hear them, up there on the corner, as they come to a stop at the intersection, read the sign and ponder: 'should I?' Should I really pay attention, believe the sign and take back roads to get to my destination? Should I disregard the sign, drive around the barricade and take my chances? Most seem to be lacking the dare-devil gene, and putter on along their way, safe and dry.

time with the auntie ...

... when I went to Valdosta on Wednesday. I might as well confess when I was ready to leave, she was still standing by the locked front door. On the inside where it is secured to keep residents from leaving on a whim. With a key-pad, coded exit, in order to protect those who might wander from getting out and disappearing. The rest of my confession is that I took the coward's path, and left through another door. Walked to the end of the hall and slipped out a different door. Slinking away, where she would not see me get in my car and leave. I will feel guilty about that for a few days, and then let it go.

We have all read the newspaper or heard broadcast reports of people who go for a loaf of bread and never return to their loved ones. Sitting out in the porch with a glass of lemonade, you step inside, then return sixty seconds later, in that instant they de-materialize. It happens with greater frequency as the population ages, and more people live long enough to display the gradual effects of dementia. That loved one takes a notion to walk away, on some urgent interior mission, going who-knows-where as they are lost inside their disabled minds -and simply vanish.

The auntie was waiting for me, hoping to get back in the car and not be left there at the residential facility, a place she would be confused. Not realizing, unable to understand that she will continue to struggle with chronic forgetting, never again able to retain any information, with practically zero short term memory. She will always be subject to the locked door - forever be forced to stay where she does not want to be. A person who has been self-reliant, independent, adventurous and ready to travel all her adult life, now limited to going only when another person is willing to chaperone, literally take her by the hand, agree to take responsibility for her safety.

Heart wrenching to see, as she slowly looses ground, becoming more and more forgetful. We have the same conversation over and over: she will ask about family members, the same questions every few minutes. Unaware she is repeating herself, making me repeat myself. Causing great frustration as the necessity for patience with the patient increases when the conversation seems to be on a continuous loop.

I left, knowing she was there near the door, expecting me to come back down the hall. Where she would make her best effort to persuade me she should go along, not be left there where she has been living for nearly a year, in the residential facility. She is in a beautifully maintained environment. Attractive gardens outside where there is something blooming year-round. She is provided with all the basic necessities, plus surrounded by a caring staff, populated with compassionate affectionate people who are willing to listen, cajole her into showering, help with getting dressed, address her complaints with good humor and patience. Three meals a day, that are so appealing she has outgrown her pants, and needs  larger sizes.

After a long conversation with the head nurse late yesterday, I am persuaded the auntie will never be happy, something in her personality seems to cause her to be unable to be content. Maybe that fierce independence, that mule-ish, head-strong temperament she has nurtured all her adult life is the source of her inability to be at peace. Surely she should have seen this disheartening end coming: with a father who died in nursing care with memory loss, and two siblings who struggled with dementia, there was no way for her to not expect this.

Family members, my cousins and I, have made efforts to get her to have a conversation about what she would want. Preferences if she were unable to care for herself, make her own decisions. She maintained the posture of an ostrich and refused to discuss options. Now, here she is - in the place she would least like to be: with other people making all her daily decisions. Sad to say, she was so desperate for someone who could shoulder all this (genetic) misfortune, the blame for much of her confusion was placed directly on me. The same 'me' who has been willing to step up/in and do what needs doing.

underwater...

... seriously inundated, is my street. It rained so much today, it is not possible to get through from where my street starts on Macon Road to my house. Probably not surprising when you consider my phone buzzed this morning at 2:34 a.m.,with a warning from the National Weather Service. Notifying about the likelihood of flash-floods in low lying areas, places that historically do not drain well when the rainfall is overwhelming. Remember those aerial photos, possibly taken with drones of what the neighborhoods looked like last summer when Houston was swamped by a hurricane? If we did not live at the top of a hill: that would be us.

One one side of the rural street it is wooded, private property where the creek runs from behind our house, meandering down the hill and under the road. On the other side of the street is a public golf course, where there are several man-made watershed lakes, that impound the water as it flows through. Apparently the lakes got too full from all the excess rainfall, and it would not drain out to go back into the creek as it passes under the four-lane to eventually empty into the Chattahoochee River down near Ft. Benning. This is the third time this has occurred since we have been living in this house, a little less than forty years. Which says to me, that rather than it being what planners call 'a one-hundred-year flood', it happens often enough to occur at ten year intervals.

The Man Who Lives Here apparently thinks I am so dim I would not see the big orange barrels or cones blocking the street, to know it was impassable. Assuming I would simply skirt around the big wooden barricade with red reflective stripes and blissfully go charging down into the waist deep deluge. He had to call me twice while I was driving back from south Georgia to give a report. Once to warn me that there water over the road. And a second time to inform me it was not safe to travel, be prepared for a detour as it was too deep for small vehicles (me!) to safely maneuver.


I was hoping to get home from my travels in time to go and take photos to share. While I was down near the place that is a temporary swamp, another car pulled up. The young man got out and asked how deep it is. I replied that it was too deep for his BMW. He said 'really?' I said it would not be too deep for a large truck with big tires. But I was pretty sure he did not want to have to explain why he drove around the barricades, barrels and cones, only to have to wade out and to call for a tow truck.

If you look closely, right here, near the bottom edge of the photo, you can see the yellow center line painted on the asphalt of the street. Which tells you that the muddy water has been standing on the road long enough for much of the silt to settle to the bottom, there where it is fairly shallow. It flows in from the left side of the picture, from a densely wooded area, with nothing to stop the creek water.  The creek would normally run under the road a bit past that big utility pole, with the public golf course on the right side of the street. There are several lakes, that are meant to hold and slow the flow of water, being 'hazards' for golfers. But as you see, there is a 'water hazard' right out in the middle of the street! The lakes have surely overfilled their normal boundaries, and likely covered the cart paths, as well as some of the greens, closing the course until the bountiful waters recede.

unbeknowst to me...

... when I took the auntie to a dental appointment a couple of weeks ago, she had already been to see the family practice doc., having been sent on the van from Fellowship Home to get x-rays of her leg done. She had been limping along, occasionally, when the thought would randomly pass through her head that her right leg/knee was hurting. Causing the staff  to make arrangements to get her to the doctor, and have pictures tooken, hoping to identify the cause of the problem. I expect they were, like me, optimistic about a simple solution.

