Category: Adventures with family

One afternoon when our littlest bundle of personality was small, I handed her a bottle of bubbles. She pulled the wand from the bottle, and soapy water dripped down her hands and slid off the tips of her elbows. Then she blew the best she could. You should have seen her face as bubbles floated in the air! Her hands went up in the air as fragile orbs flew around her and were soon out of sight. She didn’t know which way to turn as she chased one and then another, watching them touch the floor and disappear. That little girl oozed with drippy bubbly excitement. She clapped her hands and danced around. “Bubbles.”

You know, that is what happens to time. The years float on the breeze like bubbles. We reach out, not sure which way to turn or what to do as they fly by. When we try to capture one it is quickly gone. We can’t stop time. We can’t catch it. If we could hold it in our hand, it would soon be gone.

I used to think of each stage of life as another chapter. I guess to some extent it is. But it’s more than that. Each chapter is the beginning of a new book – one that someone else has to write. After I make my last entry, the book will continue as someone else takes up the pen and writes their story on the pages of life.  Until that time, I will try to grasp each bubble that comes my way. Each contains a new adventure, or a new opportunity and I don’t want to miss a one.  

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

The little girl’s eyes got big. She whispered, “Did you hear that?” “What was it?”

She tiptoed to the doorway, peeked through the opening and looked around. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. She looked up then quickly turned toward me as she made that short gasping sound kids make when they pretend to be surprised. Her whole face lit up.

“Do you hear the heartbeat of the house? It went thump, thump. Thump, thump.”

Then I was the one who looked surprised

I thought, “How can a little five-year-old girl be so smart? She’s a tiny genius philosopher.”

She was absolutely right. The sounds she heard were the heartbeat of the house. It was the sound of footsteps, footsteps who belonged to people, people who love her dearly. The heartbeat of the house means there is life. Without the footsteps of those who live together and love one another, a house is void and cold.

The next time you hear footsteps coming in the door tracking in mud or leaves, or the footsteps in the night of someone checking to see if the little ones are covered and warm, or the running footsteps of those playing hide and seek, or the footsteps of one preparing and serving a meal, or tiny footsteps at the glass door smeared with tiny fingerprints on the just cleaned glass, remember that is the heartbeat of the house!

Thump, thump! Thump thump!

For several years, Daddy came to my house every evening for supper. He preferred it that way. He liked to take the walk and he wanted to keep his independence. If the weather was not agreeable or he didn’t feel well, I cooked at his house. When evenings began to get dark early, it could well be dusky or dark when he teetered back home. He usually declined a ride, but I still needed to know that he made it safely and hadn’t fallen along the way.

As he went out the door after supper, I told him, “Turn your light on when you get home.” I turned on our outside lights and watched him as far as darkness would allow. Usually, several minutes later, his outside light came on. I switched my lights off and soon, his lights echoed from across the hill. That meant he was safe in the house and I could rest easy.

On occasion, his light did not come on. Had he forgotten? Had he fallen? Was he lying in the driveway? Had a pack of wild wolves gotten him? All kinds of scenarios raced through my head. Either my husband or I would grab a flashlight and head across the yard and up the driveway. If I was checking on him, I’d peek in the glass door or window. Most of the time, he was sitting in his recliner with his feet propped up and a thin fuzzy blanket pulled over his legs. If not, I would go in the back door, and sneak around the corner to see if he was in his bedroom or at his computer. I don’t think he ever knew I came in to check on the “little man of the mountains.”

I still look out my window from time to time, but there is no light echoing mine from the hill. Oh, what would I give to see him come hobbling down the hill to my table once again.

I sat at the table at my folks’ house one day when Mama made a statement. She said if she “went” before Daddy, it was fine with her if he remarried. However, there was one stipulation: I had to approve. Of course, I didn’t think much more about it – at the time.

After they were involved in an accident, Mama was in the hospital’s trauma unit. They did all they could for her. I went in to see her just before she was taken off the machines that breathed for her. Though there was no response from her, I held her hand, told her I loved her, thanked her for all her years of putting up with us kids and vowed that if Daddy wanted to remarry, he would have to abide by her request and seek my approval.

Daddy didn’t drive again after the accident. That meant I was his main mode of transportation for a time. When we went to the store for groceries, we would go our separate ways. Whoever was done first would sit on the bench inside the entrance of the store and wait for the other. Many times, I finished first because he had to talk to everybody. He always found someone he knew – or rather, they would find him. If I saw him talking to someone I didn’t know, I was never quite sure if he really knew that person or if they were a random stranger.

One day, I walked to the door and there he was sitting on the bench. There were two ladies standing in front of him. Hmmm.. I walked up and the older of the ladies said, “He needs a cook.” I summed up the situation and said, “He has a cook. Come on Daddy. Let’s go!”

