“Bouncy ball is the source of all goodness and light” or so my Taipei game tell me when I win.
I’ve been cranking on my novel, 29 pages yesterday and 8 so far today, I’m coming up on the 60K mark, very exciting. So I haven’t been posting here. Today’s Tuesday. I saw my dad yesterday and Sunday.
Sunday was, of course, Independence Day, when the world celebrates its independence from nasty aliens. Oh, that was only a movie? Anyway, my husband and I and his mom & Grandma gathered at my parents’ house for a “picnic” as we call it, although we eat in the house. You know, dogs, burgers, potato salad, all that, eaten off Styrofoam plates. My dad was excellent, if I hadn’t know something is wrong with him, I never would have guessed. Maybe the medicine is finally kicking in? My mom got him to recite all the months of the year in order (sad, isn’t it, what a person can be reduced to) and he was able to do so (after some prompting, he still thought he was supposed to spell “world” backward). She said a few days earlier, he could not remember.
When we went to the Square last week (Friday night), he couldn’t remember my birthday (which is in 2 days!), even with a lot of prompting. Oh well, a birthday’s not very important. And I’m pretty old anyway. (Don’t ask.)
The crazed Jasper cat of course adored me, because I was at his house. When I am at Grandma’s house, I am the most evilest of all cat enemies. (He once smacked me in the face so hard that it was audible. If he had claws, I’d be missing an eye or half my nose!).Anyway, over the course of the meal, my father made sense when he talked, and remembered the names of most things. My mom and I are getting better at interpreting for him too–I think he might have had trouble with naming the plate of lettuce and tomato slices, but that’s about it.
Yesterday, as is traditional, my mom was going to come over and tame the bush-from-hell. I had plans to photograph it before and after. It poured, and she called to say she “might be over later” so Will and I went out for pizza and then he had to stop at his mom’s to put in her air conditioner. When we got home, the wild rose bush I had wanted to take a picture of was hacked to the ground (it had been at least 7 feet high). Apparently my father got over-enthusiastic with the clippers. Oh well, I’ve cut that rose bush to the ground before and it always grows back bigger than ever.
Mom did most of the cutting, I dragged things to the wheelbarrow and Dad dumped the cuttings into our scrap pile. Zen, my fat black 1/2 Siamese cat, was outside playing in the wet grass, happy as a, well, a cat in long grass. He loves being outside, but his leash always gets tangled in one of the back yard rose bushes so he has to be watched almost constantly. (He’s pretty stupid.) We had a mishap, as always. Mom cut the dogwood branch which was touching the phone wire and instead of it falling, it got stuck hanging from the wire, which was even worse.
(This is a minor mishap compared to some. In 2000, we had a terrible windstorm and the tree in front of their house got knocked down, onto the house. Mom was cutting it up while standing on the ladder on the hill, and I was holding the ladder. She cut a load-bearing branch somehow and the WHOLE TREE fell on me. I swear that my Reiki saved me. She was sawing, I was holding with both hands, and my hands got hot–my Reiki turned on by itself–and I thought I heard someone say something. I turned my head and said, “What?” just as the tree fell. It skimmed my cheek, smashed into my left shoulder, knocked me to my knees in the mud, and then slid down my left arm leaving scratches and bruises. If I hadn’t turned my head, it would have hit me in the head.)
So my husband climbed up and hacked at the hanging branch until it came down. This made him all dirty and sweaty just when he wanted to leave to go see Annie Lennox and Sting so he was unhappy.
Anyway, my father was himself for the most part, in good spirits. My mother wanted to pull the pickup truck into the driveway and my father couldn’t understand why (we were working in the back yard and the tools were in the back of the truck in front of the house). Just a few weeks ago when he cut the lawn, he pulled the truck into the driveway himself. I don’t know why my parents have so much trouble with our driveway. It’s narrow, but it’s not like an ALLEY or something.
Now I will tell the story of Dad mowing my lawn. This was before we knew about his disease. We were having a party and needed the lawn mowed (our lawn is small, we have no mower and depend on borrowing mowers or using the weed wacker). I asked him if I could borrow the mower. He didn’t like that. (I was never allowed to mow, just like I never washed the car by hand.) My mother volunteered him to mow. He told me to pick up any rocks in the yard. I explained that certain rocks (the ones around my circle) cannot be moved. He said he wouldn’t mow. I said to mow around them. He calls that Tuesday (actually it was the day he lost his job) saying he’s coming over to mow and did I move the rocks. I explain, again, that the rocks cannot be moved, but I moved the lawn furniture. He comes over just before Willy gets home for lunch. Willy tells him again not to move the rocks and shows him which rocks not to move. While we’re having lunch, he mows...after moving all the rocks, of course. He even removed every statue and pink flamingo from my garden (but didn’t mow it). I was so angry. I called my mother and said, “If I had been working in your yard and I moved things you told me not to touch, I’d never hear the end of it.” She got mad at me and hung up. (Moms. Who understands them?) I had to re-consecrate my circle and it still doesn’t feel exactly right inside. A few days later, my father calls me and offers a kind of apology, in his “I can’t remember any nouns” Bob language. He said he was at the place, you know, and he saw the thing, you know, people go there, and he realized that I was trying to make that kind of special thing, and that’s why he wasn’t supposed to move the rocks. Luckily I speak “Bob” and understood that he went for a walk on the linear trail and saw the labyrinth (which is edged in brick). My circle isn’t a labyrinth, of course, but he got the right idea somehow, and he offered to come over and put the rocks back. I had already done most of it. I was touched that he made the connection between my sacred circle and the labyrinth (he’s not much of a spiritual person) and I felt kind of bad when he asked “did you move the big one? That one was a bitch.”–referring to the large center rock of my circle, the so-called “head rock” which I got on the beach on vacation a few years ago (my best friend & her husband were with us and got a similar rock for their garden). It’s larger than my head and, a grey rock which would be utterly boring except for a 4" stripe of quartz right down the middle. (I LOVE striped rocks.) It’s got to weigh 60 or 70 pounds and my dad, who’s had a hernia operation, picked it up to move it. (I just kick it, I can’t lift it.) Of course, I TOLD HIM NOT TO, but now we know why he did such a silly thing–he has a memory problem which isn’t his fault.
So for my birthday Thursday I am going to Mystic Aquarium with my parents, as my mom has this week & next off from work. I believe I am starting my new job at the newspaper the next day. I also have 2 potential students, one for Shamballa and one for Holographic Sound Healing, so I am happy. (1458)