The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

Last night I found myself working until 11 p.m. quite by accident. I have immersed myself in the nuances of Facebook advertising, and it is a thrill ride I can tell you. Plus, my account was hacked and someone else was in the woodshed, which has really made things interesting, and I am still untangling that knot. But I think we’re getting there, and I’m keeping good notes, which was what I was doing until 11 last night.

Well, well. I made it into the new year. I even ventured out to attend a party. There was food, drink, and good company. I was home by eleven. I saw fireworks as I drove, and they popped and boomed as I lay in bed. Others now have the official job of welcoming the new year in person. Personally, I know it’s coming no matter what I do, and sure enough here we are.

The writer me, is too tired to write, and doesn’t much feel like it, this morning. The editor me, however, says get busy son, we pay writers to write and don’t much care how you feel about it. I guess I’m glad I have an editor me, although I don’t really know why. No one is actually paying me to do this, yet I persist. I guess I hope something good will come of it. Maybe it’s just about me, and the good that will come of it is me persisting.

Home again, home again. I’m back from Virginia. My second Christmas away, in the warm embrace of my daughter’s family. My oldest son and his family also were there. As well as my sister-in-law and her family. This is the second year in which I passed on putting up Christmas decorations at my own home, which was a nice break from what was beginning to feel an obligatory ritual.

I suppose it’s inevitable, but every once in a while, I feel as though I’ve passed my “best used by” date which means it’s off to the trash heap for me. And it’s hard to argue with that because I do look and feel overripe, blotchy, and saggy. On the other hand, it’s the normal state of affairs for people my age, and most of my friends are either in the same boat or on the way to getting there whether they know it or not.

2026. The country will be 250 years old. I’ll be eighty if I make it to July. The bicentennial was a fun time. I’m not sure what the semi quincentennial will be like. The name doesn’t really roll off the tongue. I suspect though that Fourth of July fireworks will be epic no matter what and I’ll probably be happy with whatever my little town cooks up. Heck, I may even go to the parade.

We did it. The second phase is complete. My oldest son’s family, minus one, came to town. We all gathered for more food and beverages, told stories, played games, exchanged gifts, again. It was a sweet time. Full of beginnings and endings. Two us on the high end of the age spectrum have lost spouses, and two of us on the young end are heading into deepening relationships. There’s even a new baby in the mix, with youngsters to tell the tale. Now we enter that time when we wrap things up before crashing into the next year.