Mrs. Orr
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Quiet Entry
Purple-Hull pea blossom The first Sunday of fall, and it has strolled in quietly. The sky is completely overcast, but no approach of rain. It was chilly enough on the front porch this morning for me to have to don a light jacket. Mrs. Orr and I sat out there, her shelling peas, me watching the birds. A downy woodpecker was on the downed pine, his steady staccato attack ringing across the valley. A pair of titmice took turns bathing in the birdbath while a goldfinch perched at the edge, sipping and watching. A murmuration of starlings in the next pasture swung and swooped and startled my wife with…
- Bluebelle, Daily Life, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Jinx, Mrs. Orr, Photographs, Reflections
Joy & Sun & Peas & Nails On Woden’s Day
…they chafe their knees….(Bluebelle) I was out in the sun today, which felt blissful. My solar therapy was inspired by a neighbor of ours who recently described a conversation she had with a doctor about her difficulty maintaining a good sleep pattern. Since this is something that affects both Mrs. Orr and me, we were very attentive to her description of the chat she had with the sawbones. Our neighbor’s doctor recommended she go outside and take the sun for about 20 minutes twice a day, between 0700 and 0900 each morning, and again within the last two hours before sundown, whether sunny or cloudy, since the sun’s rays penetrate…
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Days Upon Days
The temperatures are so very mild here now…about 72F , sunny and mild, with rock-bottom humidity. The sensitive antennae of my bones tell me that winter will approach with more speed than I had anticipated. Mrs. Orr and I were talking recently about how we used to dread the hot weather — because in Texas, that’s really all we had — and how we welcomed the fall and winter months. Not no more, ese! The cold has an effect that it didn’t in our salad days, so there is a novel sense of dread now with the shifting sun patterns and the almost-chilly breeze. I am watching the hummingbirds closely,…
- Bluebelle, Books, Church Life, Daily Life, Dixee, Dreams, Jinx, Mrs. Orr, Music, Photographs, Quotations, Reflections
Royal Pains
It’s raining softly here today, and the valley is quiet except for the protestations of cows who are methodically being separated from their calves. We love the rain and the clouds, but there is an uncharacteristic sad feeling in the very air. And time is passing much too quickly. There is some Alanis-level irony in the fact that the squash we so carefully planted in the garden has done poorly, but one lone “volunteer” plant that sprang up, probably because of a bird depositing a seed, in a bed of shrubs bordering the back porch. This one unintentional plant has provided enough good squash for several meals so far, and…
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The Only Day
Today marks the ninth anniversary of the day my mother departed this life and went on to the next one. My sister and I chatted about this last night, remembering some of the happy times and some of the not-so-happy times we shared with the stoic, flinty old woman who gave us life and fed us and sheltered us and tried to guide us. I miss you, Mother, and I love you. I hope to see you again when my own time comes to sail into the west. *** It’s still hot here and will reach 90 today and for the remainder of the week, but the mornings have been…
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The Thirteenth of August
Today would have been her 103rd birthday, and her absence these nine years has left a divot on my life’s surface. I miss her, and I am glad she isn’t here to see what has become of her country and her region. Seeing such ugliness would have grieved her tough, hidden old heart. Her middle name was Viola, which she hated. I always loved it, thinking it had a Southern literary lilt to it, like Eudora or Flannary, and I would sometimes address her by it, which enraged her. “Viola,” I’d say, “Reckon what it would take to get you to make me some bacon for supper?” And she would…
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Wanderings, Wonderings
There’s a certain liquid but frictioned struggle when I walk through the grass in the morning after it rains. My feet, less sure now, more prone to missteps and the cruelty of unbalancing, skim through the green sea of clover and vetch, leaving long strokes like ski tracks behind me. But I do not turn to look at these tracks as I walk, because I do not trust my own footfalls. This, then, is what aging is: a gradual mistrust of all the powers and agile techniques and reflexive movements that I once took for granted, like a good Catholic who, when he sees death’s cowled head bobbing up over…
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Passages
Mrs. Orr took Dixee to the vet this morning, as she has not been improving. We have been discussing what to do in case the news was grim. The ultrasound and xrays showed no tumor, no growth, but the vet determined she had neurological issues for which they could do little except steroid injections, which would only prolong her decline. So Dixee departed this life this morning with her mama with her, and I trust that now she’s romping in a green field somewhere with her beloved sissy, Bonnie. Dixee came to us via a cranky old woman. A man had approached the old woman with Dixee in his arms,…
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Ailing Dixee
Our little elderly dog, Dixee, has been failing today. Mrs. Orr noticed it right away this morning. She was just off, and even though she ate and drank at breakfast, she wasn’t quite herself. Through the day, she has declined noticeably. The most dramatic symptom is a weakness in her rear legs. She walks and moves as if someone gave her a novocaine injection in her hips. They’re splaying out, weak and trembly, and she seems perplexed by this development. She also seems to be retaining some fluid, her belly distended from edema, which causes her to wheeze and gasp as she’s laying on her side, trying to sleep. Understandably,…
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Her Majesty
In late afternoon yesterday, I prepared to take our household trash to the disposal station north of us. I gathered the bags and went outside to load them, and I noticed a large bird’s nest on the ground beneath the weeping willow tree. The day had been gusty and the wind had taken the intricate structure down. I started to just ignore it for the time being, but that curious little voice inside me urged me to go look at the nest. There might be eggs inside, said the voice. So I went to the nest, marveling as I always do at the workmanship and careful design a bird can…