At Least They're Committed

I can remember a time a couple decades ago when living to be 100 was a God-given blessing. Hurrah! You’ve been featured in the Daily Sentinel! And that family you can’t remember? They’re propping you up, sticking a paper crown on your head and plying you with soft cake to gum at!

I’m not sure I thought living to be super old was so great at the time, and I certainly don’t think that way now. I’m finding that a lot of people my age and even younger feel the same.

Quality of life is a big deal, if you ask me — which nobody did, which is why I blog.

It was too short, I know that. No, I don’t mean my life! Rather, I’m taking a quick break from my work-from-home-at-Mom’s-for-three-days Junction office to shovel and dispose of dog shit deposited in her lawn by the neighbors’ free-roaming canines. (Run-on!)

I hadn’t been back to visit my family since early March. I worked in retail for three glorious months until my feet got too bad, and days off didn’t line up. Now that I can work from anywhere with internet, I’m playing catchup. My brother and his wife bear too much of the responsibility of helping out, and I need to — and will — be doing more.

We’ve squeezed a lot into this visit despite that I was swamped with work at my fabulous new/old career move, and I’ll be back again in the next month or two. That is, after we visit the other family and maybe paint the mother-in-law’s house and help winterize the cabins and . . .

“Can I go now?” NO! *Sigh*

Weaving back and forth across the yard, shovel in hand in pursuit of shit, talking to Gabriel, it occurs to me that it’s really nice and cool here in the mornings. And my mother’s yard is lovely despite the ongoing drought. It is a nice place to visit, once you get past the horrid drive.

D and I are delighted that we can be the grandparents our children didn’t have. It’s funny that the most challenging of our parents was the most engaged grandparent, but that still pales in comparison with the joy we find in — and the commitment we have to — ours. It’s a promise we made to each other and one that has been remarkably easy to keep.

I’ll head back over the mountain as soon as I’m done with work today — about 3 p.m. since I’m on eastern time. I’ll take it slow because I don’t want to die by doing something stupid or embarrassing to my family.

When I go, I want it to be because it was my time and not that I was doing something irresponsible or dumb — that said you can make the argument that no matter what you die of it’s because it was your time since it’s ultimately God’s plan and not yours. Another blog, perhaps.

OK, it’s the lawn, but it still counts. But, it wasn’t clean in that movie, was it? No, come to think of it, it wasn’t. I shrug, rinse and put the shovel away then head indoors before the 110-degree weather hits and the dogs come back to poop some more.

Covid, flooding, droughts, fires . . . do you get the feeling God is done with us? Can you blame Him?

“Just save the children,” I catch myself praying as I head back to the Junction office, aka my childhood bedroom.