"I can promise you a feeling of peace and joy when you speak generously of others in the Light of Christ."  

- Pres. Henry B. Eyring

Conversation With Grandma

Saturday, January 17th

I call Grandma's hospital room.  They had taken her in on Friday night.  Diagnosis?  Double Pneumonia.  At 92.

"Hello?"  I don't recognize the voice for a second.  I have never heard her so subdued before.  

"Hello?"  She says again. 

"Come on, Grandma," I say.  "Why can't you just be like everyone else?  The rest of us get just normal pneumonia, and you have to go get double pneumonia!"

"It's triple pneumonia!"  She insists in a stern voice, before she begins to laugh.  

"How are you doing?"

"Well, I am thinking of a way to break out of this place without anyone catching me."

I laugh, "I could fly my private jet over and we could go to the Bahamas where nobody could find us."  

"Yes, yes."  She says, "And after I spend enough time down there I'll look so beautiful that no one will recognize me."

"Exactly!  No one will be able to find you to put you back in the hospital."

"I'll just tell them to look up pictures of the Bahamas, find the most beautiful person there, and that would be me."  

We both laugh.

"I still can't believe how you shot up so fast!  When did that happen?"

"I wanted to excel in something," I tell her "so I choose height."

We make a couple more jokes and then I hear her say "hello?" before she drops the phone.  

I called her again today.  She is doing worse.  As soon as I say hi she begins the ritual praising that she does whenever she talks to any of her grandchildren.  Today she can only get out about five adjectives in a low voice telling me that I the "Sweetest, most wonderful, kind, considerate, angelic..."  Most of the time we get at least fifteen.

"You know that we all get it from you, Grandma."

"Well, I am glad you realize where it came from." 

"I've arranged the personal jet.  We can take off anytime you are ready."

"Now, is it at least a ten day stay?"  Grandma asks, with a tone implying that if it's not I'm out of luck."

"I was thinking at least three weeks."

She laughs and I inquire how she's feeling.

"Not very good, but I'll be just fine.  I've just got to shape up and ship out."  She emphasizes the impatience in her voice. 

"Yep."

"Well, I love you, and take care of yourself."  She says, tired. 

"I love you too, Grandma."

"I love you, be good, and take care of yourself."

"Goodbye."

Grandpa, Grandma, Me, Kip

A Sunday Afternoon Walk On Holdaway Rd.

I wish we wrote more letters.  Rose sent me a fantastic letter today and it helped ease the desire that has crept up in me every since I've been reading through all the Anne books.  Sigh.  I love progress, but sometimes I wish I wasn't so attached to what that means.  Letters are divine.  

A Good Man...

Weaver of Grass is one of my garden friends from whom I beg wisdom about plants, etc.  She is a poet, the wife of a farmer in England, and is absolutely wonderful.  I wandered over to her blog tonight and ran into her January 11th post.  It was great.  I wanted to pass it on to all of you.  

So please visit this blog post called "What we leave behind" for just a few minutes, and I promise it will be worth your while.  It reminds you of the beautiful things in life in an extraordinary way.  

Enjoy...and let me know what you think!

The Demise of Daisy the Dalmatian; The Death of a Town's Dog

I have always told Kip that things happen fast in my life...I think he is beginning to believe me.  For when I called him at work to let him know we were looking at a new apartment, he had no idea that by one O'clock the next day we would have been offered said apartment, talked to our landlords, worked out a partial payment plan, and have people already taking a look at our old apartment.  Like I said, things happen fast in my life.  

It's down in Vineyard, in the basement of a lively family (who don't mind me vacuuming at midnight) and our front door opens up to a big park and the mountains rising above a small string of city lights.  The walk up to the car is greeted by fields, tall golden grasses, a few silos, a lake, and another string of distant mountains.  

Because Kip was working and in the middle of intense chemistry classes I did most of the moving in our jeep.  After dropping off one of the endless loads of things (how do you accumulate so much?) I was getting in my car to leave when I noticed the dog again.  The dog.   Her name was Daisy, and she walked ever so slowly, her arthritic body creaking in time with her protruding bones.  She was very old.  I backed my car out and she stood there in the middle of the road, as if to test this newcomer to her small town.  I drove forward and she didn't move.  Her pathetic attempt at intimidation was completely endearing, and though she didn't respond to my honks and I had to back up and completely drive around her, I was won over.  

