Bus Ride to Sylva

My retina specialist is no longer using offices in nearby Clyde and I had to go to Sylva, about 20 miles away. The bus company requires that I be ready to leave the house an hour and a half before my appointment. Luckily I was ready early and was about to sit near the living room window when the bus pulled into the driveway at 9:06, nine minutes earlier than I expected. The driver and I exchanged about three sentences, and then came 20 miles of silence. I was at the office an hour early and was taken quickly The eye injection was easy, the unusual thing was having bubbles float to the top of the eyeball rather than sink to the bottom.

When I called the bus company to be picked up, no one answered. I left my name and went blank when I was supposed to supply my phone number. How embarrassing! I mumbled an apology and immediately called back. Injection day messes with my head!!

The bus arrived shortly. I never thought to look to the back of the bus, assuming since I had been alone before, I would still be the only passenger. The driver replied to my comment, then I thought he said “good morning” to me. Why? Who was he talking to? Was someone greeting him through his connection to the base? I ignored it, and another 20 miles of silence ensued. I was shocked that we got off the highway near Walmart and meandered through residential streets. The driver pulled into a driveway, got out, and opened the rear door. I could tell by the sounds that he was lowering the platform. Only then did the other passenger come into sight, as he used his wheelchair to get to his house!

I told the driver then how surprised I was that someone was in the back. I said next time I’d look both ways before boarding. He laughed and said not to worry about it. He said the man said “good morning” twice after I boarded. Aaauuggghhhh!

I realize now that my hearing aids are aimed forward. I always turn my head toward someone speaking to me, but I didn’t know to turn toward the back of an empty bus!

A Glorious Easter

I enjoyed my Easter celebration to the fullest and hope everyone else did, too. I usually don’t eat breakfast on Sundays until after church, but the service was a bit later today. I began with a hot cross bun, thinking of friend Susan who loves those buns. Mine was almost stale and not very tasty, so I made it crispy in the air fryer and added a sugary glaze. Not bad! I wasn’t desperate enough to add chocolate, which would have been inappropriate.

Here I am, waiting for the service to begin.

The service, streaming to the computer for me, was well-attended, and pastor’s sermon was excellent, as always. I enjoyed singing all the hymns. The hymn number was on the screen, as well as all the words. I could sing as loud as I wanted, knowing most of the neighbors were not home at the time.

A nap before lunch was an unusual luxury. I cooked a marinated, bacon-crusted pork loin in the air fryer, which was quick and easy. That, paired with half a huge sweet potato from a restaurant meal, was most satisfying.

Dinner music was a lucky find from John’s stash of CDs. I found the Easter music yesterday, just in time! I listened to the Missa Resurrectionis by Antonio Bertali (1605 – 1669). The cover hints that this recording of a live performance was done in the Vienna Cathedral. It was a recreation of the Easter Sunday service of 1666. Magnificent!!

During the day I texted with grandson Nathaniel, son John, and nieces Kathie and Chrissie. Daughter Kate and I had a leisurely chat on the phone, and I saw a video and photos from daughter Lise, in Norway for work this week.

What a full and glorious day it was! Knowing that Christ died for our sins and rose victoriously was the grand theme for the day.

Maundy Thursday

Grandson David invited me to go to his church for the Agape meal on Maundy Thursday. He had been before, but I didn’t know what to expect. We sat down in the fellowship hall among David’s friends and enjoyed chatting. The people there were so very warm and welcoming.

The scripture describing the Last Supper was read, and we had communion at our seats at the table. Then we had a meal of various breads, cheeses, fruits and nuts passed around on platters. Since Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, the pastor and some elders went around the tables washing the feet of those who desired it. David accepted; I observed. (I wear compression hose and did not want to struggle getting them off and back on. I couldn’t have done it without removing my slacks, so you can understand why I chose not to.) I longed to take a photo of David and his beloved pastor, but it was not appropriate. I memorized the scene, to be replayed on command.

We processed silently into the sanctuary, carrying the flowers on the table, symbolic of going to the garden. We sat in silent prayer as a few people stripped the altar and removed all decorative items from the front of the church. We left, a few at a time, going in silence to our cars.

The experience was moving, and I was very glad to be a part of it. Thank you, David.

Car Tags

As neighbor Joyce and I were walking, I said, “Read.”

“What?” she questioned.

“I was reading that car license plate that went by, and it says READ. Someone told me the owner is a librarian, so it’s most appropriate.”

In North Carolina, you can buy a “vanity plate” to have your own message instead of a meaningless set of numbers and letters to identify your car. You are allowed eight characters. No inappropriate words, abbreviations, or phrases are allowed.

I wondered aloud what I would choose. Without missing a beat, Joyce said, “I would choose BIRDS.”

She loves nature and is willing to walk leisurely with me so she can look at birds, animals, and plants. I’ve learned a lot from her and value our walks together.

What would I choose? It didn’t take long. I’d opt for WORDS on my car tag.

Have you ever thought what you would choose if you wanted a special tag for your car? John and I never wanted that, but TRAINS41 or CHOOCHOO would have been appropriate for his car.

Spring Killings

Neighbor Joyce was startled when she saw a headless rabbit next to her house. She said it was a fresh kill, that it had only one fly on it. She buried it immediately and looked for information on the internet. It seems wolves or coyotes often kill rabbits to eat the head, where most of the nutrients are located. They aren’t interested in the meat on the body. I’ve never eaten brains, although humans do eat them. I would avoid the raw meat of a rabbit, not wanting to eat hair that covered the hare.

