After a crazy September and October, November has been relatively quiet.  My mother left the first weekend, and things have settled back into a normal routine.  I am participating once again in National Novel Writing Month, and then there was the annual tech conference I attend in the middle of the month.  Then suddenly it was Thanksgiving.

I am just wrapping up a week off work, using the comp time I accumulated during the conference week, and it went by too fast.  I tried to catch up on some things, and then there was the whole eating until we burst thing, and now my weekend is coming to an end and I have a lot of “I wish I had’s” cropping up.

Winter is coming to the high country, though, and the holiday marches forward.   We have had four snows already, the first one was October 5th.  We have had no snow so far in November, and it doesn’t look like we will.  The highest mountains are getting some snow, but not enough yet.  We are hopeful, however.  It has been cold, and the pond behind our house has a layer of ice on it most mornings when I get up, and lows are in the teens and lower 20’s, even if the daytime highs reach the 50’s and 60’s. Those 50- and 60-degree days are great for bike rides and long walks, but not so great for our snow pack and next year’s water reserves.

I love this time of year.  It means I can have the fireplace going.  This is the first time in my adult life I’ve had a house with a fireplace, and we’ve had fires already several times.  I bought 2/6ths of a cord of wood, half pine and half hard wood.  We are set for fires in the fireplace until probably late January, when I’ll have to get another load.  I was lucky to have my mom and her truck here when I got the wood, so I wouldn’t have to pay a delivery charge.  I might not be so lucky next time, unfortunately.

The girls and I put up the tree this weekend.  I usually get a little nostalgic when putting up the tree, but this year it was worse than usual.  My emotions are pretty raw these days for plenty of reasons, and seeing all the ornaments the kids made over the years, and the few I have left from my grandmother, seemed to make me sad instead of happy this year.  Then there were all the Santas Klown and I have collected over the years, and beautiful gifts I’ve received from my sisters-in-law, and it was a pretty weepy afternoon.  Silly, I know.

But now I want to laze around by the fireplace and bake some cookies and start wrapping presents.  Unfortunately, I need to go to work tomorrow, and I ate enough over the last four days, and I haven’t bought any presents yet!  Fortunately, I have a few weeks yet.  And some vacation days to use up.

Wish me luck.

Impromptu, made up, totally delicious dinner tonight using leftover turkey.  You could substitute cooked chicken or salmon for the turkey, or leave out the meat to have a meatless side dish or main meal.

Angel Hair Pasta with Herb Butter Sauce

1/2 pound angel hair pasta

1 1/2 small zucchinis, cut into coins, then quartered

1 medium carrot, sliced very thin (I used a mandolin)

1/2 small yellow onion, chopped fine

3 T. butter

3 T. olive oil

1 clove garlic, or 1/2 tsp. jarred garlic

1 T. dried parsley

1 tsp. dried basil

1/2 lemon

3 T. Parmesan cheese

1 cup chopped cooked turkey (I used leftovers)

Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

Cook pasta in boiling water according to package instructions.  Do not add oil or salt to the water.  Cut up zucchini, carrots, and onion and place in top of steamer.  Steam until just tender, about 7 minutes.  While veggies are steaming, melt butter in a small sauce pan.  Add olive oil and garlic, and simmer, stirring for about 2 minutes.  Do not let garlic burn.  Remove from heat, add in parsley and basil, and squeeze in the juice of the lemon.  Stir to mix well, then add cheese and stir again.  Set aside but keep warm.

Place turkey in bottom of large bowl.  Add in drained, cooked pasta and veggies.  Mix gently.  Add in butter sauce, and stir again.  Garnish with a sprinkle of Parmesan and bread crumbs, if desired.  Serve immediately.  Serves 6.

It’s that time of year again.  Time to remember to be thankful for what we’ve got, thankful for our opportunities, and thankful for each other.  I try to do a thankful post every year, and this year is no exception.

I am thankful for my lovely home.  After a rough start last year, we were able to land in a really nice, really big townhouse that suits us to a T.  Each girl has their own bedroom, and I have a really nice office area that also triples as a sewing room, and a guest room.  The guest room continues to evolve as people come to stay with me; my mother was the most recent guest, and she liked it so much that she stayed eight weeks. I am glad to be able to offer private space to my friends and family who may want to come visit.  It’s way better than having to sleep on the pull-out couch.  My house has a fireplace, and a garden, and lots of windows.  It is in a nice neighborhood, and Tater has lots of friends right on our block she can play with.  The “back yard” is shared green space that overlooks a pond teeming with wildlife every day.  We have two giant apple trees that produced upwards of 1200 pounds of apples this year.  I love my home.

