Notes from Maine - 2022/11/06
I haven’t been sleeping well. I moved down to the first floor (Dad’s room) because Finn has knee surgery this week. He won’t be able to climb the stairs after Wednesday, and I wanted to make sure that everyone would be comfortable with a new routine. The dogs seem fine with it. I’m not.
Mom is here.
I said, “What do you want to say to the newsletter people?”
She said, “I have no idea. Dave was telling me about stuff when he was at the house. He reads it.”
David is my cousin from Seattle. If you own a television, you’ve probably heard his voice. He has done voiceover for national brands/campaigns. In other Mom news, she is excited about having her own pinball machine. When my sister comes up in December, she will take Supersonic (Bally, 1979) down to Mom’s house. I had to spoil the surprise so we could be sure that Mom would accept the thing into her house. She’s all about downsizing and getting rid of clutter.
Finn’s impending knee surgery is making me anxious. I’m sure it will be fine. Almost two years ago he had ear surgery that saved his life. Recurring infections almost took him down. Last August, galloping around in the sprinkler, he tore ligaments in his knee that benched him for about a month. He’s getting around okay now, but if you look closely you can see that he doesn’t put much weight on the left rear leg. The surgery will stabilize everything for him.
My friends typically throw an annual Thanksgiving party here. That will be held elsewhere so I can keep Finn quiet in his recovery. Should be a calm, peaceful autumn.
In a few seconds, Mom is going to ask, “What do you want me to do?”
There’s no good answer to that question. She’s obsessed with keeping busy, but anything I might suggest would be dismissed. Mom has to find her own activities. With her earbuds playing an audiobook that she checked out from the library, Mom will dive into some chore. The weather is warm enough that she might find a place to sling paint outside. I have new gates up. I’ve seen her eyeing those.
I wonder what this winter will be like. This time of year always feels anticipatory. Cold weather is coming fast. I have a ton of projects lined up. I hope to get to one or two of them. My notion of winter never lines up with reality. In my imagination snow is falling outside, the dogs are curled up asleep, and I’m working away on some winter project with no deadlines or expectations. Spring is a long time away and there is time to kill. In the teeth of winter, I’ll find myself stuck in the same daily grind that I inhabit now. In the past, I’ve tried different strategies to make my winter vision come true. It doesn’t work. You bring yourself everywhere you go. Hard to escape that.
Speaking of which, Mom confessed that she’s going to engage in some improv on her next flight. On her way here, her seat mate was asking all kinds of questions and I guess that Mom didn’t feel like sharing. The next time she flies, she is planning on making up a new persona.
“Maybe I’ll be a retired architect,” she said.
Mom loves improv. I don’t know if she will be any good at it.
It’s time to go to the feed store. There are things to do at Dad’s house too. So much going on. At least these random chores will keep my mind off of Finn’s surgery. He’ll be fine—I still dread it.