The day warmed up, so I ate lunch on the back porch. I spotted the first wasp of the season on the screen nearby. Getting my favorite glass for trapping, I put the glass over it and slipped a piece of cardboard underneath. I sprayed the railing with wasp killer, and while the insect was at the top of the glass, I removed the cardboard and put the glass over the poison. The wasp was dead within a minute, so I felt it was fairly humane. When the weather warms up for good, I often leave the back door open and do not want wasps having free access to the house.

Tidying the Property

From every window I saw ragged bushes, and I knew the job was beyond me. Two and three years ago, I began trimming shrubs in February. It was too cold for that this year. I put off contacting the tree man, even though he is a most pleasant young fellow. After coming home from the dermatologist’s appointment, I texted Jeremy. I was shocked when he replied within a minute or so. Yes, he could have his men working the very next day. He lives only a mile or so from me and stopped by that very afternoon to give me a quote.

As neighbor Joyce and I were walking the next morning, I saw the truck heading to my house. Jeremy showed the two fellows what to do, then he stopped in his unmarked truck to speak to me. He came at least three times that day, checking on the work. It was amazing how much they did.

Two days later I realized the lawn people would be showing up soon. All the neighbors have mowed their lawns, and mine looked as ragged as could be. I knew the lawn people would pick up the limbs under the old oak tree and throw them all on the now defunct burn pile. I skipped the morning walk, picking up limbs instead. Swapping walking for limbing was hard. I was being careful, though. Knowing how uneven the ground is, I had my cane in one hand while pulling the garden cart and picking up limbs. Being tired, I was extra careful putting the cart away and going in the house. I had worked 3 ¾ hours. It occurred to me that if I died because of my exertions, it wouldn’t be suicide. It would be garden-cide.

This is the area where I removed fallen tree limbs.

Rocket the Raccoon

This is a very short story about our neighborhood raccoon.

When neighbor Julie, walking her dog Patches, joined Joyce and me, she asked, “Have y’all seen a raccoon around lately?”

I replied that I caught one on the cam a few days ago. It was actually only two days ago.

“Well,” she said, “he is no more. He’s dead. I named him Rocket.”

Julie continued, telling us her two dogs barked at the ‘coon, and she went back in the house. She went outside alone to shoo it away, and it started walking toward her! That’s a warning sign when a wild animal approaches you. A delivery truck pulled into the driveway. The driver dropped the box he was delivering to her, and then he accidentally killed the raccoon by driving over it.

Julie said, “He died right there in my driveway!”

Here is my clip of the live action from the camera:

Fox

How I wished for neighbor Joyce, my local nature interpreter! She would love to have seen the fox I spotted on my morning walk. It appeared on the road above the small RV park and ran up the steep hill, white-tipped tail flowing behind. My hand did not move toward the cell phone, because I knew I’d miss the action if I tried to catch it. What a beautiful sight! It’s marvelous to see a healthy animal in its element, moving with a fluid grace.

I did consult my Washington state naturalist about prints beside the road. I thought they were made by a horse wearing horseshoes. He said I was right. Although I see horses in the pasture behind my house, they are never ridden here.

A David Story

Grandson David was with John and me quite often when he was young. I realize now that he was keenly observant from the beginning. The first time I really noticed was when we three got out of the car and started walking toward our destination. David was behind me, and I felt a tug on the hem of my top. He knew I often straightened my clothes, and he must have noticed the hem was hiked up at a funny angle, probably because he was looking at it at eye level. Without saying a word, he made me more presentable.

A few days ago we were having lunch in a restaurant. When it was time to go, he pointed out that I had a bit of food on my face. Using him as a mirror, I asked, “Is it here?” He shook his head and directed my finger verbally. I couldn’t feel it. Whatever it was, I didn’t remove it, and we went on with the day. Hours later, I was in front of a real mirror and saw a dark spot on my face. That was what David had noticed. Then I remembered what had happened. That morning I cut myself shaving!! You can laugh at that.

Years ago I chatted with Eileen regularly. Luckily I don’t remember her last name. She had a small mole on her face that hosted one long hair. Though I tried as hard as I could, I couldn’t keep my eyes from that one hair. She had plenty of hair on the top of her head, but without fail, I zeroed in on that one rogue hair. Jerking my eyes upward, I looked Eileen in the eye and silently vowed that I would never let that happen to me.

Years went by, and one day I noticed I had a little bump on my face. Yes! There was a hair springing out of it! Aaaauuuuggggghhhhh! Forty years later I had turned into Eileen! There was no way I would wait to see if people focused on my little hair. It has been removed on a daily basis ever since.

P.S. Thank you, David, for still trying to keep me presentable.

The remains of dessert.

Michael

A year ago Kate’s partner Michael fell at home and couldn’t get up. At the hospital they diagnosed kidney failure, and he started dialysis three times a week. Looking back, I can see that was the beginning of his marked decline. Like everyone, he had good days and bad days. I didn’t see him, but Kate talked about him. After seeing a number of doctors, he was diagnosed with an auto-immune disease that was attacking his organs. Not good! A few weeks ago he went back to the hospital, and x-rays showed he had a broken hip. Days later he was in the rehab facility where he had the same roommate he’d had a year ago! Increased breathing difficulties sent him back to the hospital where they found he had pneumonia and COVID. That was too much to overcome, and he died on pi day, 3/14.

It was marvelous that several of Michael’s relatives went with Kate to the funeral home to make the arrangements. Viewing hours were from 4:00 to 8:00 with a short service in the middle. She called me the day after that and sent me a photo of Michael in the casket. I looked at it, and a sudden feeling of peace came over me. I said to his picture, “You have REALLY gone home!” It was accompanied by music in my head – Going Home by Dvorak.