Which may possibly still occur: but since they failed to let me know about the gimpy leg, when family practice sent me a robo-call as a reminder to get her back for follow-up visit I was in the dark. In order to actually address what ever might be wrong it would, of course, be necessary to get the results of the pictures. Since I was completely ignorant, uninformed, and had no idea she had been to doctor, assumed the office was reminding me about an appointment made months ago. For some now forgotten/cured reason, that would be the follow-up for: treatment for flu-like symptoms? a fall that resulted in cracked ribs? routine six months check? who knows? I cancelled the visit, not knowing anything about the current health crisis.

Only when the person who drives the van to take people into town for medical visits gave me a call to ask if I was going to be there to take her - did I know she was supposed to get back to family practice for results. I was befuddled and quite taken aback. I told the driver, Maxine, who is occasionally the auntie's best friend (when she can remember who Maxine is), she would have to get them to schedule to get her back to consult for evaluation/info. about the x-rays. Apparently that never happened...

Move on to the end of last week, when a Home Health worker called me to get info. about the forgetful auntie, and I gave her the Cliff's Notes version of the past two years. Nickie, the Nurse, said the auntie was still having leg pain, intermittently, when she happened to randomly, occasionally remember about it. But would also deny having any problem at all, or tell her it was the left leg, not the right. Nickie suggested we make an appointment for the auntie to go to Orthopedic Dr. (the man who replaced one of her hips, and also the dr. she used for primary care when she got mad at the people at Family Practice office.) Hoping the solution would be nothing more than a cortisone injection in her knee.

I am going to Valdosta tomorrow, to take the auntie to Family Practice, and hear results of the x-rays done a month ago. Still hopeful there will be an easy solution, and the knee pain will be resolved. It will be a long day of driving six hours to go down and back - but with the alternative choice being spend the night there, I am prepared to go, take care of business, turn around and be back to sleep in my own bed.

probate requires...

... that the person who has taken someone else on to raise make reports, provide updates about the welfare as well as financial status of the foster child. Due to the fact that I seem to have backed into accepting responsibility for my auntie, the requirement has fallen to me. Me who is profoundly and hopelessly math impaired, tragically disabled in the area of arithmetic. The last person anyone would ever seek out for any type of calculating problems or financial advice. Me. Required to prepare and submit a report to the Probate Court with documentation about the status of the auntie's funds, what her income and expenses are, to be inspected by the clerk of the Probate Judge.

I have lots of opinions and willingly share those thoughts with customers at work: let them know if there is any problem, doubt or concern about what to purchase, I will be happy to help.  As to the auntie, I feel I can attest to her physical status. The form for reporting has a number of pages with questions related to her physical and mental well-being. Where she is living, how involved she is with fellow residents, activity level/interactions with others. Plus inquiries about her mental health, which has improved somewhat since she has been living in a facility with round-the-clock care, three meals a day, and staffers that ensure various Rx are taken as needed.

It is difficult to say what she is like spending her days there, because the occasional calls I get are mostly frantic and frustrated when she is desperate for someone to rescue her from her situation. Feeling lost and wanting me to come and find her, when she claims to be in Macon, or Perry, or someplace in middle Georgia, miles from where she actually is when making the 'I've been cast adrift' call. I do hope the Rx she is given daily make her more tractable and easier to for the staff to live with on a day-to-day basis.

Pondered how to report on her mental, physical, emotional status. Completed all that paperwork last week, then re-read and reconsidered my opinions last night after looking at what I had written several days ago. I called my BFF to ask when she might be willing to look at all the documentation and help me put all the numbers down in the right sequence to fill in the blanks for probate. She came over after I got off work on Sunday afternoon. We, mostly she, spent hours and hours and hours juggling numbers to make the totals come out even. I did keep all sorts of receipts and bills, organizing in file folders, pretty easy to access. But much is guess work, trying to determine what she will need in the future versus what has occurred in the past. Looking at resources and trying to squint into the (non-existent) crystal ball at what might happen months from now.

Anything to do with numbers, figuring, adding, makes me uneasy. When my friend was adding things together, just looking at numbers and putting things together in her head: I was amazed that she did not need a calculator - how can people do that stuff in their brains? Mine is certainly not wired like that! I did  most of the guardian part, and the BFF did most of the financial/conservator part, so it is almost ready to submit. I will be supremely relieved when I can put it in the mail to the probate office. In their hands and out of my life!

flying the friendly skies...

... was what I did a lot of during the first few months of the year. A number of trips from Atlanta to Richmond, most of which were at full price, though a couple were discounted thanks to the friend who retired from many years of service as a Delta flight attendant. There have not been enough reasons for air travel over the years to pursue the benefits of being a Frequent Flyer. But after all the travel since early January, I thought it wise to pursue getting credit for miles between GA and VA.

Sadly, those trips taken as a 'stand-by' have no value towards accumulated benefits. I assume due to the greatly discounted price paid to spend hours at the gate, being antsy, hoping for an empty seat before they close the door. You would think all that time I stood around hopping from one foot to the other, pacing to and fro, being anxious, with a belly in general turmoil, hyper concerned about finding an empty seat would count for something?

I tried to re-trace my flights, and send in documentation to get credit for miles flown. In the process of trying to recall when I went, and what I was doing months ago, I see the importance/value of keeping up with boarding passes. Hanging onto scraps of paper that appear worthless, but very necessary to have those numbers in order to re-trace your travels.  I hope the very costly tickets for multiple trips to VA in recent months will accumulate some benefits, and eventually provide a discount for future fun. I can be packed on very short notice and have my toothbrush ready to go at any time. Ready to ride on a moment's notice!

an update on the thumb...

... which, like the previous posting, requires a back story to help you know what is going on with The Man Who Lives Here and a wound that will not heal. You know how dry your skin gets in winter, the way you get so flaky looking when the air is excessively dry, as happens when we live in heated environments that pull all the moisture out of the air? Black people refer to their skin when it gets so dry as 'ashy', which is pretty descriptive of dark skin looking white and needing a good slathering with lotion or cream. You know how your hands can get so dry from constant washing, or exposure to low temperatures out doors in cold weather that the little lines in your fingerprints will crack open?

