Complaining

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Six more days.

Every morning when I walk I meet a man who walks quite a distance, at least five miles every single day. I see him out there when it is raining, snowing, it doesn't matter. Never, ever misses a day. Sometimes I meet him face on, sometimes I pass him but we always greet each other. He always comments on the weather and it is never negative. "We need the rain." "The snow is so beautiful." "It is such a beautiful day, isn't it?" What is remarkable about it is that I know he always means what he says. It is never just an automated statement. The truly remarkable thing about him is that he is walking with a cane, a Canadian crutch. A Canadian crutch is a cane with the three prongs on the base of it. He has clearly had a stroke, sort of drags one foot and one arm just hangs at his side. His pace is very slow but he is always cheerful and appears strong despite his disabilities.

I called a remarkable friend of mine this morning. Bill is my age and I have know him since our sons started kindergarten together in 1979. At one point he and his wife and Al and I were very good friends, spending a lot of time together in each other's homes and the neighborhood beaches. Then life got in the way, his wife, Netta, and I both found jobs and everyone's life changed. We would still see each other occasionally on the street but never spent time together intentionally any more.

I saw Bill about six years ago and he had just been diagnosed with colon cancer and I have stayed in touch with him since. Chemo and radiation. More chemo and radiation. Then lung cancer. Chemo and radiation. Then liver cancer. Chemo and radiation. Except for possibly one or two weeks in the past six years, Bill has been receiving chemotherapy. He has had innumerable surgeries and procedures. Just to add to the insult of all of it, he had a heart attack and open heart surgery in the middle of all of this. Oh, he did stop chemo temporarily at that time and was very upset as he felt the cancer would gain on him. I cannot even begin to capture with words what this man has endured over time. Yet, he never, ever even came close to giving up. Never. He just wanted to play golf with his son "next summer", wanted to be "around for Janet's (his daughter) wedding" and now, all he wants is to be around for the birth of his first grandchild in June. "There is always something to look forward to, Mary, always."

Two remarkable men, one a total stranger. What could I possibly compain about?

A new baby blanket for a new baby. Just started

this Sunday. This is another reason the sweater is called my "life sweater". Life gets in the way of finishing it. It can wait but this baby is going to join this weary old world in the fall so this blanket won't wait. It is a great pattern and is going to be fun to finish off.

I have been listening to Garrison Keillor and his "News from Lake Woebegone". I don't know if he writes it still or if he has writers but it is all so good. It sucks you in. The episode I listened to the other day was from the beginning of December, I think. He started singing a couple of very old songs and the audience joined in. I didn't even know the songs although I was a little familiar with "Juanita". It struck me when I was listening to him that that is probably something else we are losing as life becomes faster and more high tech. Do our kids stand around a piano and sing"old songs"? All of us McIntyres will always remember Dad playing the piano and Mom singing her heart out, especially if it was "When Irish Eyes are Smiling". And Uncle DC and Aunt Pat singing their own rendition of "Dark Town Strutters' Ball". I am not sure that our kids' music actually lends itself to anything like this but I think not.

And the garage floor is finished and well over half of the stuff headed off to the dump. Pretty sad actually. We had a very old piano in our home for a number of years that just never held a tune, etc, etc. It found its way to the garage at some point and has been there for years keeping Al's mother's sewing company that has been there for 25 years. We pulled them out and really looked at them yesterday. As one would expect, the wood was in very bad shape, all of the metal parts were badly rusted. Seemed an impossible project to restore them. So they are gone. Now, if I could figure out what to do with the pool table that Al just had to buy and store when we bought this house, 30 years ago this week. The slate is in the garage and will never be damaged. The rest of it is in pieces in the attic. I have moved that to the list of things that "the kids will have to deal with some day".