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Nine weeks



This week I learned that another friend, one of our church roving potluck groups one year once upon a time, a great cook and a really sweet lady, has been diagnosed with cancer. Another one of the ladies died of a sudden heart attack (she was well aged but not really ancient). Her husband's brother has just been diagnosed with an inoperable cancer. Last week, the son of the couple who were practically the soul of our church's Stephen Ministry group died in Hawaii, of bone cancer, having determined that he couldn't endure the chemo. He went fast. But his father, who has survived the first wave of cancer, is now too weak, and rather too confused, to function, and his wife, a loving and strong woman, is being whittled away to a sketch of herself by the effort of caring for him, and knowing her son was dying even faster.

I am incoherent with frustration. I can't express what I feel about all this.

Tonight, going to feed Connie as Michael and Nancy are having anniversary trip til Sunday. Not too far away this time.
I plan to refuse their usual payment as a gift.

Somewhere at home I still have the giant midnight blue velvet pioneer-style bridesmaid dress Penny wore when M&N were married. I don't remember whether I was in the men's side, as Michael had many brothers and friends. I should look at their wedding pics tonight and find out.

What do we do with huge amounts of fabric?

(Later)

OK. I fed Connie. She did OK, but I think she tried to lock me out of the house at least twice.
I stayed there for about an hour to make sure she had time to digest her dinner before she took her bedtime sleeping pills.

The dog was especially hyper and desperate to play, but I refuse to tussle on the huge patch of turf-less clay-soil mud that she's torn up with her romping, running, digging, and other attempts to amuse herself. She would bring me her rubber toy dumbell to throw, put it down, but when I reached for it she'd grab it away. When she dropped it I praised her, and said "Stay," and when she did, I petted her and praised her more before throwing the filthy thing. However, when she brought it back, she wanted me to play tug, and when she would reluctantly drop it on command, she grabbed it back before I could pick it up, so I said "Bad dog," turned my back on her, and left her in the yard. I did come back with food though, since she hadn't any left. She made a lot of noise and whining when I left, and barked after I wasn't looking at her saying "No bark."

That dog deserves a better situation than she's in.

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
anita_margarita
Mar. 18th, 2006 02:00 am (UTC)
When my brother died, Gayle took his t-shirts - of which he had a considerable collection - and sent them off to somebody she found online who would turn such things into patchwork blankets. She made two, one each for Erin and Joe.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )