I've been terrible at blogging lately.
My father had a crisis over Thanksgiving and spent several days in the hospital after a hard fall that caused internal bleeding in his leg, which led to worries about his kidneys which filter out the blood. At 93, that's a scary thing to go through, but he's home and healing and looking more like his old self every day.
Favorite quote from the hospital adventure:
As the EMTs were carrying my father out of the house to the waiting ambulance he suddenly cried: Wait!
Everyone stopped and looked at him in alarm.
My father: I don't have my binoculars!
We quickly added his binoculars to his overnight bag. That settled, we headed for the ambulance.
I also bought a new car. My trusty little Focus had developed more rust than metal, too much to pass inspection. So we traded for a new, white, Subaru Forester, complete with all wheel drive and some cool features like heated seats, a back up camera, and a moon roof. I don't quite know what do with all the gadgets. The door panel is more complicated than the Focus's dashboard, the steering wheel will answer my phone if I program it to do so, and the rear view mirror now opens my garage door. The outside mirrors and windshield are even heated so the snow just melts away. Loving it so far. The driver's door opens and the wipers shut off in the off position instead of me having to open the door from the inside and try to shut the wipers off when they were down. Those were the two main features I was looking for. And less rust.
The problem is that my daughter also has a white Subaru Forester. The first day I drove mine home, I parked it in the garage and then went upstairs and happened to glance out my bedroom window in time to see a white Subaru rolling down the driveway toward the pond. I instantly panicked, thinking I'd forgotten to put it in park and forgotten to put the garage door down, and now it was going to finish its maiden run just like the Titanic did.
And then I saw it make a neat turn at the last minute and back into the spot where my daughter always parks. I remembered the band was rehearsing at the house that night. And my daughter wondered why I was sobbing hysterically when she came upstairs.
No, I've learned to enjoy moments of peace whenever I can find them, like in the middle of the night or at school when I read aloud to quiet students, or when my kitties are purring or that nice noise the furnace makes when it comes on, or the way laundry feels when it comes out of the drier. That's the important stuff, anyway.