Upon questioning him, he said the ladies were a mother/daughter duo. As with most folks, whenever they saw Daddy, especially sitting alone, they said, “Oh, what a cute little man.” When they stopped to chat with him, they felt sorry for him and said, “Oh what a sweet little man.” That’s a recipe for disaster – especially when they are offering their services as a cook. 

I reminded the little man that there was an approval service in effect. When I asked him why he didn’t tell her he didn’t need a cook, he said, “Well, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It was important for her to feel needed.” That lady didn’t make the grade.

Caring for someone who is hard of hearing is always an adventure. Daddy and I had great conversations. We would have two different topics going at the same time. I would ask him a question and he would give an answer that had nothing to do with the question. It was never boring!

Among his various doctor’s appointments, his Audiologist was one of our favorites. She was a nice, attractive lady who loved Daddy and thought he was cute and sweet (they all did). I loved to hear them interact. She was always glad to see him, and he always made her day. When we left, she was always enlightened.

One day, I took him to get a quick fix. That is, I took him to get his ears adjusted. She hooked him up to some machines and asked him a question. He answered but she didn’t understand. Since she didn’t know what he said, she assumed he didn’t hear the question. I assured her that he heard what she said but his response was in Dutch. 

As the exam continued, the Audiologist told Daddy she needed to send his hearing aids off for repairs and adjustments. She said, “In the meantime, I’ll give you one to wear.” 

Daddy’s face lit up! He said, “Wonderwear?” I guess he thought he was getting some superhero leotards of some kind.

I said, “Daddy, she said, ‘One to Wear.’” We all looked at one each and had a good laugh. 

Yep, he needed his hearing aids adjusted for sure! 

I slapped the alarm a couple of times, threw back the covers, lifted my legs to gather up momentum and flung out of bed. The plan was to get ready and leave a few minutes early so I could dash into the store for a few things before going to work. 

I gathered my stuff, walked down the hallway and turned to open the door. That’s when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. It couldn’t be! The hallway was dim so maybe what I thought I saw wasn’t what I saw at all. I dared glance again and sure enough – that was a snake. 

What? A snake! I stepped out of the house and closed the door quickly. Now, what was I to do? Ah ha! I called my son-in-law. “Hey, I need your assistance NOW! I’m in the garage. Get down here NOW!” I buzzed my husband and he didn’t answer. About that time my son-in-law pulled up. “What’s the matter?” “There’s a snake in my house.” “Where?” “In the hall.” “How did it get in the house?” “I don’t know, but I don’t want it there.” “Okay, come on.”

I opened the door and peeked in. “It’s gone. Wait, there’s its tail going in the bathroom.” On the way in, my son-in-law had grabbed a stick. He was trying to decide how to get the snake. He said, “What is it?” I’m pretty sure that’s not exactly what he meant. “It’s a snake and I don’t want it in my house.” He poked at it.  I said, “Stop. I need to take a picture.” Soon the snake was curled around the stick and they were both headed out the door. 

After a few more snaps with my phone, he carried the snake down the driveway. He didn’t like my suggestion as to what to do with the snake. The little slithery serpent fell off the stick and coiled up. I said, “Just leave it there. If it doesn’t move, I’ll just run over it on my way out the driveway.” How could he even suggest that my unwanted visitor should live? I waved my arms and hollered from the garage, “I can jump out of airplanes and swing from cliffs – but I don’t do snakes!

As the snake handler got ready to leave, he said, “I expected to find you had fallen and broke a leg or gotten cut and was bleeding or something.” My response was, “Do you think I’d call you for that?”

When I got in the car, it felt like beady little eyes were watching me from under the seat. What if there was something attached to those beady little eyes, waiting to curl around my ankles? One thing came to mind, “I should go in the house and put on my snake boots. Hmmm, maybe not – there might be another one of those slimy critters in the hall.” 

If any of you need ophidian removal services, I might know a good snake handler and believe me, he’ll add a prayer.

I sent the picture to my husband and the wildlife management expert.
It was identified as a Grey Rat Snake

We alit from the plane, made a pit stop, then headed to stand in line to get our rental car. I told the young attendant, “I need a four wheel drive.” The Judge told the guy, “Yep! You never know where she might take us.” My first thought was, “Oh no! He’ll check the rental car wanted poster and find my name on there from the first trip when we returned our vehicle caked in mud.” He just smiled and thought, “Not that sweet little lady.” I just grinned with all the innocence I could muster.

It’s a good thing the attendant didn’t see us the next day as we hopped, jumped, bumped and sometimes almost flew through the field. Who needs roads or trails? There were no speed limit signs and I probably wouldn’t abide by it anyway. However, there was a sign outside of our fence. I’m not sure what it meant but it was evident someone didn’t follow its instructions either.

Maybe we’ll drive on the road tomorrow.