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Dear Jim and Julie,
Because we bought tickets to Florida fewer than thirty days before our trip, Allegiant had the only affordable fares. We arrived at Pittsburgh airport the suggested two hours before our 5:30 PM flight, but it had been delayed till 6:40. I started a string of text messages with my brother to keep him informed. At 6:40, Allegiant delayed the flight till 7:20. I coped by reading the January 2015Writer's Digest. “Realize that setbacks are part of the process . . . Above all be patient.” Spence wasn't patient. “Next they'll tell us we're not leaving till tomorrow.” We left Pittsburgh at 8:24. I told the attendant, “This is my first time flying Allegiant.” Spence said, “Did you say the last time. They're just pretending to be an airline.” We landed in St. Petersburg at 10:10 then waited in line for a rental car. After having been on the road since 1:30, we got to Mom's house at 11:45. Mom hugged me and cried. The trip back was on time. St. Petersburg airport was like Erie's. We boarded by walking up a zigzag ramp. But repeated, detailed directions irritated Spence. He muttered, “Mommy Airlines.”
Love,
Janet
Dear Lori and Eliza,
Spence and I visited Mom, Bob, and their black lab Lucy. Toenails clicking and identification tags jingling, Lucy paced her welcome. She barked to let us know golfers were on the course behind the house or that golfers might be coming. When I did yoga on the porch, Lucy joined me for a few poses before doing her version of down dog. Tail wagging, she led Spence and me for a leash-tugging walk around the block. She sniffed cars, garbage, and tree lawns. She preferred walking on cement sidewalks to the Bermuda grass by the pond on the corner. I gave Spence the leash when two cocker spaniels approached. He took Lucy into the street. Lucy sat and waited. The spaniels didn't. They barked and ran toward her. After the three dog barking concerto ended, Lucymade friends by touching noses. Her favorite being, though, was Bob. He'd ask, “Where's your ball,” and she'dmouth one, take it to him, and dash through the kitchen, hall, and Bob's home office to retrieve his throw. The night Bob played bridge with friends, Lucywaited for him by snoring on Bob's couch.
Love,
Janet
Dear Reid and Claire,
When Spence and I visited Mom and Bob, our nephew Robert came to dinner. I was curious so, afterwe'd settled at the table, asked, “Why would you want to leave your fun job as a golf pro for a scary job in the sheriff's office?” He laughed. “But you're so kind and gentle,” I said. “Officers are mean.”Disagreeing that the job was scary or that officers were mean, he explained golf pros can't ever afford to retire. At the sheriff's office, he could work his way up, have job security, and earn a pension. “I'm tired of being paid for 40 hours and having to work 70.” At the end of the evening, I followed him to his SUV. The sky darkened, the full moon rose above the clouds, and stars came outone by one. We discussed Robert's two cats adjusting to his daily routine, his sleep apnea machine, and Ellen's October wedding celebration. I said that Bob was a saint for all the care he gave Mom.Robert disagreed again. “He's not a saint. He's just doing what a son should do. My turn is next. I will take care of my father.” The cute, curly-headed toddler had grown into a thoughtful man.
Love,
Janet
Dear Aunt Audrey,
May brought weekend adventures–a visit to Mom the first weekend, a quilt retreat the second, a writer's conference the third, and a get together with Bruce's family the fourth. Spence gardened every weekend. When we visited Mom, bottle brush, magnolias, gardenias, and pentas bloomed. But she had a mental list of dead leaves and branches that yard men didn't remove and she couldn't manage. Spence welcomed the tasks. In preparation, he braved Home Depot's wacky parking lot drivers to purchase pruning sheers, potting soil, Epsom salts, and spray to control mold on plants. Because he couldn't find ten inch hanging baskets, he recycled old pots to transplant a Christmas cactus and a philodendron. Using a small saw and the pruning sheers, he trimmed dead branches out of the crepe myrtle outside the kitchen window. He gave failing outdoor plants a dose of Epsom salts, sprayed moldy leaves, removed dead plant parts, and swept debris off the porch. From her chair, Mom thanked him again and again.
Love,
Janet
Dear Nancy,
When Spence and I visited Mom and Bob, he called me out to the porch. A roseate spoonbill walked by the pond. I said the bird was amazing, but he said, “When there's a hundred, that's amazing.” Years back, Bob changed to a computer job at home so he could be close to Mom if she needed help. Then he underwent two surgeries because his spine pinched the spinal cord in his neck. He's in constant pain, has muscle spasms similar to cerebral palsy, and uses a walker for movement and balance. But he still keeps an eye on Mom–even after her last fall which broke her hip. He plants his feet, lifts Mom under her arms, holds her against his chest with one arm, pulls down her clothes with the other, and settles her on the toilet. He lifts her into bed, settles her in the easy chair, and makes her meals. His favorites come out of a box and heat at 400°. He washes dishes, grocery shops with his friend Pat (using her arm to get into the store for a motorized cart), and manages the schedule of home care workers. When I tell him he's a saint, he laughs. But he's as amazing as a hundred roseate spoonbills.
Love,
Janet
Dear Jeanette,
Because Mom can't stand or walk by herself, she says she's a prisoner of her armchair. When Spence and I visited, however, she was alert and part of the action. She thanked us for every little thing we did, and didn't complain much about losing her strength and mobility. “It is what it is.” When I baked Aunt Evis' strawberry pie, Mom stirred the pie crust dough and pulled leaves off berries. She discussed the Kentucky Derby, thought of words for a scrabble game on my tablet, and pulled out her extra thread to give me for sewing. Mom wanted to read Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See because it was about the time she'd come of age. I made a chart to help with the confusing time switches in the plot. She concentrated and followed the story. She toldSpence which plants needed pruning and which needed treatments for mold. After I'd cleared clutter to get a picture of her black lab on the brown leather sofa, she said, “Someone moved the afghan.” Spence said that even though Mom was confined to her chair, she was still in charge. She's a steel magnolia.
Love,
Janet
@ 2014-2024 by Janet Wells * All Rights Reserved
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