an overheard conversation

So Saturday I was standing in line at a local store where we buy catfish food. The man in front of  me was purchasing a part for a tractor (at least that's what it looked like).  He asked the cashier, who appeared to be in her early 20s, if the part didn't fit could he bring it back the next day.

Cashier: No. We're closed on Sundays. But we are going to be open on Memorial Day so you can bring it then.

Man: So I can bring it back to you here at the register?

Cashier: No, customer service. Laughing, I'm actually off on Monday.

Man: Lucky you.

Cashier: Not exactly. I'd rather be at work. My Dad says I have to help him repair the lining to the swimming pool that day, and that is NOT fun.  You know, my Grandpa had Alzheimers, and my Grandma always made him help with that chore and he HATED it. One day when his mind got bad, my Grandma told him that's what they were going to do, and he told her he did not want to do it. So when she got all the stuff ready, she couldn't find him.  She finally found him at the pool. He had gone and got the sledge hammer and was punching holes in the pool's lining.  I understand now how he felt. I hate that job just as much as he did.

And with that conversation, the situations we sometimes find ourselves in when dealing with dementia seem like no big deal.

it makes me shake my head

 

One day last week I was trying to get some of Bobby's shirts ironed. One that he has only had about five years is totally thread bare - half of the sleeves and all of the neck were white instead of blue plaid. I cut off the buttons then tossed it without even asking. (I did tell him about it.)

And then two shirts later was this:

I am not kidding. This shirt is from the 1970's. It's a lot thinner now than it probably was then, but it will not wear out. This fabric must be of the same weave the Israelites had when they wandered the desert for 40 years. Every year when I pull out his winter clothes, I think "this is the year we say goodbye" to some of his shirts, but it just doesn't happen. 

And maybe it's because in the winter he wears sweaters and sweatshirts, and those wear out in the elbows, but they are offering a layer of protection to the shirts underneath. That's the only explanation I can think of. (And I can hear my Aunt and Mom laughing in my head as I write this, saying It's that good 'ol American made cotton! as they reminisce about the days my grandparents worked in the cotton mill and products were truly made stateside.)

Now if I can just find pants that don't wear out!

Feeding time

These aren't the best shots in the world, but it's a small sample of what we see at feeding time in the evenings, minus the bream.

 

 

the gas crisis

The line for gas at Sheetz at White Oak, Tuesday, May11.

 

Side view, heading toward Jones Sausage Rd.

And this line of cars has turned in from Hwy 70.
(We were leaving Zaxby's.)
The arrow shows where the gas station is.

Fence gate

 Last week we attended an estate sale for a friend of Mrs. Bryan's. It was quite an interesting house and I wish I had taken pictures inside. But as we headed toward the barn out back, I had to stop and take a few pictures of the gates that led to different pastures/orchards/lots.

When turned sideways, it left just enough room for us to get through. Bobby's chair fit, so I'm sure a small lawnmower would fit through as well.

The chain connects to the frame. I guess it holds it in place when the wind is blowing.  Absolutely loved this!

Best Mother's Day ever

 

So thankful to be able to spend Mother's Day with Mom this year. She is now out of quarantine, is progressing each day in her non-oxygen time, and is slowly regaining strength. I feared the day was a bit much for her, but the laughter and company did her soul good.

I wish we lived closer, but I enjoyed what little time we had together.