Open House

I guess I have never realized what a good friend my husband is. It was obvious that he knew a lot of people but had never really figured out how much they all thought of him.

Since his surgery he has been confined to the house. This has caused a lot of betting in town. The bets are mostly concerning how long he will last before the drives me to brain him with something. He's not known for being the most patient man, nor for doing a lot of sitting around. He's also not known for doing what he is told, especially if he doesn't agree with it. So the two weeks of enforced inactivity have everyone wondering how he will handle it.

I guess I could describe it, so far, as a big office party. His partners have been here most days with work for him to do and keeping him updated. My computer has been commandeered and I am now working from my laptop on the kitchen table. I've quit even answering the phone because I know it's not for me. The good news is that he hasn't been starting work until after he's had his hot breakfast (after years of me dishing out cold cereal. He's not milking this for all he can get or anything).

The party has been from the constant stream of visitors who have come by to keep him entertained. The weather has been perfect fall weather, so a lot of the visits have taken place on the back porch. The hill has rocked with deep bursts of male laughter. The tall tales have been followed by short jokes and local news. My job is rather like a maid. I bring them something to drink, fix them food and stop to listen and giggle.

I always knew he was a good and caring man. However, the truth of how good a friend he is, is in the number of his friends that have wanted to be sure he was entertained in his "house arrest". They have come to keep him company, lift his spirits, and encourage him. They have brought food, cards, and lots of caring. A lot of people have to die before they find out how much people care. We have been lucky to discover this while we can still enjoy the party.

Thanks guys.

The Battle is On

My grandfather was a giant. Seriously. He also fathered two generations of children. Now, that's not as hard as it sounds. He had three wives (not all at once) and three children. My aunt was 21 when my dad and his brother entered the picture from wife number three. He actually was in his late fifties when my dad was born in 1915. Papaw was born during the Civil War and actually participated in the Oklahoma Land Rush. That's another story. Somewhere oil wells are pumping away on the useless farm land he sold, I'm sure.

Even with all of this uniqueness what really made him memorable was his height. In an age when an exceptionally tall man was six foot he stood six feet six inches. With broad shoulders and huge, work hardened hands he was an imposing figure. I was very small when he died so I only have vague memories of sitting in his lap, but family lore has painted a picture of a man that was big in every way. I remember pictures of him standing with his grown sons, both of whom were six feet tall and being literally head and shoulders over them. They looked like children next to him.

Naturally, he married my grandmother. She was the local school mistress and a consummate horsewoman. She also was about four feet eleven inches tall! I can tell you this, every inch of her was feisty. She produced two healthy sons, eleven months apart, which would have earned her everlasting love from her husband if he hadn't already been besotted. To this day the thought of the creation of these two boys causes me to be reduced to giggles. Granny and Papaw looked like a St. Bernard and a Jack Russell terrier when seen together. The only pictures she would have made he had to be seated and she would be standing next to him. Then they were about the same height.

Now don't get the idea that everything was rosy. Granny was an educated woman and believed in using her own brain. Papaw was older and of the school of thought that the man got to do the thinking for everyone. He was dictatorial, loud, opinionated, narrow-minded, and slightly pig headed. She was devious. They hardly ever agreed on anything, especially politics. She was a republican, naturally he was democrat. They never fought, they skirmished. There were no loud explosions but lots of maneuvering.

Election day was eagerly awaited by everyone on the farm. From children to the help, everyone tried to be around to witness the battle. You see they knew, since they would never vote for the other's party, that if they both voted they cancelled each other out. So, whoever got to the polls first got to vote and the other just missed out. Papaw would fire the opening shots by announcing at breakfast that he would be cutting hay and would be bringing in extra help for the day. That meant that Granny would have her hands full with cooking all morning to get ready for a huge lunch for the hands. Feeling satisfied that she was secured he would leave for the fields, knowing he could slip away to town to vote. She would retalitate by sending one of the boys to town to get supplies in their only vehicle, thus keeping him from leaving the farm either. After lunch he would return the favor by sending the blacksmith to fit new shoes on one of the horses, knowing she would never leave him unsupervised with her darlings. This attacking and counterattacking would go on until one of them managed to get to the polls. The winner would then hold gloating rights over the other.