I’m thankful that I continue to be healthy.  There’ve been a few ups and downs, like finding out in August that I have a severe peroneal tendon tear, and will eventually need surgery.  My orthopedist is a good guy, and has me patched up enough to keep going on the exercise routine I started in May.  While I can no longer walk on a regular basis (I was walking 2-3 miles every day), I can still walk some, and I can do other things that I never contemplated doing.

Which bring me to my third thankful.  I am thankful to have a mother who cares about me and my future, who insisted that I get a bike and start riding it.  I had not been on a bike in at least 35 years.  I’m fat and out of shape and have terrible knees, so who would have thought I could bike?  Turns out I can bike just fine.  Yes, it hurts my knees.  It leaves me sore and achy afterwards.  But the ride is still fun. Since I can’t walk like I want to, biking is a great substitute.  Not only that, but I can bike to some local stores to do some small shopping.  It’s not just good for me, it’s good for the environment.

And while we’re on the subject of my mother, I’m thankful to still have her around.  I’m thankful for my dad and step mom, and my brothers and their wives and kids, and all the extended family that have made me who I am.  I’m very blessed to still have these people in my life.  We may be a thousand or more miles apart, but I can always just pick up the phone and call.  Any time.

I’m thankful for my husband and kids, without whom I would not be a wife and mother.  Being these things is one of the greatest vocations in life.  I don’t think I’d like myself if I wasn’t a wife and a mother.

I’m thankful for a decent job, and even more so, I’m thankful for the wonderful students I work with every day.  They are sometimes challenging, sometimes blissful.  They keep me on my toes.  And my student workers are like my family of overgrown teenagers.  They keep me young, and make me feel useful.

I’m in my second year of living in the most beautiful place on the planet.  I have no plans of ever leaving here.  It took me 35 years to get here, which is about 10 years less than I planned.  This means I can still enjoy it while I’m young enough to do things.  I may not ever get to ski, but I’m still going to hold out that hope.  I’m going to take care of myself so that if the opportunity ever arises, I’ll be ready for the challenge.

As we eat our turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes two ways, corn, green bean casserole, and cranberry sauce today, we are going to be thankful we live in a country where we can have four days off to celebrate being thankful by eating lots of food and watching lots of football.

Blessings to you, my friends.  May you also find plenty to be thankful for!

I know I brag on my kids a lot.  It’s what a mom does.  But I do have some of the best kids.  Not perfect, no one is.  But pretty darned good.

In the more than a year since we’ve lived in Colorado, both of my girls have had to make some pretty severe adjustments.  They left everything they knew, their friends, their hangouts, the comforts of “what had always been” to start a new life.  For Tater, who’s now 10, this wasn’t nearly as hard a transition as it was for the Perfect Child, who is now 19.

The Perfect Child, as you remember, turned 18 halfway through our cross-country move.  She drove one of the cars at highway speeds for two days, with a license that barely had the ink dry on it.  She worked as hard as anyone helping to pack, load up, unload, and unpack.  She had to make new friends, find a job, and find things to keep her busy.  She is one of the bravest kids I know, for sure, but sometimes, she’s so shy it is painful.  None of that has changed in the last year, but she’s still a mature young woman with a wonderful future in front of her.

Just this last month, after a year of temping with the same factory, she was offered a full-time job.  The pay is better than the temp agency, and offers benefits like retirement and health insurance and vacation.  The temp agency was sad to lose her, but happy that she had done so well that a company wanted to hire her.  The company she works for, VaporTech, has not hired a new employee in years, that’s how good they are at retaining quality employees.  She has slipped into her new role like a pro, and likes to tell me every day the new things she’s learned.  As a temp, they kept her on a specific (and small) set of duties.  As a full-time employee, she is getting to know everything.  She is “in charge” of her shift, even has a temp working with her that she has to manage and keep busy.  How she has jumped into this with her whole heart and mind has made me really proud.  At her age, I was also doing factory work in the summers while I was going to college.  She’ll be the best employee they may ever have.

The Perfect Child has also found herself a decent boyfriend.  He works hard, he plays hard, he can fix cars, and doesn’t mind getting dirty.  While they may not be a forever couple (he’s only 20, she’s only 19), they are good for each other right now, and are good to each other.  He’s moon over stars in love with her, but then again, who wouldn’t be? She’s that kind of girl.

