from the porches

My Story: Part 10 : The Imperfect Man

Early on, while building the business, Truett and I decided we would save money by not paying for a babysitter for Clay.  "I'll take care of him," Truett told me.  "I'll just take him on the job sites with me.  It will be fine."  So I trusted him.

 Well, lo and behold, one afternoon I drove home from work and walked to the stained glass studio being built to the East of our house.  "Hello!  I'm home!"  I called as I entered the construction site.  Then I looked to the right of me and let out a blood curdling cry, 'TRUETT!  GET OUT HERE NOW!"  No, folks.  It was not a snake.  It was my baby, Clay, sitting way up high on the scaffolding.

Truett walked into the room where I was and asked, "What's going on?"  I pointed to the ceiling and said, "What is he doing up there?  GET HIM DOWN NOW!"  I could envision broken legs, arms, and a fractured skull.  Of course, Truett threw up his shoulders and plainly set me in my place,  "HE got up there.  So HE can get down!  It'll make a man out of him!"

"WHAT?  YOU'RE NUTS.  DO YOU KNOW THAT?"  I screamed.  "I CAN'T TRUST YOU ONE BIT!"

I further added,  "It wasn't enough after last week, was it?  You took Clay to Jacksonville to the Synagogue, wearing only his underware, and then didn't watch him.  Only were you aware of your son after the Rabbi stormed out and told you that Clay had peed on the flower beds in plain view of everyone!  We've got to hire a babysitter, Truett.  I've about had it!"

And with that, I stormed over to the house and prayed that Clay got down safely off of the scaffolding.

No, Truett was a lot of things: strong-willed, a great salesman, creative, smart, etc.  But, sometimes he lacked focus.  He was an imperfect man to some degree.

I love you, Truett.  You silly man.  You've given me so many memories to remember you by.  Some memories are a little askew, though.

Bittersweet Visit

I took Clay with me today to visit Truett.  We braved the 45 degree temperatures as we headed to Gainesville.  This little bird is probaby saying, "Let me in.  It's cold out here."

Clay and I had lunch and wasted a little bit of time before we visited Truett at Gainesville Health Care Center.  When we entered Truett's room, he was in the bed, following lunch.  Clay told Truett about his boxing lesson and how he was so out of shape that he injured his legs.  Truett put a smile on his face because Truett used to box in the National Guard in Louisville.

Soon after Clay's story about boxing, Truett became agitated and wanted out of his bed.  Ashley ( an aide) and Truett's nurse calmed him down and we soon left the nursing home with the traditional "I love you" in sign language. 

While there, I asked about Truett's roommate, George J.  Ashley informed me that George had passed away.  I remember months ago, me tapping George on the shoulder to keep him from falling off his bed while eating his lunch.  Soon after, both of George's arms were wrapped in bandages and he was put in a recliner/contained chair.  I assumed George fell and broke both arms.  So sad because I always looked for George in Truett's room and in the dining room.

So so sad.  Ultimately, I would see George in the dining room unable to feed himself.  So sad to still see birthday cards and Christmas cards taped over George's bed, along with cards that read, "You are the best Granddad ever". 

It's odd how I become attached mentally to the dementia/alzheimer patients on floor three at GHCC.  George's family probably doesn't know that.  I wish they knew someone other than nurses cared. 

Heck.  Truett probably isn't even aware that George has gone.  It was a bittersweet visit for me.

Happy 90th Birthday, Mom

My Mom, aka, Ms. Alice, turned ninety today.  What an excitable woman she was.  My day started when she paused at the kitchen doorway after getting up and shouted, "Happy Birthday!"  as if I were about to forget.  "Mom, give me a chance to say it to you.  Happy Birthday, Mom!  I love you!"

Mom was dressed and ready to leave for The Great Outdoors for her birthday lunch with family.  At 10:30 she stated,  "Let's go.  I'm ready to go."  Susan reminded her that we had an hour left before we had to be there.  "Well, okay,"  Mom answered.  She was wired and ready to celebrate.

Mom was a Chatty Kathy all morning long with boisterous laughter, continuing through the evening.  I just rolled my eyes, but decided to let her have "her day".  Clay drove us to the Great Outdoors and she bent his ear about being married to Daddy for sixty-four years and hearing his last breath he took.  Susan and I know this not to be true because Mom can't hear anything without her hearing aids.

It was a great birthday party.  We have enough cake left for maybe two more days.

Happy Birthday, Mom!  Your family loves you. 

 

 

Merry Jennifer, Sam, Maddie and Oliver celebrated Mom's 90th birthday with us.