It was always a pleasure to see Daisy walking around outside our several windows, and one night she serenaded us for hours, right next to our bed room.  She had belonged to the parents of  Bessie, one of our landlords, and her younger brother.  After the years they both moved away, and left Daisy to be fed and loved by the numerous relatives along the old farm road.  She was literally the town dog.  

Then one morning, a few weeks ago, as I was getting ready, a thought came into my mind.  "Your going to run over the dog today."  I laughed and thought that it was bizarre and dismissed it completely.  Kip and I had lunch together and I ran outside to jump into my white Pontiac Grand Am.  (Ugly, very ugly.  And so low to the ground it couldn't run over a squirrel.)   Daisy was wandering around the front lawn.  I backed out of the little drive, put my car in drive and off I went.  Only to feel myself crushing something beneath my wheels.  I froze and then realized.  Daisy!  Jumping out of the car I ran back to her, where she as laying miserably in the road, and whimpering.  She was trying to hold her paws above her head as if to cover her crying face.  Ah.  I just fell apart inside.  I ran to get Bessie.  

I could barley yell because I was sick and had lost my voice, so my screams sounded hoarse and desperate.  She bolted out the front door and we stood there, watching Daisy crying in the middle of the road about her broken body.  It was no use.  We knew she would be gone soon.  I ran down to get Kip.  

"Kip, I need you outside."

"What's up?"

"I ran over Daisy!"  Then I started to run back outside.  He pulled me to him, gave me a big hug, which didn't help my emotional toughness, and then came out to help Bessie move Daisy off the road.   We watched her go the moment she was touched.   

I was crying, because, I just killed my landlords dog, the town dog, and I had really liked her.  But the worst thing was that because I didn't have a voice my responses were all hoarse and it sounded like I was completely falling apart.  Ha ha.  So then I was laughing and crying.  

We moved her out of the road, and Jeff and Bessie took her across the street where she was buried the field.   Bessie had told me, as we were watching Daisy cry in her last moments, that they had been trying to figure out what to do with her, and had needed to put her to sleep before the snow fell.  She was so old and sick, and deaf I then found out.  No wonder she didn't hear my car, and just ran under my tires that way.  

Jeff, from across the street, arrived just moments after she had gone.  They all felt horrible that I had to be the one to run over her and were all wonderful about it.  Unfortunately the kids would have to be told after school.  They sent me off to work, and I told the secretary at the school that I had run over my neighbors dog.  

"Oh!  I bet you feel horrible.  To have killed someone's dog!"  She said a fair amount of "comforting" things, which only made me feel sick, but I did laugh.  

Needless to say, I didn't go home until Kip got home from work at about eleven that night.   As I was driving down the street I kept looking in the shadows, doing everything I could to not run over the dalmatian that wasn't even there.  

Lest you all think...

...I am never coming back, I am. 

 I am going to give you the title of my next blog, which I will write as soon as I get my Parent's Christmas Letter done...

It's called "The Demise of Daisy the Dalmatian: The Death of a Town's Dog." 

 By Any Girl.  Executed by Any Girl.  Mourned by Any Girl.  Lamented by Any Girl.  Run Over by Any Girl. 

Poor Daisy.  

A Precious Gift

Home Sweet Home  by Walter Dendy

Last Christmas Kip and I received one of the best Christmas gifts I have ever received from "Jo Mama", otherwise known as Kip's Mom.   Her mother, whose name was Florence, had a beautiful book about Christmas time that included beautiful art work, thoughts, essays, pieces of great literature, poetry, letters, and old carols from the likes of Dylan Thomas, Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, G.K. Chesterton, Virginia Woolf, Etc.   

They all reflect thoughts and attitudes about Christmas and have a very classic feel.  (As you can see from the painting above.)  The book was also accompanied by a small framed painting that matches the front over of the book.  

I told Kip he was the little boy bending over, and I must be the one to his right, because I always had short cropped hair as a younger girl.  Thanks to Lorien, myself, and Mr. Scissors.)

I LOVE this book, and adore the artwork.  Kip and I started reading the first passage last night, on the first of December, and will continue to read the entire book during the month of December, until Christmas and I will probably feature it on my blog a few more times.  

Thank You,  "Jo Mama", for the wonderful gift.

Merry Christmas!