The Oaken Update

About a year ago I told you about the majestic oak tree that was removed from our neighbors' backyard.

Wait...did I say removed?

Make that lingered!  Over one year later and this is still the view from our deck...

My grandkids used to play on this.  Who knows what manner of varmint has moved in to these "log cabins!"

But, wait!  It gets better!

We had a storm move through last night with thunder, lightening and considerable wind.

Let's move on up to their front yard, shall we?

We now have a set of matching yards--front and back.

But, wait!  It gets better!!!

The neighbors have filed for divorce and bankruptcy.  They sold this prize property to one of those charlatan land barons who will, in turn, sell it for low interest and next to nothing down.

He'll offer that shiny apple of a deal to home buyers without the means to furnish a one bedroom trailer much less an entire home.  He'll do this over and over again once his victims inevitably default on their loan and will send our property values to the deepest fathoms.

One thing's for sure...

This clown does not own a lawn mower much less a chain saw.

Dinner With Daddy

I had lunch with my folks today.  Because my own children are planning a burger feast for Mr. KCKay and because Daddy is spending time on Sunday with my sister, we had our Father's Day celebration today.

I have always called him Daddy.  Mom is Mom.  I don't think I've called her Mommy since I was six.  It's a Southern father/daughter kind of thing--even though I grew up in the Midwest.  But Daddy is from Oklahoma and that is South enough for his daughters.  My brother will call him Pops or Dad or even "the old man," but that is a whole 'nother story and has nothing to do with our lunch!

Mr. KCKay and I took him to a steakhouse.  Daddy does enjoy his beef!  We made arrangements to meet at 12:30 and all of us got there around 1:00.  Typical.  I got held up at work and Mom found a garage sale on the way.   Seated and having ordered we proceeded to catch up.  The topic of conversation inevitably lead to "all of the other places we could have eaten."  My folks eat out a lot these days.  They're in their 80's and pretty much past the excitement of cranking out meals, gourmet or otherwise.  Besides, Daddy was a cook in the Army and has no more gotten the hang of cooking for less than a platoon than Mom has not cooking for her entire family.  So the conversation always comes around to restaurants.  My husband and I consider them our scouts.  If a place we talk about gets a thumbs up from those two then we make a mental note give it a try.

There's something special about one-on-one time with your parents.  From birth to adulthood it is perfection to have ones parents attention free of any sibling rivalry.  It's even more precious now.

Due to macular degeneration in both eyes Daddy has slowly been going blind.  He spent his entire life working and playing with his hands:  woodworking, auto repair, mechanics, fishing...just tinkering.  He can't do that anymore.  A combination of bleeding and scar tissue in his eyeballs have robbed all but a sliver of his sight...and then he can only distinguish dark and light. This is very hard for him to handle.

It's hard for us to handle.  I don't remember him ever crying when I was growing up.  Daddy's don't cry.  They suck it up.  They dry your tears--not the other way around.  But just recently, after a visit at our place, I remember sitting in the car with him while he waited on Mom.  He cried and my heart broke.  "I just want to be able to see my grandkids" he said.  What do you do when the man you have depended upon is now depending on you?

 "Oh, Daddy," I said.  "It's just as well.  They all turned out pretty ugly."  It worked.  He laughed.  I'll take his smile and his laugh over his tears anytime.

I'll do whatever it takes to help him cope with his loss of vision.  He may be down, but he's not out--no sir!  He is not a quiter.  Just don't cry anymore, Daddy.  Please.

The Passing of Print

Like many others I have an e-reader.  I like it--don't love it.  I can snuggle up in bed on cold winter nights and don't even have to reach out from under the covers to turn a page.  I just click on an arrow and continue reading.  I feel guilty using it, though.

You see, I love bookstores.  I love the smell of fresh ink on crisp, new pages.  I love bright dust jackets with attention-grabbing illustrations--no dog ears or wrinkles.  I love looking around at folks perched on benches or curled up in leather armchairs with their nose in a book, newspaper (oh, don't even get me started on newspapers) or a slick magazine.  I love to see kids sitting on the floor with half a dozen books around them trying to pick the perfect one.  Libraries rank way up there, too.  The aroma is more mellow and pages are now slightly yellowed, but this is typical of mature printed matter.

Sadly more and more print material is slipping into oblivion.  At least two of my local newspapers are online only.  A major chain of bookstores is closing its doors.  Ironically their demise was due largely to their lack of a popular e-reader with their name on it.

And while trees may be saved and the Dewey Decimal System is no longer necessary learning in schools, I do feel guilty using my e-reader.  One sacrifices much for the sake of convenience and seemingly unlimited storage.