I sent my final paper to Dr. B. this morning and as of next week I am a bona fide historian. I thanked David for his help and support in this attempt. He encouraged me to finish when I was ready to quit. Now he asks “What about going on for the PhD?” Are you crazy?
Example of an American grocery store aisle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
David has gone to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for tonight’s supper corned beef and cabbage. That’s easy. When he returns we are headed over to Goodwin House to hear the talk on downsizing. He didn’t want to go to GH because in his heart of hearts he believes we will never leave this house and therefore never have a need to reduce our inventory of belongings. Perhaps he is correct, but I still think it won’t hurt to remove some “stuff.” He finally admitted to me that he could get rid of about 2/3 of the clothes in his closet.
When we drove by Goodwill on the way home yesterday, he said, there’s where all our stuff is. Ha ha. Not yet.
This week, I bought him new shirts and when I asked him to try one of the shirts on, he took it out of the package, put it on and tossed the shirt he was wearing in the trash after removing the index cards and pens he carries in his pocket. Do you recall how we diverted children and puppies by handing them something to distract them while we grab the thing they are holding? Now this is not to say David is a child or a dog, or that the technique works on him, but he was distracted by the new shirt. I looked down and he had a big hole in his pants. “I think you need new pants,” I suggested helpfully. Although I have bought pants for men and boys all my life, I can’t buy pants for David. If I do he won’t wear them.
Clothing and food. He picked up a quarter of roasted chicken last night for our evening meal, and bought himself a slice of apple pie and a coke at the same time. I almost choked on my words as I said, “You got a lot of sugar there.” He takes Metformin because he is prediabetic. His sugar levels went above 125 a time or two before he began taking the drug. They also shot out of sight when he was in the hospital with knee surgery last year. That and the AFib worry me at times, but he is very blithe about his own health.
He told me this week he was “not ready to die.” David’s Dad came down to breakfast one morning, ate his toast and drank his coffee, then announced to the family he was going upstairs to die. Then he went upstairs and laid down on his bed and died at age 78. David, age 82.5 thinks he can do that too.
There was a time when I believed everything David said, but I have finally realized that he doesn’t always know what he is talking about. I learned this the hard way when he told me he knew all about lawns. The trouble of course is that I can’t tell when he’s right until something goes wrong, and I can’t tell when he’s wrong.
Oh I can see it now. I don’t have text books to distract me, so I can obsess about David. Wonder what my granddaughters are doing?
<– Dianne in NYC in 1984