Granny was a staunch Baptist and so was Papaw, which is about the only thing they agreed on. Everyone went to church on Sunday then back to the farm for dinner. The only thing Papaw loved more than eating was preaching. So everyone would settle in their chair and get ready for him to bless the meal. This was his pulpit. Soon he was explaining to the Lord that as wonderful as his world was, things could be improved if the Lord would just follow a few suggestions. When that topic ran out of steam he would pray for all the sinners he knew and since he often got pretty specific, this was a well attended portion of the prayer. When he finally got to the repentance portion of the prayer, Granny would be getting pretty antsy. After all you can only keep food hot so long. She would wait patiently for him to take a breath, then she would stamp her foot and shout "AMEN".

For all their skirmishing they were an oddly formal couple. She always referred to him as "Mr. Gaines" and he called her "Miss Sallie". They were old fashioned in all things and would never be so undignified as to show public affection. However, they remained a devoted couple until she died. He spent the rest of his life watching the door, wishing she would soon be bustling through it, fussing at him for being late to dinner.

Unforseen Plans

My daughter has gone home, but her visit ended on an abrupt note. My husband's routine physical, which fell during the first part of her visit, turned up a slightly elevated creatine level. This prompted an ultrasound of his kidneys and bladder. This was followed by a CT scan and two visits to a urologist. The result was that he was suffering from a common male problem of enlarged prostate. His had created the problem of actually closing off the opening from his bladder, resulting in the need for surgery.

We found ourselves bombarded with a huge lack of information. The doctor, while very highly regarded and very well qualified, suffered from the opinion that he could decide just how much we needed to know. While the situation was well described and the surgery explained there were a lot of gaps in what he told us. It left us feeling very pressured to have immediate surgery without really understanding the total situation. We left his office with the surgery planned for the following Monday and three days in which to rearrange hubby's schedule at work for the next two weeks and finish all the projects he was currently involved in. Plus he had to arrange for care for the farm for the next month . He can do nothing for two weeks, then 2-4 weeks of not being able to lift anything or ride a tractor. Plus our daughter was here with her two small children and I needed to take her home. That involved a 10 hour trip one way.

My husband was frantically trying to tie up all the loose ends while I was involved in feeding everyone and trying to figure out how to rearrange my schedule. This didn't leave much time for us to talk about the upcoming surgery. It just really isn't something that we felt comfortable discussing with our children and five grandchildren. My daughter wanted to stay for the surgery, but with a three day hospital stay and her with two little ones to care for, that didn't make a lot of sense. She wouldn't be able to do much to help out and I would just fret. Plus, I really needed to get my house cleaned up from her visit in preparation for buddies dropping by to pass the time with hubby. So finally, all was settled when her brother offered to take her home. This actually allowed them some extra time together, so it was a good solution.

With everyone gone we finally got the time to discuss the upcoming surgery and what we needed to do. While we both felt we had not been given enough information (an Internet search and lot of "male bonding" answered most of our questions) we did feel like the surgery was necessary and urgent. In spite of several who urged us to wait and get a second opinion, which I highly endorse, hubby wanted to go on with the scheduled surgery. I admit to strong misgivings but bowed to his desires, since it is his body, after all.

The surgery was this morning and all went perfectly (according to the doctor of few words). The best news is that he is resting comfortably and not in a lot of pain. He is alert, eating and sitting up watching the football game. His nurse is slender, attractive and looks about 20. However, she is very competent and sneaks in to watch football with him. I think he might be in love. Hopefully he will continue to just feel better and better and the future will be much more comfortable for him.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to keep an active, go-getter in the house for two weeks. I think the odds in town are that he will survive the operation only to be killed by me before the end of the lock-down!

Wish us luck.

