I
should pull the blinds at night, but I’d still wake up. I always wake up at
7:30 anyway. And it’s just one more thing to do at night. I don’t want to get
up. This is the first morning in a long time I haven’t had to be somewhere. No
clients today, just playing catch up.
Tot hops on my chest, puts his wet
nose against mine and tickles me with his whiskers. I pull the covers up and
roll over, but he’s persistent. With his rough little tongue, he licks my cheek
and chin. I cover my face with my hand because I know he’ll sneeze any minute.
He
hasn’t been sneezing as much lately. Maybe he’s finally getting over the virus
the vet says he has. I can’t believe he’s eight months old already. One of
these days, he’ll actually grow into his huge bushy tail.
Tot sneezes the minute I uncover my
face. Nothing like tiny wet droplets of kitten snot in the morning to get my
attention. I wipe my face, grab and cuddle him anyway, petting his silky soft
Tabby fur. I look into his eyes with their Egyptian eyeliner trailing from each
corner. His eyes are wide open, mine just barely. What a character he his! Half
the size of the dog, Charlie, and our other cat, Riley, he loves stalking each
of them, pouncing on their tails. It makes them barking, hissy-fit mad.
I
don’t want to get up. Charlie’s probably crossing his back legs wanting to get
out of the utility room, he needs feeding, Scott will want his coffee and
breakfast, and I need to get a lot of paperwork done today.
Wonder if my brother wrote back this
morning? It’s been a long time since I heard from him and when he does email
me, it’s usually with something he’s forwarding like the Veteran’s Day
remembrance he sent last night. His email to me was so brief, just about his
medical challenges and not much about Bert. Maybe I overwhelmed him with my
recount of family happenings when I responded to his initial email. I only gave
him a few facts, not the real stuff of life. It’s easy for me to say Scott’s
side of the family has all the drama, but maybe that’s my way of not getting
into detail about what’s really going on.
Courtney’s husband, Ron, is in Adak,
Alaska working on a two month construction project. His son, Ryan, who has been
living with them is supposed to go join the crew of four. He quit his job in
Tacoma and is waiting for the company owner to let him know what day he’s
supposed to fly out. He’s never flown before and Courtney’s worried about how
he’ll do, not only on the flight, but on the job. Courtney also worries about
Ron pacing himself so he doesn’t get hurt. There’s no good medical care in Adak
and his complicated medical history doesn’t help calm her nerves. If anything
major happened, he would have to be flown to Anchorage. She threatened him with
what a helicopter ride might cost. Do you
suppose that will keep him healthy? In the meantime, Courtney is arranging
care for three-year old Ben while she works weekend nights at Children’s
Hospital in Seattle as a supervising nurse. Courtney is truly a care giver. How many times have I said, “Courtney, don’t
forget to take care of yourself.”
Courtney’s daughter, twenty-one year
old Karina, was here with her adoption mom, Laura, this week. They stayed with Courtney
for three nights. We all had dinner together on Wednesday and I had a chance to
visit with them again Thursday afternoon. I hadn’t seen Laura since we met at
Good Samaritan Hospital when Karina was born.
That
was hard for me – those days and the ones that followed. I wanted Courtney to
keep Karina, but she was eighteen and it was her decision. I know it was hard
for her too, but the decision was about Karina.
After
spending time with Laura this week, I know where Karina gets her critical
thinking skills and her wonderfully sassy attitude. Intelligent and outspoken,
Laura is very involved in politics in Ketchikan, Alaska. Although they couldn’t
be more opposite in political beliefs, Laura and Scott had a very spirited,
civil discussion Wednesday evening with each respecting the other’s views, if
not agreeing with them. Courtney was holding her breath when that discussion
began. So was I. Guess we both tend to avoid confrontation.
Kendall is my researcher, gatherer
of all possible data before-making-a-decision, daughter. I love her for it. Will she or won’t she go back to teaching
science in a junior high in Puyallup next fall? She’s applied for other very
different positions in two school districts, started a business of her own, is
taking care of two children under the age of three and a half, working online
at night for a university critiquing student teachers, and still has time to
give sound advice and share feelings about what matters to her with her friends
on Facebook. When Jon leaves on trips for Boeing, the responsibilities escalate
for a couple weeks at a time. Kendall becomes a single parent. Regardless of
all that, every decision she finally makes (but may change based on better
data) takes into consideration the welfare of her children, Micah and Grace.