I think just simply excessively dry skin is what started this little hole in the end of his thumb that will not heal. It has been there, looking nasty, for at least a couple of months. Due to a combination of factors: cold dry weather, neglect, poor circulation, failure to be pro-active and deliberately seek a solution to the problem. I'd suggested weeks ago he pursue an appointment with the Wound Care Center, but suspect he thought it too insignificant to go to the extent of asking for a referral. While at the same time, it was chronically painful. Super tender to the touch, almost un-usable.  He would have the staff at dialysis center look at it but would not pursue getting them to make him an appointment to figure out how to resolve the problem. An open wound going on for weeks and weeks.

All he would do is ask other people to view it, tell him how bad it looked, offer sympathy or grimace when they would look at a hole in his thumb. As wide, big, deep as the head of a corsage pin, that would not grow more skin to close up, do nothing to improve, never heal. We should give him credit for occasionally putting antibiotic ointment on it, and covering it with a band aid, when it got so sore he could not stand it. Until I looked at the tube of Triple Anti-B to discover the expiration date stamped on the crimp was the middle of 2016. I made a trip to the store to get something more current and encouraged him to put it on at night, cover with a bandage, and leave off during the day for fresh air.

After surgery on his arm a couple of weeks ago, I have frequently inquired about he thumb. He reported this week it might be getting better. When I asked earlier in this week, he said the nursing staff at dialysis is in agreement: it is improving. I will attribute the good news to improved circulation in his arm and hand, as it is almost certain he is not doing anything other than fretting over the sore place on the end of his digit.

an update on ...

... The Man Who Lives Here, and the vehicle that would not fit in the carport. For those who may be just now tuning in to the continuing saga, a little back story is in order. He was driving a great big GMC SUV, very large by my standards, and very uncomfortable for me to sit and spend any time riding unless I was in the back seat. Which did not suit him at all when there were only the two of us.

There is something about this guy: he has, as long as I have known  him, and probably as long as he has been a car owner, felt it imperative to trade vehicles as soon as he makes the last payment. I do not attempt to understand and will make no effort to explain such irrational behavior. My logic leads me to believe that as soon as you get it paid for, you continue to make the payments (to yourself) into savings, to have a nest egg that will serve as a down payment when it is time to trade. Socking away that 'payment' in your own account as preparation for the next vehicle.

But for unknown reasons, his logic requires him to get itchy. Begin to think: time to trade! How can I create more stress in my life? What can I get that will cause me to have to make car payments for the next five years? Apparently he had a bee in his bonnet for a pickup truck - that in itself is really odd, as he had been mulling over a van for several years. He thought a small van would be perfect, and felt he could find one that was already customized, and ready for use. One that would be outfitted to have a motorized lift that would be used to transport his mobility chair.

There is likely no explanation that would be reasonable in understanding why the urge for a truck was so overwhelming that he just absolutely had to buy a brand d@(((n new pick-up.  All that can be said about that is he got just what he wanted. Because the purpose of trading, and getting a new vehicle was to be able to transport the motorized chair and have it not hanging off the back of his car, secured and safely out in the inclement weather. So... now there must be a camper cover purchased to go on the bed of the pick up truck. Plus it has to be custom painted to match the color of that brand d@(((n new truck. With enough height that the winch he will need to load the chair into the bed will fit in the camper when attached to the frame of the truck.

Which means that once he gets everything installed, set up, adjusted and situated to his liking, the camper top makes the whole outfit too tall to fit in the carport. Dear Lord. Oh, my. Now What?

He called a contractor to find out how much it would cost to make the carport fit the truck. Too much, as it turns out. He said he was not willing to pay that much just to keep his brand d@(((n new truck out of the weather. He cannot use it as a pickup truck in the traditional sense: it has a chair riding around in the bed, and is always covered with the camper top, so it is virtually impossible to haul a load of anything in the back. Oh, well. He got just what he wanted....

driving north...

... through the hills towards Tennessee, the landscape was lush and green. Rain has been so sparse in middle Georgia that the early blooming wildflowers seen in the median and right of way along the road are bloomed out, not to return until spring showers bring them back to life next year. It was a treat to head north, and see the change in growing zones, where elevation has kept temperatures cooler. Spring plants that have finished their blooming cycle in central Georgia in a different climate, are still glorious as the weather moderates in the hills farther north.

Daisies that were so bountifully bloomingly beautiful several weeks ago in  middle Georgia and have since completely faded from view, are putting on a grand show, prolifically performing along the edge of the highway. Queen Anne's Lace has begun to flower, with multiple blooms of delicate white lace-like heads on tall slender stems that bend in the breeze of passing vehicles. Bright yellow coreopsis that comes back year after year, growing in clumps and re-seeding, in brilliant contrast to the white of the daisy blooms. One place, closer to TN, someone had scattered seed of larkspur, where it was growing in tall spikes, brilliant royal blue, and shades of purple and lavender, waving gently in the stirred wind of cars whizzing past. What a pleasant surprise! I almost made a U turn at the next cross over, just to ride by and have a second glance.

I did not expect rain as I traveled, but encountered several showers while driving. We have been rain-less in middle Georgia for several weeks. I expect farmers who depend on Mother Nature are beginning to be concerned about lack of rainfall, needing the moisture to grow crops. I've recently noticed vast acreage of planted corn, about knee high that will not grow and produce without ample water. Over the years of inconsistent rainfall, there have been years when I would travel the country side and see it get waist high and die, never growing enough to gain maturity and provide a crop for market. Let's be thankful for potable water at our fingertips, on demand. As well as not being people who depend of the whims of nature for putting food on the table.

after working...

... all day, I got in my car and drove for four hours to get to the southern edge of TN. Arriving about seven o'clock, after a long day of busyness. With plans to spend the night and day on Wed., return home to be back at work on Thursday.

My co-worker, M., who is very dependable, reliable and always on the job, (but not on the schedule due to working on Sunday when he is usually off) so I spent most of my working hours trying to get floral area put to rights. Mother's Day sales were excellent, to the point of completely depleting nearly every stem-leaf-cut-flower in the store. There were a few plants left, either shabby looking or with blooms not yet opened, but otherwise it looked like Egypt after the locust plague whirred through, stripping every green thing bare.