The Demise of Passy May Coffey

There is nothing like a two year old to make you laugh. The little red-headed one that has been at our house for the past week has made us all giggle. She has an impish way of looking at you and lisping comments that keep you smiling. Everyone from the 12 year old cousin to her uncle and aunt have fallen under her spell.

One of the most endearing things has been her pacifier. Like most little ones, she has a favorite pacifier. However, unlike most little ones this one has a full name. She will proudly tell you her passy's name is Passy May Coffey. No one knows why, but this passy is part invisible friend and part family member. The house has rung with calls of "Passy May" as she has searched for her "friend".

This afternoon as the two little girls were playing upstairs, I was summoned with desolate cries of "Passy May, Passy May, Passy May". I ran to see what the crisis was. I found the little one
pitifully crying at the top of the stairs. The older sister had thrown Passy May down the stairs.I retrieved it and peace was restored. She is amazingly even tempered and didn't hold a grudge once the passy was restored.

So tonight when bathtime was over and bedtime snacks were finished, Mom started gathering up things preparing for the bedtime rituals. The hunt for Passy May was begun. The little one has a way of just laying the passy down, so it usually takes a few minutes to locate it. After a few minutes Mom signaled me from the dining room door. She silently held out her hand. Nestled in her palm were the remains of Passy May. She had located the pink back and the little white ring, but the dog had eaten everything else. With a stricken look she mouthed "what do we do?" We debated just telling her we couldn't find it but opted out for honesty. (especially since the older one came upon us and spied the remains)

So Mom called the little one over and showed her what was left of Passy May. She looked at the pitiful pieces and called in a mournful tone,"Passy May, Passy May". Calmly, Mom explained that the dog had chewed it up and now we had to throw it away. We waited with baited breath to see what would happen. Visions of crying babies and sleepless nights stretched out before us. Tears gathered in my eyes as I felt for her loss. With total aplomb, she waved and called "good-by Passy May" picked up the pieces and put them in the garbage.

We read stories and settled the girls for bed with wonder. However, as the lights went out this little voice quavered out. "Old Joe, Old Joe" She was calling for the back-up passy that is now known as Old Joe. After a few poignant cries, Mom caved and produced the back-up. With a contented slurp peace settled over the room.

Good-by Passy May. Welcome Old Joe.

Coming Home

My daughter and her two daughters, who are 2 1/2 and 5, are in visiting for 10 days. We have looked forward to this visit for quiet a while. It isn't often that she can come for an extended visit with the girls. Her husband is a farmer in Iowa and couldn't be with her this trip since they are trying to harvest their corn. While we miss having him here we are enjoying a rare visit when we can just enjoy having her home to ourselves.



As usually happens when you anticipate something so strongly, it isn't working out quite like we expected. My son, who lives in our community has been here most nights after work to visit with his 2, 4 and 12 year old boys. It's wonderful to see the little ones enjoy running and playing on the farm. However, I forgot how wild it is trying to cook for 5-10 people while dodging two 2 year olds, a 4 year old and a 5 year old. The kitchen, which seemed spacious becomes an obstacle course of toys, kids, and dog. Grandma finds herself hurdling from counter to counter, while calculating portions and amounts frantically in her head. See, the other thing I've forgotten is how much food it takes for a crowd. Especially a crowd that seems to fluctuate continually. As friends of the kids hear about our daughters visit, they all want to come by and see her. Of course, they do usually come at dinner time. About the time I get the hang of this again, she'll go back home!



In my mind I visualized laughing visits in a clean house with happy children playing peacefully. In reality, the house is a wreck, the dishwasher hasn't stopped running and there is always at least one child either out of sorts or with an "owwie". What we did get right was the part about laughing visits. We have laughed, giggled, snorted, and chuckled. The stories have just flowed out and everyone is talking over everyone else. It's wonderful! The kids have been bandaged, hugged, rocked, kissed, or corrected by whichever adult was handy. The house has never looked more perfect with people, clutter, clothes and shoes everywhere.



It's not perfect, but it is perfectly wonderful.