Was
I ever that thoughtful when it came to making decisions as a young parent? I
don’t think so. I’ve learned so much from Kendall – and not just about
nutrition.
My seventy-nine year old sister Lore
was here Wednesday evening also. I really admire her. Quick witted, with a
ready laugh and a kind heart, she’s certainly had her challenges. In the last
three years, she had breast cancer, fell and broke her ribs while in the
hospital and then, had to postpone gall bladder surgery because of it. Now cancer
free and also free of her gall bladder, she flew to Hawaii in February for her
granddaughter, Hailey’s, fourth birthday. While her children and three
grandsons are doing well, two of her other grown granddaughters have caused a
lot of heartache. One is in California. Lore gave her a home for over a year
and encouraged a new beginning, only to have her use one of Lore’s credit cards
without permission. She ran up a huge bill that wasn’t discovered until after
she had moved out. The other has served thirteen years of a twenty-six year prison sentence for burglary and assault. Lore just bought her a system to convert printed text to braille, so she can become a certified transcriber or braillist while in prison. It will earn her a small income and provide her with marketable skills when she’s released.
I’m so blessed to have the
daughters I do. I remember Lore consoling her daughter when they came to a
choral performance at Pacific Lutheran University in which Kendall was
performing. The contrast in life journeys between Lore’s granddaughters and my
daughters was heart wrenching for them.
Lore called me Thursday to thank me
for inviting her to the family gathering Wednesday evening. She’s so appreciative. I need to visit her
more often. She mentioned on the phone that Scott looked worse than when
she saw him last. I was sitting with Scott at the time of the phone call and
with a breezy response, told her we were together and that he has his
challenges. She got the message. He is
getting worse. That’s what happens when you smoke for 57 years.
Scott’s pulmonologist told us he has
the lungs of a four year old trying to support a 250 pound man. In spite of
that, Scott told me he’s really enjoyed the last month. He did a couple
presentations at the senior center about writing his book and he had a loving
in-person conversation with son Devon, who he hasn’t seen in three and a half
years. Being a part of the writing class I taught gave him an ego boost. He was
surrounded by women his age who gave him positive feedback on his writing. He
was in heaven!
Since it’s tough for Scott to get
out, I’m inviting interesting people we’ve met to have dinner with us. Bring
the fun to him, if he can’t get out to find it for himself.
Thank
heavens for Kendall’s crockpot recipes. I really don’t like cooking. With more
than two guests, it seems you work and work and then people eat it and then you
have to clean up and wonder why you haven’t had a decent conversation with anyone.
I’m going to keep it simple with the two-at-a-time guest plan and hope the
conversations, in which I hope to participate, make up for my cooking.
And there’s always Scott’s studio to
think about. Three years since he’s
recorded anyone in it and maybe I’m being stubborn, but I refuse to help him
with it. He has other people who can help and it’s his project, not mine. For
twenty years, I’ve been carrying equipment up and down stairs for him. If I have
to carry one more piece upstairs, only to have to carry it downstairs a month
later, I’ll scream or stomp on his oxygen tubing or refuse to bring him coffee
in the morning or do something equally heinous.
Tot is sleeping on me with one paw
on my face and his tail curled around my neck like a fur collar. I should get up. I have to pee, my lower
back hurts and my hips are stiff. Is this what old age is about – aches and
pains in the morning. Oh well, once I get going, they’ll go away – usually do.
I may have to take some Ibuprophen. I still have to let Charlie out, brew a new
pot, fix my oatmeal, take my vitamins, get Scott’s coffee and breakfast, make
sure he takes his pills, start a load of washing, get some paperwork done and I
really want to get out in the yard…
I
roll over to look at the clock. 10:23 am. How did that happen!
1 comment:
Your calm and accepting approach to life comes through. Very inspiring. And, I love the animal anecdotes woven in. Makes for a cozy read!
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