To replenish the dearth of blooms, boxes and boxes of cut flowers came from the warehouse, in sleeves for display, needing to have stems cut and put out in buckets for grab-and-go sale. A goodly number of small bouquets, in bud vases and other containers, pre-arranged, to be put in the reach-in cooler for customers to pick up ready-made arrangements. Cartons and cartons of plants to replace all those we normally have on display but were gobbled up by patrons who knew not to go visit auntie, grandma, or baby-mama empty-handed on a day set aside to celebrate motherhood.

Oddly enough, I seemed to be the only one on Saturday and Sunday who was thinking ahead int Monday, and what would happen over the weekend. The managers' concern was limited to hoping we would see most of what we had in stock sold to customers who would exchange cash for goods. All looking at how sales would affect the P&L bottom line. Understandable from a business standpoint. But my perspective was one of knowing the floral department would look like a war zone on Monday morning: devastated, wiped-out. Not being at work on Monday, I did not actually see it but having experienced it in the past, knew what to expect.

I've seen it in the past, when people would wait until well past the 'last minute' and dash in, in panic mode, desperately looking for some small offering.Grabbing up anything that would prevent them from showing up at the door empty handed, giving the appearance of having completely failed to remember and consider the value of nurturing received. Seeming to have no respect for the one who provided the caring, feeding, nurturing by that person willingly devoting time and effort to providing sustenance and guidance, table manners and potty training. We all have someone in our lives: auntie, grandmother, neighbor who chose to take us by the ear as needed and correct behavior, setting us straight as we veered off course on the hazard-filled road to adulthood. Best not 'dis' the guide who dragged us into being capable, responsible, productive grown-ups!

things you never...

... thought to be thankful for. I always make a stop someplace along the road when I go to SC for the day to visit my pen pal. Sometimes going to a Home Depot garden shop that is just off an exit on I-85 in north Georgia. Or going a little farther off the interstate to get to Wally-world and find something colorfully blooming in there plant selection, as well as pick up something for us to eat from the bakery. Today the stop was on a busy section of highway in Commerce at the big discount store.

When I pulled into the parking lot, pretty early in the day, after leaving metro area about 6:15, and heading out northeast in the interstate, I noticed someone parked in an SUV out on the far edge of the lot. It almost looked like a traffic accident had occurred, with lots of stuff lying around the vehicle. Went on in through the garden shop, found a really pretty hanging basket, full of what the tag described as 'climbing vinca'. It should bloom all summer with plenty of water and bright sunshine.

Being mildly intrigued by the mess there at the end of the paved diagonal parking, I sort of detoured out of my way heading back to the street. Observing a woman, who appeared to be the sole occupant of the utility vehicle, who was industriously taking things out of the back hatch. Piling up various items on the asphalt. Corrugated cardboard boxes. A folded up canopy/tent. Plastic bins. But apparently not making a dent in the packed-to-the-brim rear of the truck. So tightly jammed in that even though she had a goodly sized pile of belongings on the pavement, you could not see through to the seating area in the front.

Looking for all the world like she was living in there. Or moving from A to B with all her worldly possessions carefully/meticulously filling every square inch of her SUV. Making me very thankful that I am neither moving nor living in a car. Thankful for a home, bed, walls, electricity, potable water on demand, utilities, appliances, clean, dry, warm/cool. Thankful to be here, amongst all the 'mod- cons'.

crossing the border...

... into South Carolina always causes me think of a friend who lives up in the northwest corner of North Carolina. In order to get to where she lives, 'way off up there in the place that is nearly into TN and almost to VA, you make a sharp left turn as soon as you get across the Georgia state line. And drive through the hills on rural state highways so curvy the road signs look like they are warning you about snakes. I have a very clear memory of taking a daughter who wanted to go visit, and meeting the friend there at the Welcome Center: you have to take the first exit on the interstate into SC, and make a U turn to get back into GA.

I did not do that today, but was hightailing it on into SC to get to Greenville for a short visit with my pen pal. I have not seen Homer in quite a while. A trip to SC was on my calendar back in April, but I made several trips to VA instead, and had to postpone getting up to see Homer. Due to his age, I try to get up there to visit once a month, knowing that any visit could be the last one: I will want to go and he will be gone.

We spoke of trivial stuff, talking about family and things of little consequence. Just spending time together. Walking around his yard, he complained about neighbors' cats doing their business on his property: they have no manners, but plenty of 'breeding' as they are constantly reproducing.) I suggested he trap them and call the city to come and get them.. He said the city will charge him $50 per cat. I then told the story of the cousin whose husband trapped squirrels that were eating his tomatoes, hauled them miles away and released, off only to become convinced the rodents were beating him back to the house.

He muttered about weeds, ignorant/neglectful lawn service guys, squirrels, weeds and more weeds.  We wandered around looking at hydrangeas he has had growing for years, talked about some thornless blackberries and little dogwood trees he hopes to transplant, a rose bush I gave him years ago in a three inch pot that is now nearly as tall as I am. We went to BK for lunch, stopped to post a letter and back to the house. When I said: 'I am so sorry, but need to get started back home, as I hope to beat the worst of the traffic through Atlanta.' He laughed and said: 'You will never do that!' He was right. It was going about 14 mph when I got on the 285 perimeter.

But I safely made it back  home, in order to get up at 4 a.m. for arriving at work at 5 o'clock. It is not even fully dark yet, but I am ready to say: Good night all.

the lead-up to....

... the artificial/commercially generated holiday on Sunday appears to be quite profitable. The floral department did a whopping business on Saturday, and expect there will be a world of folks who failed to think ahead for the occasion. There will be many who will dream up a variety of excuses on Sunday morning to make a quick trip to the store for: bread, milk, orange juice, newspaper, cereal, toilet paper  - a long list of necessities. Only to return  home with some offering as a last minute remembrance for all the Mothers in their lives.

