The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

I’ve started work on my new book, Learning to Live. It’s about me navigating the murky waters of grief. It starts the day after my wife died and continues to this day. It’s a personal story because grief is a personal story. But the hope in publishing is that by telling my tales, a struggling reader might find a thought or an idea that proves useful, provides relief, gives hope, and says, you’re not alone.

Stepped outside this morning to feed the cats, and the cold air greeted me like a rapacious animal, anxious to steal every ounce of my warmth. Icy fingers slipped beneath my jacket, inched up my pants legs, and tweaked my ears. Foolishly, I’d gone out in slippers and pajamas, wearing a thin house jacket. Luckily, the cat houses are on the southern porch and close to the door. I dropped off the food and scurried back inside.

I feel a little silly going on about this, but when your weather is the exception, rather than the rule, it’s what you talk about. It’s cold, below freezing cold. And it’s going to rain, sleet and maybe snow. The accumulation forecast looks to be light, but I’m not one to judge. I’m only here to accept my fate, although I’ll be inside so it’s not much of a terror unless something breaks, and I think the chances there are low.

If you’re prone to anxiety as, am I, then the internet is the worst thing that ever happened. It knows what interests you and gives it to you, in spades. Take the coming winter storm as it pertains to Central Texas. In its simplest form the storm is bringing cold and ice and possibly snow. But internet Cassandras are out in full force. They remind us of Snowpacolypse. They talk about ice. They warn of power outages. They are shrill. They are loud. They are constant. Why? Clicks!

I swung a Mattock Pick yesterday to bust up the root ball of a plant I was trying to remove. It didn’t take me long to realize these old limbs aren’t what they used to be. Brute force is no longer my forte especially for extended periods. That’s a slightly sad feeling. But that’s okay, at least I’m still trying. I’m just going to manage it in bursts. Whack it once or twice, then dig a little. Sometimes patience pays off. Besides, what’s the hurry?

Things will freeze this weekend. The forecast low for Saturday and Sunday is 13. That’s cold in anyone’s book. Rain chances are mixed. But there will be enough ice to give an old man pause when it comes to walking outside. I think I’ll get my hiking poles out for the extra support if I do need to get around. Mostly I think I’ll just stand on the porch and watch.

I find it deeply ironic that Indiana, a proverbial loser, won the National title in college football doing exactly what earned the Southern Methodist Mustangs the death penalty in 1987—paying players. My, how the times have changed. And I think it’s fair to say parity has come to college football courtesy of NIL and profit sharing, because even Vanderbilt is winning.

Finally, it feels like winter. The heavy cold has arrived. It feels good and is a nice way to scrub off the final memories of a hot summer. Of course, there was no rain with the recent front, which is unfortunate, because we could use the rain. But I’m tired of speaking of how the dryline has moved. This is simply our lot in life now. Dry days and water tables sacrificed to satisfy developers and irrigators.