The Mighty Pine - She Will Survive

Our little round 4 seater kitchen table sits in front of our sunroom window.  With chin in hand, through the slats of wooden blinds, the immediate eye level view from my chair is a wicker basket which is attached to the handlebars of my purple beach bike.  The handle of a yellow plastic fly swatter sticks out of the basket. Out of the corner of my I catch a glimpse of a brightly colored stripy patio umbrella.

If I lift my head slightly, my view changes and I immediately become mesmerized by the swaying branches and waving pine needle fingers from the old pine in the back yard.  The tree has grown so tall in its 20 year life, that from where I sit I cannot see the top of the tree.
A few years ago during a winter storm, the branches became so heavy with wet snow that the old girl's trunk began to lean, her roots desperately trying to maintain their deep hold in the wet cold earth.
The next day the storm passed, but temperatures had plummeted.  The skies were brilliantly cold blue.  The heavy wet clumps, still clinging to branches, had become icy crystals.
The high noon sun was warm enough to coax the snow off the branches, causing them to plop to the ground, sending showers of crystals up into the air like sprays from a fountain.
As her load began to lighten, the old girl tried to straighten her spine, urging her roots to pull her up.
I watched this unfold from my window seat and I could almost hear her majesty groan as each clump came crashing down.
By the end of the day the tree had leaned so far forward that we thought we had lost her.
Fortunately, friendly helping hands arrived with sturdy stakes and strong rope in hand.  The old girl was gently propped up and she survived.
Today on this gray November day, I am reminded of the struggle our dear pine endured.   I thought about how valiantly she fought to maintain her roots.  On that dark and stormy night I feared she had given up.
Today, as I sit in my usual spot, I stare out the window, contemplating my weariness. I flinch each time I move the wrong way because my aches are painful.
I lift my eyes away from the purple bike and towards the swaying branches of my lady pine.
I am hopeful for I know friendly helping hands will be there to gently prop me up and lighten my lode when my burdens weigh me down.

I Have A Story To Tell - Part III - Frustration

We have had some fantastic fall weather so far.  Many sunny days, with brilliant blue cloudless skies and an occasional gray rainy day here or there.  Today is going to be one of the dreary and misty days.
If the rest of our life turns out to be like this fall's weather, I would be more than okay with that.

In September Ross was diagnosed with Alzheimers. Ross is still going through diagnostic testing which he should finish up this week.  Perhaps we will soon have more definitive answers.

I made a decision, with Ross' approval,  to write, in serial format, about our journey.  It will not be a daily journal, but more like on a need to write basis.

This post is the third in the series.

Today I need to write about frustration.

A little background information might help explain.  Ross is highly intelligent.  Just like his life, Ross' educational background was widely varied.  He proudly attended the Naval Academy.
After his second term, he realized the disciplined and structured demand of the military was not the life he wanted to live.
He went on to graduate from the University of Toledo in Ohio with a master's degree in math and computer science degree.
He found his calling in teaching high school students.  He had a special relationship with his students, who often confided in him, knowing he would be understanding and supportive, no matter what.

Ross and I have similar even tempered dispositions.   Perhaps it has to do with the fact that we both are the eldest of our siblings.  We had to learn early in our life to adapt, listen, and make room in our life for others. 
I believe because of our mild manners, we mostly continue to live an even keeled and calm life.
Of course we are facing something now that might probably be the most challenging of our lives.

Although our frustrations come from different challenges, and may happen on a daily basis, we seem to be able to work through our feelings by communicating in a calm and reasonable way.    Mostly.

Yesterday, we had an incident.

It began with a trip to one of the big box stores.  The kind where you need to show a membership card to get through the door.  Ross easily found his card, but could not find his credit card.   Since I had mine, it wasn't going to be an issue.

We did our shopping and went on home.   When we got home, Ross found his credit card in his way too small and crowded wallet. He then decided to sort and organize all of the items.  He started to make piles of the different items.  He put credit cards together, id cards together, insurance cards together, etc.

After that, he tried to count the various cards and items, over 20 I would imagine.

When he began to struggle with simply counting, his frustration began to build quite quickly.  In an unusual emotional display of what I perceived as anger, he insisted that I stop what I was doing (which was making lunch for us) to help him.

After a long week of many appointments and sleepless nights, I reacted in a not so calm way.

After a cooling down period, as we usual do, we came together to talk about what happened.

He explained how hurtful it was to realize that after a thirty-plus successful career as a mathematician he was struggling with simply counting.

I tearfully expressed the frustration I felt trying to remain even tempered and patient all of the time.

Today on this dreary, misty Sunday, I understand that we both need extra help with all kinds of things. But at this point when IT is still new,  I am freezing cold, in a state of shock immobility.

Rambling Through Monday

I feel like writing today.  Mostly, I feel like rambling.

Lately, I have started to wonder if I have any more stories left in me. 

Monday is change the bedding and laundry day.  We have several "not fun" appointments this month.  But, today is a free day.   I am thinking that I might try to record my knitting podcast today. (Joey's Scarf) That requires a lot of planning though.


Scary thing happened to me the other day.  I got a "ransom" note from a computer hacker.   What was upsetting to me was that the hacker knew my password.  Of course I ignored his demands and my computer didn't blow up.   I wanted to report it, but didn't know where to send my complaint.
I changed my passwords all over the place.  But wondered if the hacker knew my password, would changing my password prevent "hacker" from gaining all of my new ones?

I find I am more peaceful when I don't watch/listen/read "the news".  But, then won't I be uninformed?
Will I have to rely on small talk about the weather or idle chatter at the next cocktail party?
By the way, I haven't been to a cocktail party in years, so I guess I don't have to worry about that.

I woke up this morning before daybreak.  I turned over and heard Ross stir.   He reached over to find my hand.   Although at times he may not remember my name,  I believe he feels soothed by my comforting touch, just as I do by his.




I finished knitting a sweater I have been working on for months.  I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride that I had finished it.   I am not happy with the fit.  But, boy did it come out nice.



Ross and I completed a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle.  Jigsaw puzzles are interesting.  As soon as it was finished I took great pleasure in decomposing it.  Oh, I took a pic first.

I don't want to do another jigsaw puzzle in forever!

These days,  I have time to contemplate the clouds via the sunroom windows.   Today the glimpses of blue give me the smallest glimmer of hope.



     She felt bone weary.  When she was a girl, her dear grandmother would say those words, and then sigh deeply.   At the time it made her think of a bent over skeleton,  gingerly walking with a cane.  As she watched her grandmother bustle about getting dinner ready for her flock, her grandma hardly looked like her imagined skeleton.
    She now wondered what had made her grandmother bone weary. 

A story...perhaps?