The Tater has had the added stress of changing schools already once since our move.  She is good at making friends and getting along with people, and the teachers and administrators always love her.  She is caring and kind and has the sense of “fairness” that I always saw with her older brother and sister.  She takes care of those that can’t take care of themselves, and wants to please.

When we moved from our first rental house to the one we live in now (and intend to stay in for a long time), we let her finish the school year, but started her at a school closer to our home for this school year.  It was a whole new thing for her.  Instead of getting a ride to school, she had to walk by herself the two blocks there.  She needed to be able to let herself in the house when she came home, because most days the house is empty when she gets home.  This meant she had to get a house key and not lose it.  With her level of ADHD, this is a complex task.  It wouldn’t seem to be for a ten year old, but it is.

But she’s done well.  She was only locked out once, and that was only for about 10 minutes until her sister came home from work.  She has been pretty good about making sure she has her key with her now.  She doesn’t want to take any chances!

She’s still my Child of Mystery.  It’s hard to figure out what she’s into, what she wants to do with her free time, where she is going in her life.  I know, she’s only 10, but usually kids have a pretty good inkling of what they want.  This year she changed her mind about her Halloween costume at least twice, in the last weeks leading up to Halloween.  It’s hard to predict what will get her excited, and what will just make her go “ho, hum.”  Buying Christmas presents for her is an adventure, for sure.  She can be an active child, playing outside and with her friends, but she’s just as happy parked in front of the television, a habit I’d like to break.

My girls bring me so much joy.  I can count on them to be who they are, without fail, and to still need me.  Most days, anyway.  It’s nice to be needed.

Wouldn’t trade ’em for anything!

Just short of a week ago, we finally had the long-anticipated, long-awaited national election of our president.  For the last year or so, there has been a rising crescendo of ads full of political rhetoric and posturing, claims and counter-claims, debates and agreements.  Towards the end, for the last three weeks or so, there were so many political ads running on television and radio that you just could not get away from it.  I think I wore out the buttons on my car radio, flipping channel to channel when the ads would start between songs.  I only watched enough television to get the news and weather, with my finger on the mute button the entire time, so I could at least turn off the sound even if I couldn’t turn off the picture. And the ads were ugly.  Very very ugly.  Enough mud was slung to bury a midwestern city.

But it didn’t stop there, of course.  On facebook, there were continual postings of pictures and posters and comments, from both sides, from many of my friends.  It got to the point that I had to hide certain people so I wouldn’t see their nonsense.  And I was not the only one of my friends who hid people.  By the time we actually got to vote, the level of frustration and anger was pretty high.

Now, five days after the election, I noticed one of my downstreet neighbors had put up some new signs.  The guy with the yard of dirt and a constantly changing pile of construction debris growing and decreasing like a living thing under the spruce tree that shades his house.  The guy who’d had more Romney signs than yard space for the last year.  That guy.  He had replaced his Romney signs with three that say FIRE OBAMA.  I had seen some of these signs around town, as part of the overall political signage that was everywhere.  I can appreciate the sentiment, and that the guy has an opinion.  But dude.  It’s too late.  Let it go.  Time to move on.  Surely your energy could be spent better.  Perhaps in seeding that dirt-pile you call a lawn.

I think what I find oddest is that all of this political posturing in the last weeks, heck, even in the last months, is a pointless waste of money.  In realistic terms, 93% of the population are decided voters.  The ads, signs, facebook squabbling, and bar arguments are not going to change anyone’s mind.  Politics is like religion in that way; for whatever irrational reason, we believe what we believe, and that is that.  I don’t believe that there truly are “undecided” voters out there, and that whirlwind trips through a state by a candidate, seven political ads on every commercial break, and a carpeting of yard signs are going to change anyone’s mind.  I think about the billions of dollars that were spent financing campaigns, both on the national and local level, was money poorly spent.  There are so many other, more valuable, uses the money could have gone to.

I’m glad it’s over.  I think this is one of the worst political season I remember in my adult lifetime.  It was just overwhelmingly ugly.  I think America can do better.

Now, if I could just get Mr. Dirt-Yard to take down his signs and go back to the business of life, that would be great!

2 c. lentils (any color, I used orange)

2 sweet potatoes, peeled and chopped

4 stalks celery, chopped

4 carrots, chopped

1 onion, chopped

1 can diced tomatoes

1 tsp. oregano

1 tsp. rosemary

1 bay leaf

64 oz vegetable broth

salt and pepper to taste

Place all in crock pot and cook on high for one hour, then low for 8 hours or until all is tender.  Add more broth if it seems to “dry” at the end.