The warehouse shipped several stacked pallets of boxed items for sale over the weekend, with the plan we should sell hundreds of plants and thousands of cut flowers. The plants include: tulips, calla lilies in a variety of unusual colors, hydrangeas, Asiatic lily, begonias, azaleas, orchids. A great variety of cut flowers assembled into bouquets, plus hundreds and hundreds of roses. Possibly not as many dozens of pre-wrapped, cash-and-carry roses as we usually receive on Valentine's Day, but more than you could imagine people would purchase for giving to their favorite females. Plenty for every mom, grandma, auntie, wife, cousin, in-law, out-law, miscellaneous women who played a role in turning malleable children into functioning adults.

I tried to tell the guys who are responsible for ordering from the warehouse that it will be a sad, sorry sight on Monday morning: there won't be anything left to sell, floral-wise. I expected all the cut flowers as well as plants to be gone. As those forgetful, neglectful, self-centered (mostly) men came dragging in late in the day looking sheepish. Knowing there would be serious consequences if they failed to walk in the door to see the baby-mama, or auntie without some sort of offering of appreciation for their efforts to whack some sense or manners into those thick skulls. I walked out of the store at four o'clock and know that there was practically nothing left for purchase. Some chocolates, with a colorful 'Thanks, Mom' over-wrap. Otherwise, virtually no items other than a few weary, bedraggled, shop-worn, picked over plants.

We can assume selling everything the warehouse shipped would be considered a roaring success. But in all likelihood, there will be conversation about 'you should have ordered more', when the managers walk in and see rows of empty buckets as we sold every bloom in the store. I wondered if those last-minute shoppers were attempting to assemble bouquets out of stalks of broccoli and leaf lettuce: with some salad dressing that would be a really  nice offering to my way of thinking! 'Way better than something that will be dead in four days. My thought is that I would always rather have something good to eat, especially if it also provides an opportunity to spend time with some of my favorite people while we chew and laugh together.

an ode to daughters ...

... because without them I would not be a mom. If I may beg your forbearance, a little bit of sentimental foolishness directed at the dearest family and friends. For the people I most cherish who also happen to be the few who will check in here on a semi-regular basis. Just thinking of the peeps in my life who bring me joy.

I am well aware of the fact that we are approximately halfway between last Christmas and the next one. Meaning you should disregard the part about December holiday, and adjust your thinking to see the following as something without seasonal aspect.Look at it for the positivity and encouragement it expresses.

I read it on a sampler my sister-in-law has hanging on her wall. Lots of other cross-stitch samplers hanging up in the same place, with most having some reference to Christmas. They are all intricate and beautifully done, tedious work that I would never attempt. I know how demanding and time consuming the needle work can be after a couple of small things I did many years ago that brought my cross-stitch career to a screeching halt soon after it got underway.  I can appreciate the art, skill, patience and effort of anything so laborious made but especially appreciate the sentiment of the words that follow.

"I am thinking of you today because it is Christmas, and I wish you happiness, and tomorrow because it will be the day after Christmas, I shall still wish you happiness, and so on clear through the year. I may not be able to tell you about it every day, but that makes no difference; the thought and wish will be here just the same. Whenever joy or success comes to you it will make me glad."
                                                                                                                                   ~ H. Van Dyke

Wasn't that sweet? Don't you wish you had written it? Don't you want such good things and sweet kind thoughts for all the dearest people in your life?

the very last one...

... for this school year, and perhaps for ever. I backed into a day of sub. teaching, pretty close to the end of the semester. A little anxious about having enough days to reach the minimum of twenty for the year. I think/hope I am there, but still a bit fearful  - though I cannot say why, as I honestly have no explanation as to what makes me think I need to continue in this pointless endeavor.  I rationalize and try to think: "why?" It seems remarkably similar to punishment, I cannot come up with an answer that seems even half-reasonable.

At any rate: I went today, thinking I had agreed to take a job for half a day. I am sincerely hoping that half days count toward the required total. At least half of the days I have put myself through the unmitigated misery of sub. work have been only 1/2 - going in at 7:45 and getting off at noon. Oddly - I thought that was what I had signed on for today, but when I got there and started a conversation with the teacher in the Kindergarten class, she was not aware of that part of the plan. Either the para. pro. failed to tell her she was going to be out all day, or me not understanding  - some wires crossed with the communicating. I ended up staying all day. I am just too dad-gum accommodating.

Well. I cannot say for absolutely certain it was the worst ever, but I will say it might run all the others a really close second. She is a good, capable, experienced teacher, able to manage a classroom full of five year olds, and skilled at what she does. There were enough kids in that room that have a variety of problems that she was slogging uphill, and probably feels like she has been doing that since August. Reminding me of that character from Greek mythology who was destined to perpetually push a large boulder up hill every day for eternity, only to have it roll back down overnight. Sisyphus?

I did not have a particularly bad day personally. But I know it was very stressful for the teacher, as well as another adult, an aide that is maybe a floater for K. classes, who had to physically restrain one student who appeared to have no self-control. Which was a real distraction for all the others who might have otherwise learned something in the course of the day. Sad to think there were so many kids in there that did not get much in the way of education. Or much in the way of nutrition, as they sat and talked and played during lunch rather than eat: pizza and tater-tots, plus fresh strawberries.

while reading...

... recently, I came across an expression that gave me pause. Something worded in an unusual way that really stuck in my brain, and has been perched there for several weeks, as I ponder. The story was a mystery, sort of creepy in the sense of one that makes you think there is going to be a real twist at the end, and the lead character will suddenly morph into someone completely different. Leaving you with the feeling the author was hiding something all along, as if there were some psychological stuff going on like multiple personalities.

That expression, I think probably a colloquialism common to people in the UK, as the plot line occurred in London, was 'mod con'. It took me a while to figure it out, even with the clues in the surrounding sentence, and context of small living space in a below ground-level apartment. The character involved was referring to the things that bring simplicity or ease to daily life: electricity and appliances that need power to operate. In-home devices that people who live in middle class America use without hesitation. Operating on automatic, without giving the fact of refrigerators or stoves, indoor cooking a second thought. We just open the door of the 'fridge, take out the meat, turn on the stove, get out the skillet and drop the food in the pan to cook. Amazing, if you stop to consider how readily those things are all available, as well as the electricity necessary to keep all in good working order.