 

the strawberry

(When I was teaching I would often write stories while the students wrote theirs.  Eventually, I put a handful of stories in a book made by Studentreasures.  While Tina and Blaine were here, I read them my stories.  They are all based on true events and the book's title is Remembering Merry.) Now, on to "The Strawberry" story.

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    Sunday dinners are always special.  Roasts, mashed potatoes, gravy, and real dessert.  I couldn't wait to see what we were having today.

    As I rounded the corner to the kitchen nook, I spied the strawberry shortcake sitting beside the dinner plates.  "We've got strawberry shortcake!" I yelled excitedly to Sherry and Stevie, who were three feet behind me.  "Thank goodness it's not that pineapple upside-down cake Mom likes to cook," I thought.  I couldn't sand those burnt pineapples stuck to the cake like bricks in cement.  Plus, I don't want to eat anything "upside-down".  I think kids have a right to say whether they want to eat their food or not, and especially if it can be right side up, but Daddy feels differently.

    "Eat your food!" he bellowed at every meal.  "We're not wasting food!  Your mother and I work hard to give you kids a decent meal!" 

    I thought of all the poor children around the world starving at this very moment; however, I hated cleaning my plate, but if it meant we had to gag down hominy in order to get strawberry shortcake, then I ate hominy.  Usually, I hid disgusting food in my napkin, or sometimes I'd just mix it in with the mashed potatoes and swallow real fast so I couldn't taste the horrible taste.  Today, anything was worth eating to taste strawberry shortcake with a soft mound of fluffy whipped cream.

    Sherry, Stevie, and I sat down in front of our plates.  I looked at my brother and a grin began in the corners of my mouth and spread over my face.  With my right hand, I plucked a fat red strawberry off of my shortcake.  I held it gently in my right palm.  Then I snuck my spoon into my lap with my left hand, placed the strawberry in the spoon, carefully raised it to the table's edge and pointed it at Stevie.

    Stevie was such a pest.  Always wanting to be around Sherry and me.  Always wanting what we had.  Always in the way.  I heard the sound of Daddy's footsteps in the hallway.  "Now," I thought.  "Right now if you're ever going to do it."

    I tilted the spoon back towards my chest like a slingshot, let go of the tip, and watched the strawberry fly.  "OOOPS!"  Sherry and Stevie and I looked up to the ceiling right above Daddy's empty seat.  The strawberry stuck to the ceiling directly over Daddy's chair, the pointy end aimed at Daddy's chair.  "Oh, please, God.  Don't let it fall,"  I silently praayed.  My eyes widened and I gritted my teeth together.

    "If it falls, I'm telling,"  Sherry whispered.

    "Me, too!"  Stevie mouthed silently.

    We ate our dinner politely that Sunday.  There was no giggling.  Stevie didn't jump around in his seat or kick his legs back and forth on his chair in fear the strawberry would fall.  Somehow we knew we'd all be in trouble if the strawberry missile landed on Daddy's head.  We listed to Mommy and Daddy talk about the hotel and Mom's black iris she was ordering from Burpee's flower catalog.

    Months passed and the strawberry became a wet, discolored stain on the ceiling.  I don't know whatever happened to the strawberry.  One day it just wasn't on the ceiling anymore.  I do remember years later asking Mommy what that spot on the ceiling was, just to make sure Sherry and Stevie didn't rat on me; but Mom never fully understood what I was talking about.

(Thanks to Sherry for the illustrations!)

metamorphosis

I'm keeping my grandchildren for a sleepover tonight.  Somehow, I thought I had them for two nights, but I am mistaken.  Anyway, after supper tonight it was time for baths.  Oliver took his shower first and then completely covered himself in a towel on my bed. 

"Nana," he said.  I am a cocoon."  And pretty much he was except for that inkling of a pink toe.

"Hold on, Oliver," I told him.  "I want to see the whole metamorphosis of a beautiful butterfly."

And another leg appeared.

And finally, the beautiful butterfly!

 

glitches

Well, Truett has been home from Shands Rehab Hospital almost a week.  He came home "walking".  But I have noticed that his enthusiasm for walking has waned.  This worries me.  At night I lay in bed and wonder why?  Why did he lose his motivation? 

Today I may have come up with an answer.  While Truett was at Shands Rehab Hospital (for the second time in one year), he was treated differently.  His first visit resulted in people asking, "Who does this guy think he is?"

But not so this second round.  All I heard when I visited was, "You did great Truett!"

"High Five, Truett!" 

"Now WHO am I gonna' watch the Gator games with when you leave?" Mr. Truett!