I started a walking routine back in May.  I know I need to be more fit, and I need to be taking better care of myself.  I’m over 50, and although I don’t smoke and rarely drink, and have great yearly blood tests, I am not necessarily as fit as I would like to be.  I am a busy person, getting a lot of things done in a day, but exercising was never part of that plan.

But having been in Colorado for a year, and realizing I needed to be outdoors more not just because it was good for me but because I like to be outside, I started that walking routine.  First was just three days a week and 1.2 miles, but I quickly graduated to 7 days a week and 1.5-3 miles a day.  I would walk in the morning before work, then go to work and shower (we have showers in our building) and then go to my desk.  In a few short weeks I was already feeling the effects of the walking.  My legs and knees felt stronger, I had more stamina overall, tired a lot less doing ordinary things, and my breathing was better.  By August, I hadn’t lost any weight, but I’d lost inches, and lost my lazy “have to sit down every time I see a bench” attitude.

I took a week-long trip home to Missouri to visit family and friends, and did not do a daily walk while I was there.  We were too busy. The first day back to Colorado, I didn’t walk because I was exhausted from a straight-through drive back.  The second day, I got up early, suited up in my usual shorts and tank top, laced up my shoes, and away I went.  I got about 50 feet before I had severe pain in my left foot, on the outside.  Like someone had hit it with a baseball bat.  I made it about 3/4 of the way through my walk that day, telling myself I was just out of shape after having not walked for 9 days.  The next day I tried again, with the same result.  I started my plantar fasciitis exercises, thinking I was having a flareup.  By the third day, I knew something was wrong.  Very very wrong.

I already had an appointment scheduled with my orthopedist to see about my right knee, which has been bothering me, so I brought up the foot issue with him.  The determination was a strain/sprain of the peroneal tendon, although he was not a foot/ankle specialist.  He gave me a cam boot to wear, and said that if it wasn’t better in three weeks, he would refer me to a foot/ankle guy.  At this point, you are probably realizing that three weeks in the boot did not help.  I saw a foot/ankle guy, and had a series of MRI’s last week.  He also suspected a peroneal tendon injury, and this is exactly what he found.  I have a 4 cm high grade longitudinal tear of the peroneal tendon, at about the point it turns from my ankle bone and starts to make the descent down the side of my foot.  The best way to imagine it is to think about a strand of yarn, and with wear and tugging, the fibers begin to split, until the split through and are no longer a single strand.  This tear will not heal itself, no matter how many weeks I spend in a cam boot or wearing a splint.  It will get better, but it will never truly heal. I’ve been in the cam boot for 7 weeks; the injury is better, but the wrong kind of activity and I’m right back where I started in August.

The solution is surgery.  Of course.  And I will eventually have to do that, but now is not the time.  I am getting a different splint later this week, one that I can at least drive with, so that I can get back to doing some form of exercise.  My doctor was very clear: even after repair of this tendon, I will never be able to walk as a form of exercise again.  Not for the rest of my life.  As in, never ever ever.

Which is completely depressing, since I loved walking, and it was easy for me to do, and it fit into my schedule and I didn’t need any special equipment.  Now what?  I was feeling so good, seeing so much good result.  And I didn’t want that to end.  I want to get in shape, stay in shape.  I want to feel good.

So, I am now the proud owner of a Trek bike.  My mom kept insisting that we look at one.  She has her bike with her here, and I rode it a little, but I felt wobbly and like I couldn’t turn.  She had to take it in for a tire repair, and I went with her when she picked it up.  Her bike has the pedals set forward, called a “crank forward.”  The idea is that the pedals aren’t right beneath you, and therefore are easy on your knees.  This is true, it is easy on your knees, and as we all know I have terrible knees.  But the bike doesn’t feel stable.  So at the bike shop, I tried another crank forward bike, one with the pedals not quite so far forward.  It was better, I could at least turn, but I still felt wobbly.

The salesman at the shop knew a sucker when he saw one.  He said, “you need to try this one” and rolled out a sturdy-looking but traditionally-laid-out bike.  The seat adjusts to a good height for a leggy person like me, and it turns and maneuvers like a dream.  I loved it instantly.  All these years, I could not picture myself riding a bike. I gave up bikes in my teens.  But riding this one was easy, a pleasure, and gave me such a feeling of freedom.  I could not believe it.  I took the bike home with me that day. The Trek Navigator 1.0 WSD is a women’s bike with a sturdy frame, wide tires, and 7 gears.  What more could a girl want?

