A Good Day

It's Ann's birthday, too. She's not a baby, but she's my baby, my youngest. Born on her grandpa Brimley's birthday. She did see him a few months after her birth, but, of course, she wouldn't remember that.

My mother died a month or so before Ann was born. I always said she saw my mother before she came down, and at that meeting my mother told Ann, "You go down and be a peace maker in that family." Not that we were at war. But any family has its times of conflict and needs peace. I also always thought that Ann did bring a spirit of peace and love to us.

No longer a baby, no longer a child, four children of her own, doing very well at that hard, hard job of being a mother. And it is hard--unless you have a nanny, I guess.

I hope she has a good day, a happy day. And, as much as she loves those kids, a few minutes away from them today would be a good thing for everyone. But I'm not in charge.

Happy, happy birthday Ann.

It's just the widow again

Don't you wonder if Wayne has seen his little great granddaughter? I do.

Well, I wonder a lot of things, like where he is and what he is doing. I can't think that he and my parents are just sitting down somewhere.

My brother Sterling says he believes our parents have been resurrected. I simply do not know. Of course, we all want to know, but we don't want to have to die to find out. We all wish one of them would come back and tell us.

I always say, death is the hardest thing, the hardest part of life. Don't be telling me I shouldn't say that. It is just hard.

I have a new friend who is a recent widow, not quite a year. She is grieving. But anyone whose loved one has died is grieving, 11 months or 11 years.

Here I say again, I am not unhappy; I am happy. But I am also sad.

News

I have entered the realm of greatness, ggma. That's me.

Emmy Rae Gilmore, born at noon in Memphis, Tennessee, October 16, 2014, 7lbs 5oz.

I have seen pictures. Beautiful baby. Really. Beautiful mom and dad, Cory and Sean.

Happy.

In the Soup

For two days I have been cooking, making butternut squash soup. Yesterday's was a little too spicy, so I made today's without any heat (jalapeno heat). When I serve the soup, like at our next family dinner, I'll mix the two. They will be just right.

I have 10 pints of it in my freezer. It's really good soup.

Not a soup I ever made when my kids were in our home or when Wayne was living, so I don't know if they will like it or if he would have. He liked pumpkin pie. There is a connection, you know.

It's a lot of work to make. The worst part being peeling and cutting into small cubes a large butternut squash. The peeling doesn't seem to want to come off, or/and I need a better peeler.

Today I remembered Costco, and I went there, bought a package of already peeled and cut butternut squash. Oh joy!

Anyway, it's done for this Fall.

Addendum: So Saturday I still had one more big butternut squash. Now I'm finished. Now I have 15 pints. Good for me.

What?!

Yesterday I went to rehearsal for the Boise Choristers. I guess I'll sing with them again. They called and asked me to, although I don't think they need me. Not the point of this post.

After rehearsal a couple of women and I were chatting. One said to me, "I understand your brother died."

A bit startling (that's an understatement; I was stunned and confused), especially since I tried for two days to call him--without success. I tried three different numbers. None worked. Even my other brother couldn't get the right number.And one wonders why and how to get the right number.

I had to respond to her, so I stuttered, "I don't think so."

The other woman, no doubt seeing the look on my face, said to me, "Well, you would know."

Not necessarily. But I didn't say it out loud. Didn't want to go into all that.

What I said was, "He had a birthday last Saturday."

The first woman said, "Oh yes. That was what I read about him."

Relief.

I didn't lecture her about the need for careful reading, especially if you're going to tell the news abroad.

Up In the Night

Last night, around 3:30 a.m., a fire engine pulled up in front of Pecoras' house and stayed about an hour. Yes, I was awake. Besides, a fire engine is a big, noisy, vehicle, and the firemen left the engine running. This is not the real issue here, except to note that I was up and witness to it.

I saw two firemen go into the house. I do not know what was the matter. I do know that Ken is failing in health, and Shirley is concerned. I do not know if the problem was with the house or with someone in it.

Shirley is in her 80s, a slight, slender woman who is absolutely the strongest, fittest octogenarian I have ever known. She does everything. All yard work--and it's a big yard--all snow shoveling and blowing. And everything inside the house that needs to be done.

She takes her daily walk in the evenings, possibly after she has seen that Ken is in bed. Ken used to do a lot, but he does no more. This year, he has hardly come out of the house.

So, of course, my mind would go to him.

I heard the fire engine leave but did not see if they took Ken with them. I will go over and ask Shirley if all is well. You can't tell by looking at the house, you know.

I'll give her another hour or so.

*     *     *

I didn't wait an hour.

No one answers the door. I went over and told my neighbor Dave about last night. They and Pecoras have been neighbors many years. He did not see or hear the fire engine. No sirens, of course.

Dave and George were in the Pecora home last Saturday to give Ken a blessing.

After I spoke to Dave, he looked in the garage window. Shirley's car is gone. He looked in the front window. Ken is not lying on the couch. Dave will call the hospital and find out what he can. He will let me know.

I thought last night there will be a funeral soon. But maybe that's just how I think.

*     *     *

 Update:

Ken fell out of bed in the middle of the night. Shirley called the fire department for help. It required three men to lift Ken. The ambulance came last night and took Ken to the ER. He is low on sodium and potassium. They will keep him overnight. Shirley will stay with him.

Sunday update:
Ken has been in ICU, is now in a regular room, is responding well and looking better. So says my neighbor, Dave. 

Monday: Ken is now at Elk's Rehab. I will not keep updating. 

The Silly Widow or Maybe Just Too Sentimental

Every now and then I come across something of Wayne's. Like the Seminary notebook, a seminary teacher's notebook. It's old and of no use. The loose-leaf binder is in perfect condition, but it's red and has words and pictures imprinted on the front to tell what it is. It's of no value to me, and there is no reason I should keep it, but it's very hard for me to throw it away.

Or the other two plain black binders. I don't even know if school kids use binders anymore. These binders won't hold an iPad or even a cell phone, only papers, so probably not.

There are other things. I mean, I know that I have kept certain things, but I forget about them. You know?

Just yesterday I saw again Wayne's pillow. King size. And I have not ever in more than 11 years removed the pillow case to wash it. That's on purpose. I know it's silly to keep it. I don't use the pillow, and I haven't held it up to my nose for years. I suppose you know why I used to put it up to my nose.

I'm pretty sure I'll keep the pillow just as it is.  Can't make myself get rid of it.