The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

Yesterday I wrote about driving slow through the night, but I’ve even started driving slow through the day. It takes an effort, however, because it feels as though I’m hardwired for finding the quickest way. But lately, I’ve opted for the back roads and the side roads. The slow roads, the ones with twists and turns. The ones with things to see.

Drove home in the dark last night from a musical event. Part of the trip was down a country road. Narrow. Winding. Twisty. Full of deer. I was going slow. I had the windows down, too. The woods pressed in around me. I could hear the cicadas, crickets, and frogs singing their nighttime melodies. It would stop as I drove through pasture, start again in the woods.

At the first of this month (June), I noticed we were sharing our Post Office with the city just down the road (Blanco).  Didn’t think much of it. Thought there must have been an emergency and they needed help. But yesterday, they were still there and I asked why. The clerk said they lost their lease. That surprised me, because it didn’t seem like that was something that would sneak up on you.

The weather feels uneasy these days as though it is having a hard time making up its mind about what it wants to do. Should it rain? Should it shine? What? How about a strong wind? Maybe a good calm? We’re having hot days, but there’s so much moisture in the ground it hardly feels like summer at all, and its nearly July. By now we should be baking. Instead, we have a sauna.

Father’s Day. My day. Me as a member of the father class. I like being a father. I mostly liked coaching. I loved cheering. And I read to them every night. I was a good diaper changer, I knew how to feed, and I could pat babies to sleep. I could even handle the kids while my wife got alone time. I was hit or miss as a disciplinarian, and I could have used a touch more calmness.

A friend recently asked what I had planned for the week, and I said, “Nothing.” Except I have one or two things planned, but they’re things to which I’ve been invited. Planning implies something I’ve set up, and the legit answer these days, more often than not, is nothing. I’ve spent most of my life having to be somewhere and do something, mostly going to and from work, so the idea of meandering a through a day, a week, and even a month, is appealing.

I’ve noticed in my various feeds lots of stories about the Algerian soccer team in Kansas, and the Scottish team in Boston. It seems the World Cup has come to the Americas. All the clips are good, and they have made me feel good, because I like those sorts of clips, especially the ones with the Scots singing. But it occurred to me that given the way algorithms work they might be singling me out, because, well -- algorithms.

Another new plant has come to the garden, Ironweed, again courtesy of my arborist son. As with the bluebells, this is their second year but first to bloom. Maybe it was all the rain. Whatever the cause, the flowers are out and they look great. Now we hope they propagate. It’s not always as easy as one might think. Nature is relatively capricious that way. For instance, the false mallows he planted long ago, are still just two.