Isn’t it beautiful?  I have ridden it every day since I got it.  I am still getting a feel for everything, and I’m not feeling as confident on it as I will later.  It needs a basket or two, and a ding-ding bell, to be complete.  But those things will come later.  I have big plans to ride my bike around town, running small errands, riding at least 30 minutes a day, which is how long it took me to walk a 2.5 mile path.  I’m thinking I need more, but I’m going to work up to it, considering I have no really done any kind of exercise in at least 8 weeks.

I love my new bike.  I love that it’s comfortable for me to ride and that I like riding it.  It felt like an impulse buy, bit really, I don’t think it was.  I was ready to jump on anything to be able to get back out there and do something.  I intend to be Fit At Any Size.  Not being so is really not an option any more.

Wish me luck.

On Tuesday morning last I was informed that a long-time friend had succumbed to brain cancer.  All of us knew it was going to happen.  He had begun his fight with a brain tumor more than two years ago.  His first symptom was seizures, out of the blue.  Within a few months, a diagnosis was made, and treatment begun.

That uphill climb against the cancer, became a downhill slide by this past summer.  Harsher and more debilitating treatments did not stop the cancer, and in fact, seemed to make it more aggressive.  Finally, it was time to make the decision to forgo treatment and let nature take its course.

Dan crossed over on Monday, September 24th.  He was 43 years old and leaves behind children and an adoring wife, along with extended family.

I knew Dan as part of a spiritual group we were both a part of.  We had worked on several projects together.  He was a loving, sometimes irreverent, but hard-working man.  He, like all people, made mistakes.  But he also was helpful, dedicated to his causes, and loved his family.  That he is gone so young, so soon, is heartbreaking for all of us.

Dan’s birthday was May 19th.  My friend George, who also passed away last week, was born on May 22. Mine is May 23rd.  What a weird, small world it is.

I will miss Dan and his smile and his wonderful hugs and his joy of life.  I do not understand why the good ones are always taken so soon.  There are never enough of the right kinds of words for me to express my grief and distress at losing such wonderful people in my life.  I know death is a part of life, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

RIP Danny Ray Powers.  I will miss you.

Monday night I received word from my dad that a person I had once known had died.  In my mind, he was young, since it had been nearly 30 years since I’d seen him.  In reality, he was 58 years old.  He died of a heart attack on his way home from work.

George and I worked in the same factory when I was about 22 or 23 years old.  The year I met him I was working for the engineering department, instead of abrasives/assembly, which meant I got to wear skirts and hose and heels to work.  George had just been hired as an electrician/maintenance man.  I don’t remember how it happened, but he asked me out on a date.  Up until then, I had not dated much, and he was older than me (seemed much older at the time, but it turns out it was only 7 years or so), and he scared me.

Not because he was mean or ugly or loud or anything.  I was just so naive I didn’t know how to behave around a man who had the hots for me.  I was still in college, I didn’t even know what I was going to do with my life, and I was only working at the factory in the summers to earn enough money to pay my tuition and room and board for the next two semesters of college.  I know it’s hard to believe, but that’s how we used to do it – we paid cash for college.  My dad also worked at the factory, and they had a program to employ the kids of workers while they were in college.  I worked with the same kids every summer.  It was hard, dirty work, but it paid really well, and I usually napped on the 45-minute commute while my dad drove.  It was a pretty sweet deal, actually.

Anyway, George and I dated off and on for more than a year.  Because he scared me, I couldn’t commit more than a goodnight kiss or some hand-holding, and I’m sure he was pretty frustrated with frigid old me.  But he was a gentleman, took me to some great places and introduced me to some wonderful things.  When I think of George, I think of four things in particular.

First, on a fancy date in which we both had to dress up, he took me to a restaurant that was next to Lambert St. Louis International Airport called the 94th Aerosquadron.  It served French country-style food, and was set up so that its windows and patio looked out onto the airport runways.  You could watch planes take off and land while you ate.  I remember the inside being decorated with WW II memorabilia, and I remember the food being really really good.

Second, I think about a purple car.  George drove a Road Runner that he was restoring.  It was one of the original muscle cars, and although it was only fifteen or so years old when he had it, those cars were considered “classics” and “antiques.” It roared like a dragon and turned heads wherever it went.

