Stanley

Me: How're you feeling?

Stanley: (In his deep Mississippi drawl) Fine. I'm feeling fine.

Me: Polly tells me you're going today to see if you can get glasses.

Stanley: Maybe they can help me a little. Clear things up some. It's not a detached retina or anything like that. They already told me that. The trouble is in the back of my head.

Me: Uh huh.

Stanley: There's a gel right behind the eye and if it gets too hot, gets to boiling, the retina detaches. That's not my problem.

Stanley is tall, still slender, still handsome.

Stanley: There was no pain. Just suddenly I couldn't see.

He was golfing when it happened. Polly says everything went blurry on him.

Stanley: They said it was a stroke. But there was no pain. And the only problem I have now is my eyes. I thank the Lord for that.

Me: Maybe it was a warning.

Stanley: No. There was no warning.

Me: No, I mean maybe the stroke was a warning.

Stanley: I don't think so. I don't know what I'd do different. I don't smoke. I don't drink.

Me: And you don't think you want to start? (Small attempt at humor.)

Stanley: Not at this point in my life. No. Only two things I want controlling my life, the Lord and my wife.

His wife, that's Polly, the one who calls everyone Darlin'.

Stanley: I never did want to put something in my mouth and set fire to it.

Mother of the Bride and So On

There's an old joke about Mormons that asks, "How can you tell you're at a Mormon wedding?" The answer is, "The mother of the bride is pregnant." With Alyce's wedding, we have made a new wrinkle in the joke.

How can you tell you're at a Mormon wedding? The mother of the bride has a granddaughter getting married next month. That would be me--mother of the bride; my daughter Alyce--who got married in May; my granddaughter Sarah--to be married next month, June.

It's a funny joke, I think.

Here's what it means in terms of travel.
1. Salt Lake for my nephew Heber's wedding April 24. This is not part of the joke, however, and I know I didn't mention it above. Still.
2. Fly home April 25.
3. Salt Lake April 27 with Alyce--she arrived in Boise April 25--for a pre-wedding party in honor of the soon-to-be newlyweds given by Ben's Utah relatives.
4. Fly home April 28 for the wedding and reception and all other related business and celebrations here in Boise.
5. Pennsylvania May 21 for reception and party for B&A.
6. Fly home May 24.
7. Austin, TX, June 18 for Sarah's wedding June 20.
8. Fly home June 21 and try to figure out when I should go to Canadia for the birth of Richard and his Sarah's baby boy. Also not part of the joke. Baby due June 26.

I do not know why I should write this for public scrutiny/skimming. But here it is.

To Each His Own

One of the women on my visiting teaching list has a house full of animals from Africa, their heads or skins adorning the walls. Two heads on the dining room wall just over a zebra skin hanging on that wall. (Zebras are much larger animals than I ever suspected, by the way.) One head on the wall between dining and living room, one on the end wall of the living room, just over the couch. These are large, very large, trophies of the animals taken down by bow and arrow on the family's last African safari.

Next to the chair where my friend sits when I visit is a whole animal, this one small, standing on sand (fake sand, I'm sure) with scrubby plants here and there--another trophy. It belongs to their younger son, also from the last safari, but he has no place to keep it. I could say something about that but won't.

I do not know the names of the animals, except for the zebra. Most have horns; some have a familiar look but have names I've never heard of. Clearly Africa has many and various animal types. One of the surprises for me has been to feel their skin/fur. It does not look soft, but it is. They are beautiful animals. Their eyes draw my eyes, and I have some kind of regret that they are dead, even though my friend is proud of them, dead and all.

Next year they, the people, are going back to Africa, the whole family this time, which includes the older son, who is in a wheelchair. My friend is excited to go back, as, I'm sure, are the men in the family. No doubt they'll bring home more of Africa's animals for display. I do not know where they'll be displayed. She has spoken of their desire to move. I wonder if there is a connection--perhaps to a bigger house?

I do not mean to sound judgmental, but that may be how this comes across. I like these people. She, my friend, is one of the best people I know, having given unselfish and unceasing care to their wheelchair-bound boy for all of his nearly thirty years. I will simply confess that their way of regarding these animals is different from mine. Just different, that's all.

Pieces and Bits

There's this little yellow triangle with an exclamation point inside of it warning me of a scheduled outage at 2:00 AM. You might think this irrelevant. I mean who's up and blogging at that hour? Me. I am. And often. When I can't sleep I come down and putter or do this and that on the computer. Better sleep well tonight, no computer in the wee hours.

What does it mean anyway? Who schedules a scheduled outage? And just what is an outage? Let me know, if you know.

So now I'll see if I can get something posted before the early morning. It's not that the world is waiting; it's that I want to write, to find out if my brain--now decompressing, or perhaps it is deconstructing--has a thought in it.

I have thought of the $250 stimulus I will receive and of the news that there will be no cost of living increase in Social Security benefits in 2010 and 2011 (it feels like a punishment, although I can't think of what I have done) and of the impending rise in taxes facing me and all of us so that we can pay for the $250 I'll get. But why write about it?

I have thought of my grandson John, two next month, putting his hand out to his dad and saying, "Nail cut, pease." That was a first for me. Never had I heard a child, especially that young, ask to have his nails trimmed.

I have thought of the cookies and realized I should have asked my friends to make a couple of dozen each. Thank goodness for the donuts, I say. Today I sent a check to the donut people. But to write of the cookies gives them more importance than they had.

I've thought of those vases of yellow roses all over that room, of the bride so beautiful and the handsome groom as they welcomed friends and just looked smart.

Certainly I have thought of them, the newlyweds, hoping for their happiness. Sounds trite, but it's real. And here's the thing. I wonder if Alyce will ever know how much I love her. "Ever." That last word, another quote from John.

And who wouldn't think about the weather? Warm, mid 70s yesterday. Cold, windy today. Keeps us guessing. I'm guessing we're not supposed to get comfortable. Wind. I'm not fond of it--the great equalizer.

Perhaps these few scratches will unlock the door in my brain and let out something of worth, maybe something of consequence, maybe of import. A person can hope.

Bits and Pieces

I have planted a few flowers this morning in the pots out front: yellow boy marigolds, a dark red geranium, deep purple pansies, and a red vista salvia. I want color out there.

It's cold this morning. Still cold.

The bride and groom are home in PA. Happy, we trust.

Everyone's allergies are troublesome. A few weeks ago I said to Dale, my brother-in-law, "It's a bad year for allergies." He said, "Every year is a bad year for allergies."

The stomach flu has made its way through most of us. Jeremy has escaped and Lola has. I do hope this announcement does not jinx them.

One Day After

This is my fondest wish: that the new Mr and Mrs Larsen may be good and kind to each other. They were very happy yesterday. May it last forever.