One of those things that I frequently name on my list of things to be thankful for is electricity, as well as financial security/stability. The power to operate all those pieces of equipment us middle-classers find so essential to daily life is really a luxury, as there are many places in the world where it is not readily available. As well as places here in North America where people do not have the resources to consider it as something they expect when they get out of bed and flip a switch or adjust a thermostat. Thankful for being able to pay the power bill each month, and the idea that the Southern Companies are so dependable and constantly generating more power for us to be frivolous with.

Enjoy your mod cons! Just remember to be thankful that you do have electricity and those useful appliances to make your life easier: washers, dryers, comfortable living being not too hot and not too cold as seasons change. Remember to be a bit wary of the ease with which we have become addicted to this languid life-style, and how quickly it can all disappear if some crisis occurs in the grid that causes us to have to live without electricity. Scarey....

even though...

... it is somewhat past the bedtime of a person who needs to get up at 5 a.m., in order to be at work at 6, I need to make some notes while my long day is foremost in my brain. I did not use the word 'fresh' as my body and cranium are both weary and pretty well drained from spending six hours in the car, in addition to another six with the auntie when I got her to dental appointment today. Thankfully the travel part of the day was uneventful, listening to public radio or the talking book from the library.

The plan was to leave home by 7, and get to the facility where she lives around 10. Giving time for going to the store and looking for some new clothing, as well as having lunch before the dental office opened at two o'clock. By the time she got her hair combed and teeth brushed, it was nearly 11:00 so we went to Wendy's. Then on to the mall to look for new pants. I soon realized she has no stamina for walking any distance at all. Reminding me of that corollary to Murphy's Law: inertia breeds inertia. I don't think she does much exercise and very little walking around - other than down the hall to the dining room three times a day, with little or no pushing back from the table. Which explains why we needed to go to JCP and find elastic waist pants.

After lunch and shopping (when she was very vocal about the cost of everything until I told her it was all half-price, which was possibly a bald faced lie, but she did pipe down.) we had time to kill so just took the scenic route, tooling around town for nearly an hour. She would occasionally comment on something looking familiar: 'this looks almost like a place I remember from Valdosta' (which, of course, it IS!) Lots of chattiness about what a pretty day it was, and how beautiful the sky is and how nice the trees look. Over and over, as any person completely devoid of short term memory is prone to do.

Dentist wanted her to take antibiotic and come back for him to look again, after she has appt. for hygiene/cleaning. Hoping that a combination of those factors will reveal there is actually no problem. While we were sitting in Walgreen's awaiting the Rx, she got annoyed, frustrated, anxious, concerned, fearful, confused.  Quite obviously could not understand/comprehend/remember anything about her situation or recent months of her life. No retention as I tried to explain why she lives where she does, as well as why she cannot move/change/live alone. She was pretty steamed at me by the time we got back across town and I took her to the facility where she has been living since last summer. For the fifth time, she claimed to not know she lives there.

She was so put out, aggravated and frustrated with me, I might have slipped out the door while she was distracted looking in her closet, trying to find her clothes. Spoke briefly to a staff person, then beat a hasty retreat, after leaving my number for someone to call me so I could give an update. As I left, getting on the road for the three hour drive back home, I thought to myself: as sad as this situation is, I should be thankful this woman is so fierce. She is so certain I am to blame - still - for all the misfortune that has befallen her, she needs to think everything is my fault. While she is being so determined, cantankerous, opinionated, and obstinate, her ferocious attitude makes it much easier for me to Not Feel Guilty about her sad, disheartening circumstances.

driving south...

... to spend six hours on the road, down to Valdosta and back before bedtime. The auntie needs attention. When I was there several weeks ago, the staff at her residential facility mentioned they had made her an appointment to get to the dentist. After hearing her repeatedly say she was having some sort of problem with her mouth. In order to know what is really going on, I feel I need to go with her,, be present, at any visits with medical professionals. Which caused me to change the date of the appointment, moving it back enough for me to get it on my calendar and reschedule when I could go.

Today is the day. It's not unusual for me to have to set my alarm for four a.m., in order to be at work at 5 o'clock, in the morning, in the dark. Getting up at 5:30 to shower and be on the road by seven o'clock is therefore, not a big deal. It's just a long day of mostly sitting - being focused enough to avoid dangers on the road, but plenty of time to ponder, meditate, consider the universe. I have a talking book to keep me company, as well as tuning across the radio dial for reception from various public radio stations.

The staff is aware of the appointment at 2:00 p.m., and will have her ready to go when I arrive. But we need to get some shopping done before going to have her mouth looked at. When I was with her recently, she showed me how her pants don't meet in the middle. She has been so well-fed and so inactive she has put on enough weight that we need to buy new clothes. Hopefully we can go to some large department store like JCP or Belks and find something with elastic or a drawstring that is more forgiving of consumption of cake and ice cream. Her laundry is done there by staff, everything likely dumped in hot water and then tossed in extra high heat dryers. So it will be a challenge to find pants that will withstand abuse, and hold up enough to hold up.

I really enjoy driving across south Georgia, especially in the early morning, when the world is waking up. Looking at the landscape, acreage with small plants beginning to emerge across the neatly tilled fields. Miles and miles of completely undeveloped land, trees as far as you can see. Familiar territory.

driving to east GA ...

... alone on Saturday to attend an event honoring a family ancestor. Even though I put forth some effort to recruit family for an amusing road trip, hoping that doing some genealogy research might tempt others to want to go along. Especially since my check to pay for bar-b-que lunch was mailed weeks ago, and I fully expected them to go in order to help consume that high-priced meal. That part worked out ok, when I decided to take a cooler and Styrofoam/take out boxes in order to retrieve that food I paid for. Plus a salad for me, as I knew I would not be eating a plate piled with meat.

The purpose of the trip was to be present when the Washington-Wilkes Sons of the Revolution made plans to dedicate a memorial to Owen and his wife. He was the son of a man from Virginia, and settled in the wilds of the eastern part of Georgia. When the British wanted to show those upstarts a thing or two, after the colonists refused to bow to English demands, the redcoats were soundly routed at the Battle of Kettle Creek. Yay us!

