by jphilo | Dec 15, 2010 | Family
The more things change, the more they stay the same as this recycled post from December of 2007 proves. Abby the dog weighs 3 – 4 pounds more than in the picture above and her muzzle is completely grey – think raccoon in reverse. Abby the dog still lives with my brother and his wife, and our former doggy thinks moving in with my sister-in-law is the best that ever happened to her, which it is. It’s so good, the joint custody agreement has been scrapped, and Abby’s new family now has sole custody.
So this holiday season, the dog won’t spend time at our house. Instead, I’m going to spend the night with her (and my mom) while the brother and sister-in-law are out of town. Should be lots of fun, since Abby no longer gives me the time of day…unless I have food in my hand. Kind of gives me a complex, if you want to know the truth, until I look on the bright side…if the dog throws up this year, it won’t be on my carpet!
The Dog Report – Recycled
The holidays are here, and in a joint custody home like ours that means we have Abby the dog for Christmas vacation. Between the arrival of the dog and the daughter, things are busy around here.
The dog is adjusting well, considering her fragile canine psyche. So far she’s slept twelve hours a night, in a concerted effort to help the college daughter catch up on a semester of lost sleep. She’s kept the sweat quotient at bay by licking Hiram’s head after he works out. And she’s upped my hot flash incidents by cramming her warm little body next to mine in the hours between my bedtime and the daughter’s.
She’s had a few neurotic episodes. The first one was Sunday morning when we all went to church and left her home alone. The second was when I went outside to chop ice a few days ago and she thought I’d abandoned her again. The third was yesterday when she drank to much water and threw up on our bedroom carpet.
Yesterday she got an Hallmark e-card from the dogs at her other house. They had a little help from my sister-in-law, I think. My sister-in-law’s dogs think of this kind of thing. Abby doesn’t. But when introduced to new concepts, she catches on pretty quick. With a little help from me, Abby sent a return e-card. She chose an interactive card that allows the recipients to dress a dachshund in human clothes.
I discovered the carpet vomit right after our Hallmark moment. Abby looked at me. I looked at Abby. I’m pretty sure we were thinking the same thing.
Life is way better when the dog is at the sister-in-law’s house.
by jphilo | Nov 9, 2010 | Family
From what Mom’s told us about her childhood, she was never a costume kind of girl. My memories of her don’t run towards a let-your-hair-down sort of woman. And her former elementary students would most likely agree…especially since her nickname was Iron Woman of the Playground.
In short, she didn’t have a Goofy Gus personality.
Wasn’t raised like that.
Never experienced it.
Was always very concerned about what other people thought of her.
And her kids.
And her grandkids.
Mom’s world was hemmed round with inhibitions. Until a few years ago, when she was diagnosed with early stage Alzheimer’s. Then things began to change. Gradually, what other people thought didn’t matter. Having fun in the moment did. Slowly, she began expressing her feelings.
She told us we were good kids.
That she was grateful for our care of her.
That she felt safe because we were around.
That she loved us.
In July, her inhibitions relaxed further. At our daughter’s wedding, she got all dolled up in a costume, entered the photo booth, and the camera captured her essence.
The bunny ears on her head make me laugh.
The flowers around her face soften my heart.
The sweetness of her smile makes me cry.
She is so happy.
This picture is worth a thousand words.
For the first time in her life, my mother is free to be herself.
by jphilo | Nov 3, 2010 | Family
Rumblefish arrived Friday evening while I was at the evening session of our church women’s conference. So I didn’t witness the truck’s majestic sweep up the driveway. With Allen driving, new daughter Abbey and dog packed in the cab and an antique piece of farm machinery in the back, it must have been a sight to behold.
My first encounter with our son’s pride and joy came when our overnight guest, the conference speaker drove home late Friday night. The monster in the truck bed waved its round metal fingers when we climbed out of our respective cars. With Halloween right around the corner, the leering piece of farm history was more than a little disconcerting.
The contraption was slightly less threatening in the cold light of day. Allen gave Hiram and me a quick tour of its finer points – a bunch of handles and levers that impressed my hubby to no end, but left me totally bored, bored, bored. Then, the two men went into the mechanical trance that overtakes Philo men in the presence of machinery. They launched into a discussion about gears and welding and other boring stuff.
I, on the other hand, went into my capture-the-moment mode. After all, the thing (It has something to do with grain and boring holes, and it is made to be drawn by horses, not a tractor. So if this were an essay question the explanation would be worth at least half-credit.) is the first tangible piece of our son and new daughter’s dream of owning an organic farm and working it with horses.
If that isn’t a moment to capture, what is?