I have come to the realization that Truett misses the attention he got at Shands Rehabilitation Hospital, and attention is a great motivator. Truett's attitude about "walking" is still there, even though he hasn't "walked with his walker" in two days.  And then I wonder, "Why not?"  Where is the motivation?"

Today I drove my husband to his Audiologist in Gainesville; and as I was getting the wheelchair out of the Acadia, I noticed that Truett was standing outside of the passenger door.  Alone.  No safety belt.  No wheelchair behind him.

"Don't move!" I shouted.  "What in the world are you doing?"  Then Truett told me he knows he can walk; but he just forgot that he can't do it now. . . without a walker.  So, from now on, the walker is our third passenger when we travel.

After six days out of Rehab I have assumed things are status quo . . . like they were a month ago. 

But they are not.  There are a few glitches.

I asked Truett tonight if he was reading his "Cowboy books".  (He hates it when I call them that.  "They are Westerns!" he lambastes!"  And even though, I thought we just picked up where we left off almost a month ago. . . we haven't.  He can't focus on reading and thinking at the same time.  Not yet. (After all, it was seven months to reach where we had come from).

Even though Truett is taking his anti-nausea meds, they are NOTworking.  We did make it to the Audiologist  in Gainesville today; however, Truett's God-awful dusty pink rose plastic bucket rode in his lap the whole way.  So, soon I hope this nausea straightens itself out. 

But, here is the best part.

Truett's hearing aide is working.  NO MORE LOUD TV.  NO MORE LOUD TALKING!

I told Mama tonight, "Just read the words on the screen.  It's so much better that the NOISE!"

And that's what we did as we watched NCIS (my favorite TV show).

Sometimes you have to just deal with glitches . . . and keep the faith  . . .and keep the hope!

long time coming

 
It's been a long time coming. . . having our grandchildren for a sleepover. 

In fact, the last sleepover we had with them was December 17, 2010.  Way too long not to experience the joys of young children.  The laughter.  The pestering bickering.  The wisdom from young minds. . . and the endless questions about our world and the universe we live in.  And I must not forget the knowledge that my grandchildren have learned since December 17, 2010.

 
Oliver is four years and seven months old.   A regular chatterbox, if I might add.  But Oliver's voice is like the sound of Angels to my ears.  "Nana, are there skunks on this driveway?  You know skunks are stinky!  I hope there aren't any skunks on this road."

 
If only I had a tape recorder to preserve the memories of these special days.  Maybe, that's why I feel the need to blog.

 
 And then there's my dear Madeline.  Seven years old and about to become a second grader.  I did notice one thing about Maddie this sleepover.  When I said, "You have to walk quietly by the puppy pen," she threw her hands out and exasperatedly exclaimed, "BUT WHY!  I'M NOT AFRAID OF THE PUPPIES!"  And it was at that moment that I thought I saw an early teenager in her.  You know.  The "attitude!"  And I just chuckled!

 
Oliver and I retreived the newspaper for Granddaddy this morning when we saw a giant footprint.  Of course, the writing teacher in me caused me to inquire, "Oliver, whose footprint could that be? Could it be Bigfoot's?"

"Nana, who's Bigfoot?" Oliver asked.  So I told him.  (Sorry, Merry Jennifer and Sam.  But imagination has to start somewhere, even if it is scary.) 

Needless to say, Oliver and I surmised it must be Uncle Clay's footprint and not Bigfoot's, but most definitely not a skunks footprint."

 
Madeline, on the other hand is way more interested in cute little sweet adorable kittens. . .eight in all.

 
 And of course, puppies, especially Maggie.

 
Now you don't have a sleep over at Nana's and Granddaddy's without spending some time writing stories. . .or alphabet letters.

 
That's right. The teacher in me never leaves.

 
Okay, folks.  Lontsum is really lonesome.  But any elementary teacher could phonetically figure that one out. 

 
Yes, this sleepover was a long time coming and I loved every second of it!

 

unload & reload

 
 
I am learning how difficult it is to have a family member being disabled, especially when it comes to finding handicapped parking spaces. Sometimes I see people hop out of their cars in one of these reserved spaces and I want to yell, "HEY! YOU CAN WALK!  WE NEED THAT SPACE!"   

I'm also learning about handicapped friendly doors.  You would think all doctors' offices would have that handicap button that you mash and the door magically opens, but they don't.  The best doors are the ones that push inwards, not the kind that have to be pulled open; otherwise, one of us ends up contorting their body which is no longer limber, so the other one can roll through. 

 
Unload. 

