The Caregiver’s Tales: A Blog

Yesterday was a day of riding around. Went to a lake, went to a river, sat and watched the sky. There was a big rain. I reported three inches at my house, but it was closer to four. When those rains come, the rivers and creeks really run. I like to go see them. Yesterday it was the Blanco River and Miller Creek. They were both running hot and muddy. It was particularly nice to see water in the creek, because lately it was a creek in name only.

It’s been a wet June. Last night I woke up to thunder and lightning and found the rain gauges nearly full this morning, registering close to three inches. That’s a hard rain. My freshly mown grass likes it as do the plants. The Barbados cherry is now bearing fruit. I refer to it in the singular, but I’m fairly certain there are now seven or eight plants clumped together. Too bad the cherries are only slightly larger than pinheads.

The yard is in need of edging, which means grass is thick around the edges in various spots. But I got a new book the other day, and I’d much rather sit and read. Of course, that’s not really the responsible thing to do, but I wonder if I’m aging out of the need to be responsible, and is it really responsible? After all I am getting soft around the edges so maybe my yard can be soft around the edges. We’d be a matched pair.

There’s a phrase, keeping it together, which applies to my life. I have a hard time doing it. Some people seem to be built like walls, brick and mortar, everything in place. I, however, feel like a loose accretion of rocks and gravel. Bits falling off, dust trailing behind, nothing stuck anywhere that will stick for long. It means that when I think I’ve got it all together something is likely to fall off.

Several months ago, I had a small get together at my house. To decorate, I bought cut flowers, put them in a vase, and set them on the island in my kitchen. My guests enjoyed them. Afterwards, I left them out until they started to wilt. Then I decided to replace them. I’ve had cut flowers on my island in my kitchen every day since then.

I wish, in my youth, that someone would have taught me how to do crossword puzzles. I think it might have helped me learn the art of patience and quiet thinking. My late wife did them, but I don’t know how she came to the practice, or what pleasure it brought here. I needed a mentor to make the suggestion then teach me the art.

I watched an ant walk the length of a table the other day. On his way to somewhere to do something, most likely look for food. But there’s no telling what his journey was about. He was just a tiny being, walking in his world, unaware of me or my world. And while I sat in a community of friends listening to music, I wondered about his community of friends. Did they miss him? Would they even know if he never came back?

I did a good thing yesterday. I got peeved and kept it to myself. That feels like progress. Although, since making the decision last November to stop talking about my pet peeves, I’m fairly certain I still talk about them on occasion. I likely unload on my friends and family, without much thought, whenever one of my pets rears its head. I guess old habits die hard.