Admittedly, the moment wasn’t all that pretty, with Hiram and Allen rolling their eyes at the sight of the camera. Rumblefish could use some sprucing up, it’s muffler needs voice lessons, and a dozen cans of spray paint would work wonders on the machiney thing. But there was a weary beauty to the spokes and springs, and a wondrous imagining of fields and crops and critters as our son shared this small beginning of an upcoming chapter of life.
So I concede that the acquisition of the the horse drawn whatever-it-is, which wintering in a farmer friend’s chicken coop, is a good first step into future – even though encountering it in the dark of night prickled the hair on my neck.
Still, I’m hoping the second step isn’t the horse.
by jphilo | Oct 20, 2010 | Family
Tuesdays are usually for visiting my mom, Dorothy. Most weeks we go out for lunch, run errands, keep appointments, pay her bills, and balance her checkbook. But my crazy week of travel meant our day out was today, Wednesday.
Which was fine by Mom. She’s been hankering for schedule change ever since Village Inn started their Wednesday-free-pie-with-any-purchase promotion. So today we made a beeline for Village Inn – before putting gas in her car or buying some birthday cards – and made quick work of lunch. Then we ordered our free pie. Cherry for Mom. Strawberry-rhubarb for me. It was surprisingly good pie, though it couldn’t hold a candle to homemade.
The fact that it was free had Mom, thrifty survivor of the Great Depression, grinning from ear to ear. Free pie made her happy enough to crack a few jokes on the way home. Engaged enough to read yard signs and comment on the political leanings of home owners along the way. Secure enough in who she is to use her cane in the Target parking lot. Silly enough to choose the goofiest card she could find for her son-in-law’s birthday. And to think, all it took to make her happy was a schedule change and free pie.
Wednesday with Dorothy – priceless.
by jphilo | Oct 19, 2010 | Family
Ahhh…home again after two days of interviews and speaking engagements, two nights in strange beds, and two drives through the countryside where farmers were harvesting at full tilt. Though my eyelids are drooping and my body can’t wait to rest on our mattress’s familiar bumps and lumps, my heart is grateful for the people who made this quick trip a treasure of joy.
First, my cousin and his wife opened their home to me Sunday evening. Catching up on life with the adults was grand, but catching up on kid stuff with their children was a gold mine of information. I am now fluent in Thomas the Tank lingo, northwest Iowa youth tackle football league play-offs, downloading MP3 files, or the alphabet song – thanks to their three boys (ages 12, 10 & 5) and their 3-year-old daughter.
Monday yielded its own delights. The morning’s walking trail wound past a farmer combining corn and the local grain elevator with its growing pile of Iowa corn. Later in the day, the professionals and parents in the special needs community who agreed to be interviewed for my book shared nugget after nugget of wisdom. Then my daughter, her husband and I went out to dinner to celebrate his new job.
Which brings us to this morning when I spoke at a service club in my hometown, sharing childhood stories and memories of the people who helped our family after Dad was diagnosed with MS. Afterwards a friend of my parents spoke to me. “Every time I visited your dad,” he said, “I left with more than I had given. It was impossible to visit him and not leave smiling, feeling good.” We looked at each other, our eyes bright with tears.
Home again, reliving the memory, I wonder if this dear man knows what his words mean to me. They the assurance that my father’s life mattered, that he is remembered, that he gave more than he was given. His words are my golden treasure.
And I am grateful.
by jphilo | Oct 12, 2010 | Family
Phone calls are not my favorite thing, probably because of the bad news relayed by phone over the years. Never mind that ten times more good news than bad has been the subject of phone calls, too. The bad news announcements make me skittish every time I say hello.
So when the daughter called and said, “Hi, Mom,” in a doleful voice, the bright October day dimmed. A half dozen worst case scenarios flitted through my mind.
She’s dropped out of college.
Their basement apartment flooded.
She lost her job.
She or her new hubby has cancer.
They’ve had a fight.
They crashed their car.
Lest you think I’m an alarmist, you should know that two weeks after their wedding, the daughter and her hubby called with trifold bad news. All in one weekend, his workplace h had unexpectedly closed, their computer crashed, and their car died.
The daughter’s slow, mournful voice continued. “We called to tell you that,” and here her voice grew animated and energetic, “that my sweetie got a job.” Our new son joined her on speaker phone to fill in the details.
Not just any job, but a full time job.
Not just any full time job, but one where he’ll make a difference in people’s lives.
Not just one where he’ll make a difference, but with decent pay.
Not just decent pay, but one with evenings, weekends and holidays off.
An answer to prayer. When they were done sharing the details, we all agreed that God had once again provided beyond what any of us could have imagined or conceived. I hung up the phone and smiled. A few hundred more calls like that one, and my phone phobia will bite the dust.
Ya’ know, miracles do happen.
