Cats, Flowers and Genes

Ma used to feed the cats. She didn't personally keep any pets, but she fed cats nevertheless. Every day, she would come out her back door and take the catfood dish in. They would start to gather. By the time she came out with the dish full of food, and another with water, they were there. Five or six usually--they appeared at mealtime just like clockwork. She would talk to them while they ate. Then she'd go in and get her teapot full of boiling water and pour it carefully into the cracks of the sidewalk around her yard--killing millions of ants marching around here and there. I think I'm going to feed cats when I retire. I always thought it was pretty cool how they just came for dinner. Nana grew geraniums--all varieties. She had a whole back yard full of them. She knew each variety and loved them all. My favorite were the Martha Washingtons. They're lavender tipped with white centers and a fine black line like a sunburst coming from the center. For you folks in the Rocky Mountains--in San Diego, you can grow whatever you like whenever you like--outside in your yard. We had ferns, poinsiettas, geraniums, birds of paradise, carnations--all growing year round. I would love to be like Nana and have a garden of beautiful flowers, but I am afraid that gene went directly through me to some of my children--Amy and Jennie especially are terrific flower growers. Amy planted a beautiful flower garden a few years ago in the flower bed in my front yard. It was great, but the flowers were annuals. Nana inherited this trait from her father. Pa was a wonderful gardener. Everything he touched grew. How wonderful to have a green thumb! I wonder how many others of their descendants love to garden...

Sick

I don't remember my Nana being sick--ever. I know she must have been, but I have no memory of it. Ma either. "Ma" and "Pa" were the names we called Nana's parents--Grammy's maternal grandparents--Martha and Peter Rasmussen. I remember going in her house--Bobby was usually afraid to go alone--she had mysterious things going on. Sometimes she would be lying on her bed with colored lights shining on one body part or another--ear elbow, etc. It was a light with a frame around it, and she had colored celophane that she put in the frame--and it shone whatever color the celophane was. The thing is, different colors were for specific ailments and pains. I know this theory is extant in some regions, but I don't know what it is. Ma was a great practitioner, though. Also, she could belch. I'm pretty sure she could hold her own with ANYONE. I used to sit and watch (and listen!) with amazement. I never realized, as a little child, that one day I would also have a stomach full of anonymous gases and other detritus of meals and be able to do it almost as wondrously as she did. yech... The thing is, I remember Pa being sick. He got "flu" or "a cold" and went to bed--of course. I also remember Gramps getting sick a few times--he didn't go to bed. He just coughed and spewed from the kitchen table where he sat doing crossword puzzles. He had a truly nasty handkerchief wadded up beside him and used it frequently during those times. Grampy had malaria during World War II. The trouble with malaria is that when you are better, it keeps coming back. He and Grammy were married in 1952, and he was still having those periodic spells of it. He got really sick--chills, fever, shaking--he was really bad. Gradually the time between the spells grew longer, and at some point, they just stopped. Of course, we didn't know it until we realized--hey it's been a long time--well into the 60's. When Bobby is sick, well, you know. The reason I'm thinking about this today is because I am either really allergic -- probably -- or I have some sort of virus. yech... I'll probably be feeling well tomorrow--it's my plan.

On Saying Goodbye

Our friend died. He died from being "rode hard", badly maintained, and things getting worse than professionals could manage. But still, he's gone. We talked about the fact that going forward, this will happen more and more frequently. I have heard very old people say that one of the hardest things about growing old is that so many of your peers are dead. I hope his family all knew how much he loved them. I hope he told them and showed them often. His wife (also a much loved friend) said she wouldn't have believed how much this hurts. When we married, we were in our 50s and knew for sure that the term of our lives was limited. One of us will have to say "good bye". Hopefully when that time comes, we will be able to be there and actually say good bye. Better still, let those we love know it all the time. If you never saw someone you love again, would you be comfortable in the knowledge that they knew you loved them?