My dad's house was built in the late 70's, early 80's by a really big Swede, as I recall. What I find humorous about that is the fact that the bathroom sinks are so low, you practically have to squat to use them. They come up to a little over my knees - and I'm short. The master bedroom closet door, which is supposed to be a walk-in closet, is so small that you have to enter it sideways. I don't even think my parents, who have become so tiny, could walk through it straightaway.
Now the decorating dates back to the 1980's. Items on shelves, furniture and light fixtures have been the same since they bought them, located in the exact same places. My mom must dust around everything because they literally don't move. My mother, who grew up in the depression, throws nothing away. She still has clothes from the 70's and a couch that was recovered from the 50's. My parents photographed my older brother and I on this same couch when I was an infant and he was about 4. They're not antiques or retro - they're just "too good to throw out." I understand that - to a certain extent. Because I was raised this way, however, I still have a compulsion to save tin foil that was wrapped in a food object, because it could be used for something else, and besides - it's too good to throw out.
One wonderful aspect of my father's house is a really nice, in-ground pool, that I partake in almost every day. I LOVE the way my body feels totally weightless in the water and I can move around in ways I could never on land. And so I have been taking advantage of this and exercising to hopefully help my joints and muscles move with greater ease. I also use this time to pray as this is my quiet, alone time of the day. I enjoy talking to God, floating around the pool in the warm sunlight. It's very peaceful.
Today, my mom looked much better than yesterday. I think the bleeding has stopped, but she still has a mild fever. She sees the doctor tomorrow and my dad and I will be going there to meet her. Hopefully, he will give us some idea when she can come home. I know she's sick of being in the nursing home - I would be too - but I want her to stay as long as she needs to, to promote her healing. One thing I did notice today was, and I've seen this before, but today it seemed magnified, is the fact that she talks very sharply to my dad. She seems very bitter towards him, although the day she was hallucinating and thought he had died, she cried -- it's a weird dichotomy. She obviously loves him, but resents him at the same time. I guess that could be true for a lot of people. I just saw it tonight and it came out in an ugly way. Bitterness is truly a wicked root that should be plucked up as soon as it starts. The longer it continues to grow, the stronger and tougher that root becomes.
Tonight, I made Tuna Tettrazini for dinner, and like a true Marine, my father covered it in BBQ sauce. Disgusting. He puts it on everything. It used to be ketchup, but then he discovered BBQ sauce and switched. I don't worry too much about seasoning the food because, well, after all, everything will ultimately taste like BBQ sauce anyway.
If my dad is not sleeping in his chair or working on his computer in his office, he is watching TV. I set up my laptop next to him in my mother's "chair" so we could talk if he wanted to. What I end up listening/watching is the news - in every type and fashion imaginable. He's constantly switching channels until he finds what he's looking for. He has to watch the stock reports on several different channels, and likes the BBC channel, as well as Public Broadcasting. Those he watches, without fail, every day. The other channel that he loves is the Military Channel, which I didn't even know existed until I came here. So for the most part, I tune it all out unless I hear something interesting.
At the end of the day, he is usually in his office working on his computer, and I am on my laptop enjoying a little bit of quiet. We go to bed at different times and when I do go to bed, I say goodnight to him and he says, "Goodnight sis (or sweety)." The same names he has always called me. Like I'm 12 again. Except I'm not. And I realize through my tears that life goes simply too fast and how did we get this old? I only know that for right now, I am exactly where God wants me to be...
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