The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

It’s a gray day in the country. I’ve had a day and night of slow and steady rain. So, far one inch has fallen. I hear tell more is on the way. I’ll let the rain gauge run until the event is done, whenever that might be. There’s a chance of showers all the way through Friday. This is going to be an oddly cool July methinks.

My small-town life has closed in around me once again. The party is over. The kids are off to their lives. Friends off to theirs. It’s me and the house and the cats, and the latter is company of the vaguest sort. It’s times like this when, if you had a partner and lost them, you miss them once again because there would be a recap to ease the transition. But that’s definitely water under the bridge, although not that much. In three weeks, it will be six years since my wife died. Sometimes it feels like forever and sometimes it feels like yesterday.

I’m having post-birthday thoughts. By most metrics, I’ve had a long life. I’m five years past the lifespan of the average US male, and one year away from how long most US women live. Mostly I think it’s luck and genetics. In fact, it’s probably all luck and genetics. I didn’t pick my parents, and I can recall two instances where death nearly came knocking but turned away. Both involved cars, and both were in my relative youth.

On the occasion of my eightieth birthday yesterday I had one of those revelations that sometimes visits me and helps bring my life into sharper focus. In this case it had to do with friends and how I view them. Previously, I’ve seen my life as a journey across the landscape of time, picking up friends along the way and losing some too. There was always this idea of having left something behind.

It’s sticker burr season. I think mine are sentient. I know the common ways they get into the house. Pants. Socks. Shoes. Pets. But we have no indoor pets, and I’ve found so many recently in the house that mine have to be traveling on their own. It’s either that or I’m being inordinately careless when it comes to my shoes and socks. I’m going with smart burrs.

I thought I was getting a new phone yesterday. I thought wrong. The phone was ordered in Houston. I was to pick it up at a local store just down the road. I arrived. It was there. The clerk scanned my ID and went to clicking on the computer. At the end, came the message to call home. He called. He talked. He handed me the phone. I talked. Then I was told I couldn’t have the phone, the transaction was flagged.

I’ve found myself sitting a bit too much lately, and I think it might be contributing to some of my back issues. I’m taking steps to rectify the situation. A friend’s daughter is helping me find a physical therapist, and I already have a good massage therapist. Now I just need to be my own get-up-and-go therapist and get moving. It also occurred to me, however, that in addition to dealing with an aging body, I might also be wrestling with a mild depression.

It may seem odd, but I’ve loved all the places I’ve ever lived. East to west, north to south, any place I’ve ever called home always brought something to the table. I imagine part of the reason for this is that I never heard my parents complain, although there is a chance I wasn’t listening. After all, for most of it, I was a child, just happy to be. The bottom line, however, is still the same. I remember my surroundings with fondness.