This morning Truett went to rehab where Zachary, the PT, had Truett walking on a treadmill.  I posted a picture on Facebook which showed Truett all harnessed up walking on the treadmill.  Many of you commented about the great progress or how wonderful that he was walking; however, he can only walk under strict supervision, or being harnessed.  Zachary was reminding Truett that we walk from heel-to-toe so that's what Truett was practicing.  Then I found myself standing up and paying attention to how I walked.  Zachary was right:  heel...toe...heel...toe. 

Reload.

 
We certainly didn't plan our day right today because after rehab Truett and I had four hours to kill before his eye surgeon's appointment.  "What do you want to do?" I asked, and Truett suggested we go look at something pretty.  So we headed out to Micanopy, a lovely town.  Then we drove to Paynes Prairie.  "Great," I thought.  I can take photographs."  But Truett decided he wanted me to roll him out on the dock.  "Jeeze! That means I have to unload that wheelchair and load it back up!"  Then I felt guilty.

Unload.

 
"Okay, come on," I said.  Then I felt all better.

Reload.

 
Next, we decided to have lunch at Red Lobster, which, by the way, have unfriendly doors. 

Unload.

We ate, and I loaded the wheelchair back into the Acadia. Whew!  Unloading it is fine.  All I do is yank on it and pull and hope it doesn't land on my toes as it lands on the pavement.  But, reloading the wheelchair is a different story.  I don't think I'm tall enough or don't have long enough arms or something, so I struggle and struggle and in it goes!  Whew!

Reload. 

One hour and fifteen minutes left.  "What do we do now?" I asked. Then Truett suggested we go to Books-A-Million.  "Crap!" I bellowed.  "That means I have to unload and reload that wheelchair!  UGH!"  Once again, I felt guilty and said, "Okay!  Let's go!"

Unload.

Reload.

 
Truett bought a large magnifying glass and three books.  "Uh, Truett.  Why are all those bruises on your arm?  Could it be that you race through the house with your scooter on full speed, banging into walls?"  Poor baby!

 
Finally, we went to the eye surgeon's office. 

Unload.

That's when I realize  my husband can't be left alone for more than ten minutes in a doctor's office before he starts rummaging around.  "Hey,look at this," he says.

 
 
Finally, the doctor saw Truett for about five minutes and decided the stitches will come out of Truett's eye next week, the same day as rehab, only four hours later. 

Reload!

At last we made it back to Fort White; but I told Truett that next week we're not running all over the place with me unloading and reloading that wheelchair.  Nope.  Next week we're going to a movie! That should kill at least two hours.

  

 

while he slept

 
The weather was beautiful today.  Warm. Sunny.  Spring-like.  Around 10:00 this morning Truett said he wanted to be pushed outside on the patio. So I wheeled him to the patio where he stayed until 1:30 p.m.  Truett napped for about two hours while I took photos in silence.

 
I photographed sandhill cranes.

 
Flock after flock of sandhill cranes.

 
I photographed yard ornaments.

 
And Truett slept. 

 
I photographed wheelchair parts. . .

 
And more sandhill cranes.

 
I photographed the first chameleon since late last fall.

 
And more sandhill cranes.  The sky was full of cranes.

 
Meanwhile Truett slept like a baby. 

Kiss.  Kiss. 

 

 

merry christmas 2010

 
Merry Christmas everyone!

This has definitely been a year to remember.

 
This year I had the most gorgeous flowers, and yesterday I saw one lone rose blooming.  All the rest have died and turned brown because of our cold weather here in Florida.  I saw the rose from the porch and felt an urgency to photograph it before the next cold snap which will happen in a day or two.  I love you, roses.

 
One year ago on Christmas Day, Ms. Alice, (my mom) would not go anywhere out of the house because of a huge lymphoma on her lip.  Then she went through chemotherapy, radiation, and the ordeal of regaining her strength back.  We survived the year, didn't we, Mom?  Now look at her.  She lost her hair, grew unmanageable frizzy curls, and now Mom gets her hair trimmed in a style at the beauty shop.  Merry Christmas to you, Mom!

 
Oh, my word!  In March we bought Maggie and Lily, the two most adorable daushund puppies in the world.  They pretty much rule the house now and it's a juggling act for me among:  A husband, Mom, Clay, Maggie and Lily, and of course, Roger and Punky, our Manx cats.  This was definitely a year to remember, wasn't it, gang? 

Tomorrow we will spend Christmas Day with Merry Jennifer and her family, and I am grateful that my family is so close.  I wrapped the presents, made jello salad, am doing laundry as I type, and in the morning will hop to it to make my squash souffle while Truett's whips up his yummy mashed potatoes.

Merry Christmas, everyone!  Have a blessed holiday!