I think this man, who went off to defend family and farm, might be my fifth great grandfather. It gets confusing after so many 'greats', so I am not sure about that relationship. I do know there were lots of cousins there for the lunch and well organized program. Even though it was blistering hot out in the treeless cemetery in very rural Taliferro County, it was well attended. A good crowd turned out, including a group of Revolutionary re-enactors in full extremely warm wool jackets, vests, knee pants and white hosiery.  They presented the colors, as the event began, stood patiently by dripping buckets of sweat, waiting to retrieve the colors at the end.

Standing in the hot mid-day sun, the color guard then ended the ceremony by firing their muskets, and presented the Mourn Muskets before we adjourned. Decked out with tri-corner hats and bright metal buckles on their shoes in the fashion of that day. Those men, representing the frontiersmen, homeowners and hard working families of the early 1700's, added pomp and color to the proceedings, as we honored the ancestor who trooped off with the militia well prior to the signing of the Declaration of Independence from the Motherland.

driving across the state...

... to get to a rural church in east Georgia. I spent the night on Friday in Decatur and got up on Saturday to travel on to join with lots of previously un-met cousins for an unusual event planned to honor one of our forebears. An ancestor who was a revolutionary, in the best sense of the word. A man who came from Virginia, and settled in north east Georgia, lived in a log cabin that is (amazingly) still inhabited by family members.  Descendants of this soldier who marched off with the militia to defend his home and family from the British redcoats met on a hot Saturday in May at Phillips Mill Baptist Church where Owen and Sarah were charter members..

It was a beauty-full day, with lots of colorful wildflowers along the right of way as I traveled.Driving along the interstate towards Augusta,  though I turned off before getting near the state line. The ancestor, who received a land grant for his service, lived near Washington GA.Possibly so long ago, there was not much to the town, maybe just a livery, inn, general store.  It is beautiful countryside, with rolling hills and what appears to be good fertile farm land.

Daisies, growing prolifically along the highway, were bright and white, waving in the passing breeze of vehicles on tall slender stems. Queen Anne's lace was just starting to bloom and will be beautiful in the coming weeks if we get a little rain. Some type of low growing purple flower, that I have thought of as a form of wild/native verbena was brilliant in color in large swaths along the embankments in the highway. Red clover has started to fade, due to heat, but will likely reseed and come back with brilliant scarlet blooms next spring, after the DOT tractors mow it down. All those colors: red, white and blue were so appropriate for the day, looking very patriotic as I motored across the hills and valleys, river bridges and over creeks making my way to the land of the forebears.

I enjoyed visiting with some cousins I have met at annual pilgrimages to a state park on the Little River impoundment in recent years. Though I have not done enough research to attest to the reliability of the claim, I was lead to believe we have very distinctive ears, with long lobes. The event was held near Wilkes County, where my dad was born, and there are many relatives still in residence. Plus all those recently discovered cousins that appeared, heretofore unknown, ready to eat their weight in bar-be-que.

if you are ...

... just tuning in, you will want a brief back story about my ill-fated career as a substitute teacher. I will give that - after telling you about a little girl today who was for some completely unknown reason so taken with my presence she asked if I was going to come back tomorrow. Tomorrow being Saturday, I said: "No, and you won't either!" It was a circus, a classroom filled with needy kids.

I've been sub. teaching for years, and honestly cannot decipher why. I don't enjoy it, and really don't need the little bit of income enough to warrant the misery it takes to get paid. I make about $55 for spending my day as a teacher's aide in a pre-K or Kindergarten classroom. Years ago, when I still had a family at home that needed my attention after an exhausting day of sub. work, I would come dragging in the door wondering what the dinner plans were. Along with three other people who were wondering the same thing including a man who would say: 'I would have paid you a hundred dollars to stay at home and not be so exhausted and cranky when you come crawling in.'

Plus if you do the work at the beginning of a pay period, it can be nearly a month before the funds are actually deposited in your account - so far after the event you rarely recall where you were when you earned it. Or how awful the job situation was that you survived. Admittedly, going in the classroom as a teacher instead of support staff pays better, but it is also accompanied by a massively bigger headache which usually seems like too high a price to pay for getting a day closer to the minimum requirement of twenty days.

Happily I can announce that today was day number 21. I had a sub. job last Monday, in addition to the one today that was just sort of 'insurance', a cushion to be sure I had the days needed. Sadly, I looked at my watch this morning when I was with the students in art class and said to myself: "How can it be that I have been here all day long and it is only 9:30 in the morning?"

a genius idea....

... that came from my own personal brain, that I completely forgot about, only to be reminded by a dear friend. I told my family some years ago that I did not want them to buy me anything for gift-giving occasions. I don't want any more jewelry, clothing, collectibles, things that I will have to find some place to put. Nothing that will accumulate in my house and life. If we cannot eat it, I don't want it.  Or Fun. I am always up for Fun.

That was not something that is easy to hear: when you want to do something for someone you care about, I think we all tend to spend. Birthday cards, various superfulous presents, or cake and ice cream. I readily admit I do it too - but have figured out a way to combine giving attention to commemorate a special day with not actually forcing an unwanted gift on the recipient: Cheap cards from Just-A-Buck with a gift card enclosed for something good to eat. We all gotta eat, right?  Some place mildly amusing like Dairy Queen or Chic-fil-A, where you can actually get the ice cream which is a vital part of celebrating.

So, no 'stuff', ok? But what you can do, if you feel compelled to spend your money: donations. To most any place that depends on the generosity of strangers.  Any reputable charitable organization that tugs at your heart, makes you feel you have invested in changing the world. They will send a card of acknowledgment, make you feel good, the honored feel good, and you will be doing good!

This friend remembered some years ago when I was busily trying to convince my family about my personal 'theory of gifting' I suggested they should support the library and literacy programs. I heard about the Ferst Foundation (POB 1327, Madison, GA 30650) years ago, and thought it a great way to support efforts to encourage children to love books and reading. Helping kids who have brains that absorb knowledge like sponges learn the basics of surviving in the world. Learn what those mysterious symbols on cereal boxes and road signs mean. I have sent funds earmarked as donations to honor individuals a number of times over the years. Showing my commitment to help provide little people with books, develop a life-long love of the printed word.

If you want to do something kind, generous, thoughtful and make the world a better place: do what Sharon did. Encourage a child to learn how to read! Literacy might save the world. Send a donation to the Brooks County Public Library, 404 Barwick Rd., Quitman, GA 31643. 

for sale:....

