Mom had her knee replaced this week. It went well. It’s going to be a challenge for her because she waited about ten years too long, but she didn’t want to wear it out, so she figured if she got it done when she’s 85, it should get her twenty more years. She’s spending a couple weeks in the rest home doing physical therapy. They have been so good to her, taking care of her PT, meds, and the rest of her needs. She’ll be back to the pool and quilting twice a week before you know it.
We stopped in to have lunch with her and it was like old home week. Varsha asked me if I knew everybody, and to a young person, it probably seemed that way. A neighbor from years ago is in because she suffered a stroke a few months back. Her husband Stan comes in everyday for lunch and ice cream, and he caught me at the ice cream machine. We talked cattle and weather and his health. I got caught up on all their kids. About that time, Carolyn and Lee showed up to visit with them, and I thought, how awesome to spend quality time with friends of over 50 years. Still a lot to discuss and laugh about.
My friend Sue was there, spending the afternoon with her cousin. It’s heartbreaking, and I know many of you have gone through it with loved ones, watching, caring for, and having one sided conversations with someone who’s trapped inside themselves. Eli sat down and played piano and Will played along with his guitar for her. Shari actually tapped her foot to the music and we saw an occasional smile.
I found my sixth grade teacher just a few doors from my mom. His wife, Joyce, was with him and we had a nice conversation. I owe him a debt of gratitude I will never be able to repay. I missed the first two months of sixth grade and he spent every recess and before and after school with me until I caught up to the rest of the class. Looking back, he probably knew it was best for his sanity to not have me in sixth grade for two years.
I bumped into several other people that I knew, and started to wonder if Varsha was right. It’s interesting in retrospect. I saw everyone there how I saw them 30 or 4o years ago. It seems odd, but I see them younger than I am now. It may not make sense to you, but I looked at many of them through a child’s eyes. Their kids are my age, and when we spent the most time together, we were little and they were in their 30’s and 40’s.
We weave in and out of lives. We make contact, loose contact, reconnect, and sometimes just sit and wonder what happened to someone. The older I get, the more important it is to treat everyone well, to try and live by, and spread the fruit of the spirit. There are times (sorting cattle) when it’s difficult, but we could all use a little love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Well, that was kind of serious for me, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell a funny story before I quit. So, since I ran into Stan, I’ve got a story in honor of him.
We had a Black Lab when I was a kid, that for some reason wasn’t fixed. Like Ricky Nelson, he was a travelin’ man and he made a lot of stops, all over the neighborhood, and he owned the hearts of several neighbor’s female dogs. He was hardest on Cazzy, because Cazzy’s prized Australian Shepherd had a couple of half breed litters. Cazzy even caught him once and took a wire welding brush to his tool box, then poured turpentine on it. I can still see that dog running in the yard dragging his butt, back legs above his head, howling and promising to never roam again. But, he recovered and returned to his amorous ways. Stan and Judy lived right across the road from Cazzy, and were the owners of one of Ricky’s girlfriends. Stan hated that dog with a passion.
In the spring of 1974, Stan stopped by to visit with dad. They were standing on the back step when that old lab came around the corner, tongue wagging on the front end and tail on the back end. Stan turned white as a sheet. Dad asked him what the matter was. Stan looked at dad and said, “I shot that damn dog and buried him last week!”
If any of you had a male black Labrador that went missing about 45 years ago, I know nothing. Je ne parle pas anglais.
Farmer Dan's Food For Thought 