A Day
This is Saturday and I am calling it a day.
This morning at ten, we turned ourselves in for pedicures and haircuts. Five weeks is a bit too long, but Maria had a son’s graduation party last Saturday. Very special. There is no way that I could tell which of the two treatments felt better than the other. Dennis was sure his eyebrows would need curlers. Too funny. It is a block of two hours for the two of us. We’re worth it.
A bite of noon lunch of pureed apple sauce and peanut butter felt good. As I was leaving for the grocery store, Jeff road up on his battery-powered three-while bike. For someone that has not worked a W-2 form job for a decade or longer, he seems to do alright for himself. He is on medical assistance. I bid him a good day. Jeff and his dad can do and have much to visit about . . . or not.
I couldn’t resist looking a few things up on the internet. Jeff had had two instances of having fluid taken from his side. It is called ascites. Blood vessels not working in the liver weep their fluid into the body cavity. For sure, not good, not comfortable with shortness of breath.
Rain during the early morning hours was unexpected.
For some reason yesterday I thought of my grandpa Christ. Dennis was sleeping in his recliner and his profile of no teeth in his mouth reminded me of grandpa years ago.
Kevin was just about a year old when Grandpa Christ and Grandma Laura stopped in at our Boon Lake farm. They had found that my parents were not home at their farm and they drove a bit farther. From Brownton to Stewart along 212 and then 12 miles north, it made for a nice Sunday drive for them. Grandpa always drove a dark blue Ford sedan. It didn’t take grandpa very long before he had Kevin in his lap giving gentle bounces. Carrie was busy sharing her dolly with grandma. What a sweet visit as we sat on the lawn west of the house. We had coffee and cookies before they left. The cookies may have been soft or maybe hard, I knew grandpa would dunk them. Just as I wish I now had his favorite knife at their round kitchen table during meals. He had taken his knife to the tool-shop and fabricated a one-of-a-kind utensil. Possibly as many as six peas or kernels of corn could be scooped up to lay in little divots on the wide blade of the knife. Grandpa never missed a beat. I enjoyed many summers with them on the Penn Township farm. It was with great grandma Christine, Christ and Laura and uncle Jerold and his wife Marion.
Grandpa Christ died at age 79 a year later, almost to the day on his July 8th birthday. He died of Prostate cancer.
Those dang memories . . . just keep getting sweeter.
With that I take my leave.♥