... but not having a whole lotta luck with that! I have been optimistically hoping to find a buyer for my auntie's car, that she will not ever be driving again. Maybe a little inappropriate when you think it is an effort to settle her estate while she is still kicking, but with something that will age poorly, I feel like the sooner it has a new owner, the better. It's not that old, and has been well cared for, with low mileage and a good service record.

I even checked to see if there is a history of body work, and found nothing. Which was quite surprising, as I know she has not had the best ever driving history, and even though she claimed to have been taught to drive by her brother-in-law (my dad), she was a terrible driver. I've been in the car with her often enough to observe her methods, and soon concluded that I should always be the driver, and let her just enjoy the ride - in an effort to keep my safety and sanity intact!

A friend made the trip to south GA with me about a month ago to bring the little Toyota back so I could park it on the street and try to find a buyer. With a' for sale' sign in the window, in front of my house on a busy street, I was hopeful that someone would call. I did get lots of messages from people expressing interest, but when they heard the price that was it. Few were interested enough to come and drive and think it the perfect addition to their family fleet. Two people did come to test drive, there were no buyers. Plan B: take it into town, to sit out on the curb  in front of an office on an even busier street, with my number in the window. Thus far,  plan B has been even less successful!

I have had two calls in recent days, making me a bit more optimistic. One was from someone who was to meet me late yesterday. She did not show up, so I left after fifteen minutes - only to have her call me when I was nearly home. We will try again today. She wanted her teenager to drive it. The other call is for a dad who has a sixteen year old he might want to get it for. I will meet him today as well.

I feel a sense of urgency about finding a buyer as I know the longer it sits, the older it gets (and the less value it has on the market) I have never had any problems with the two Toyota cars I have owned, and feel like it is a good little vehicle, would be great for a teenager to putz around in as they get excellent mileage. Just need to find the person who is willing to pay what I believe it is worth, according to the Blue Book. There is a concern about negotiations on the price as I will have to answer to probate if the court does not feel that full/reasonable value has been paid for her property.

it took soooooo long...

... to get to the solution for the problem, and the solution happened so fast! After finally deciding to make an appointment to get the pain in my hand and arm evaluated, I made the call last September. Since I would be a 'new patient', it would be nearly two months before they could schedule me to actually see the specialist, guy who works exclusively on hands. I was supposed to see him in Nov. But had that sad frustrating accident in mid-October that resulted in a FOOSH (falling on out-stretched hand). The actual appointment was cancelled when I had a follow up visit with the doctor post surgery, which was also the day before I was originally scheduled to see him.

Slow process of having metal  inserted, getting the slice sewed up and healing, with a cast to immobilize and long weeks of therapy and regaining strength and mobility. I feel like I am as good as I am going to get, have been back at work, doing all I usually do since the end of January. Working enough that the original problem has become problematic again. When I am not doing the normal work of spending hours a day with a knife in my hand, cutting fruit, making salads, doing prep. work that involves the range of motion slicing requires it is not at all bothersome. But hours of holding a large knife and repetitive motion can be troublesome.

I knew this difficulty would likely return when I started back to work, after extensive therapy to regain strength and flexibility. But when I asked about it, at the last appointment post surgery, when the doc. told me I was finished with exercises: he said I would have to schedule a separate visit for that particular problem. I actually did go back out to the front desk and request a 'do-over' and was told when to return. That resulted in me making two more appointments when the doc. was so swamped, I could not spend the afternoon sitting in the waiting room. I finally, finally finally saw him again today. He seemed delighted to see me - even though I am sure he says that to everyone who has there insurance billed for an office visit.

So... what happened? After numerous x-rays, the doc. came in and held my hand, squeezing and smooshing, twisting and bending, asking 'does this hurt?' He showed me a bone spur and arthritis on the film where the long bone and hand bones come together. And offered a quick easy solution that would be dispensed through a long sharp needle into that joint. I went back to work, and am hopeful. He said I do not need to come back unless I need to come back.

church in the yard, part 2...

... is what I found when I got home from the week recently spent in Virginia. About that trip: I had tickets to go, but spur-of-the-moment decided to go days earlier, after receiving a call from my sister- in-law with markedly bad news about deteriorating condition of my brother. That tale does not have a happy ending, but I will not go into it here as the report on that situation happened weeks ago.

My co-worker, the guy who gets so much enjoyment from the visible improvements he sees after spending the morning mowing, trimming, raking, brought a variety of potted plants for me to get my own version of 'therapy'. I have tried a number of times over the years we have worked together to persuade him to go with my family to church, but he has declined. Except for last Easter, when I was very surprised when he showed up and greeted me at the early service.

He and I have often talked of how satisfying it is to dig holes, plant things, get projects finished out doors when you can easily see the result of your labor, and the good feeling  have when your accomplishments are readily visible. I've long promoted the effects of hole-digging and weed-pulling as the best therapy ever.  Not only is the process gratifying as you enjoy sunshine and exercise, the digging and inserting a seed or plant gives the opportunity to optimistically expect beauty or even food! As you observe it sprout, grow and possibly produce fruit or vegetables. 

I have put most of the things he brought and left by my front door as an offering of condolence to give me an excuse to dig and plant. Most have been put in pots across the front of the house, that already had a variety of plants installed - mostly herbs that are green, growing, and draping over the sides of various terracotta planters. A pot full of purple petunias went in a hanging basket I can see from the table where I sit and type. I am optimistic it will be attractive to hummingbirds, with those trumpet shaped blooms, and hope I can keep it watered to bloom all summer. Another plant, with hundreds of wee little blooms is in a planter right be the front door, where it already looks thirsty, so I need to give them all a drink.

A couple of daisy plants, one white and one yellow await planting, due to the fact that I have not decided where they should go.  Along with a pink splash, that I will put in a container and let it grow near the front door. I had one several years ago, in a pot near the front door, which surprised me by surviving the winter, to be just as pretty and colorful the second summer. Plus they are really easy to pinch off and root, when they start getting too big, so you can have more to plant or share.

Thanks to the guy who chooses to look at life as a glass that is Half Full. It has been excellent therapy!