Third, George introduced me to White Castle.  Being a St. Charles County girl, I’d never even heard of them, much less eaten one of those tasty steam-grilled onion-y burgers.  He insisted we go.  He drove me to South St. Louis, which seemed to be on the other side of the world, and ordered me double cheeseburgers with no pickles, and cheese fries.  I was in heaven.  I’d never tasted anything so wonderful.  I have been hooked ever since.

Fourth, George had this wonderful brick house way down near the river.  It was three stories tall and had room after room after room.  In my early-20’s brain, all I could think about was how many kids I would have to have to fill up those rooms.  Not that George was the marrying kind at that point, but to my immature brain, what did it matter?  The house had a living room, a dining room, a big kitchen, and an absolutely gargantuan butler’s pantry.  It had a big front porch that looked east.  Upstairs there were bedrooms, then one large room plus a round turret room on the third floor.  From that turret room, you could see the river and all the boats going up and down it.  It was a wonderful house with original stained glass and wallpaper but needing an immense amount of work.  I still dream about that house, all these years later.

I would think about George once in a while over the years.  Whether he had ever married, whether he ever got over being angry at me for being such a ninny, if he ever finished restoring that car, and if he’d ever put the giant fish tank into the big room on the third floor that he was going to turn into an entertainment room.

George was married when he died, and left behind sisters and brothers.  He’d had no children.  He had been heavily involved in restoring old military vehicles, according to the obituary posted by the funeral home who handled his final requests.  He died young, only 58 years old.  He never got to retire from that factory, although he’d put in 30 years and had advanced into a supervisory position.  I remember a man with dark, curly hair and freckles, who thought I was something else, a man with manners and grace.

And there was one very important thing George taught me all those years ago when we worked together at the factory.  If you want people to leave you alone at work, walk fast and carry something.  In his case it was a piece of conduit, a box of tools, a spool of wire, a ladder, something.  He never walked around without something in his hands that looked like work.  He always moved fast, as if in a hurry to fix something, and everyone left him alone.  It’s a great skill to have.

RIP George Panos.  I will always remember you fondly.

I love my mother.  That doesn’t mean we always get along.  We’ve had our ups and downs, and she doesn’t always agree with the decisions I make, as I don’t always agree with hers. I think that’s the way of all mothers and daughters.  I’m blessed to still have my mother around, and blessed to have learned what I have learned from her over the years.

She is staying with us right now while my brothers work on her house back in Missouri.  She spends most of her time in Florida, where she volunteers for a state park and goes kayaking.  But she needs space in Missouri where my brothers still live.  They have built a small house for her, but it’s not finished, as they can really only work on it on the weekends.  It’s been a slow go.  Some years, she brings her travel trailer to stay in because the house isn’t done, but this year with gas prices the way they are, she decided it would be better to leave the trailer in Florida.  With the house not done, she came out to Colorado to stay with us.

And it’s been a great two weeks.  We have gone into the mountains, visited all the best thrift stores in town, shared cooking duties, and I haven’t had to fold much laundry.  She keeps herself busy with her knitting, doing any dirty laundry that happens to be around, taking her doggies for walks, riding her bike around town, reading the newspaper, playing around on her computer, and then starts it all over again.  I’ve been able to show her some of my favorite places here, and we’ve taken more photos than we will ever print.  The weather has been gorgeous; cool nights and warm days.  The leaves are changing, the sun is setting further and further to the south, and there’s nothing to complain about.

For the first time in a long time, I think I will miss her when she heads back east.  Usually we’ve worn out each other’s welcome pretty quickly, but this time, it feels different.  My mother is blessed with incredibly good health, something she never thought she would have, and enough energy to do most of what she wants to do.  She has had to remind me that “one activity a day” is probably enough for her 72 year old bones.  But she gives me a good run for my money in the energy department.

This week, we’re working on the garden.  It needed some severe reworking.  She dug dirt and chipped away at roots, and I trimmed bushes until my hands were sore from the trimmers.  And she was still going!  The garden should be beautiful when we’re done.  This coming weekend we will be ready to troll the garden center and get some perennials to plant for next year.  I suddenly have a usable patio because of all the hard work she’s put in so far.  I wouldn’t have done any of this without her help.  I couldn’t have.  I didn’t even know where to start.  She does, though.  She used to do this work for a living.

I’ve had to be on my toes while she’s been here.  No time to be lazy.  So much to do.  And I want her to be comfortable and happy for as long as she wants to stay.  Meanwhile, my brothers are burning the midnight oil back in Missouri trying to finish up the house for her.

And right now, it feels pretty much like a perfect world.