A Welcome Visitor

Jamie, Kosmo, and Sophie

An extra special treat – my younger son, Jamie, arrived yesterday afternoon and is staying through supper tonight. Much to Sophie’s delight, he is accompanied by Kosmo, a Pomeranian who never leaves Jamie’s side. We’ve laughed and talked and caught up, debated over what to eat, complained about politics, worried about lost money, and had a really good time.

Jamie was not much intrigued by the dishes I offered to cook for him—maybe his childhood memories are too much for him. So last night, we had dinner from Righteous Foods—salmon tacos for me, beef fajitas and meatballs and guac for Jamie. Then we watched the last night of the DNC together. Jame and I are on the same page about politics and our national crisis—our complaints are solely about how this country is being destroyed, and we tend to echo each other. But neither of us can refrain from commenting, so there is a lot of conversation, even as we listened to what we agreed was a powerhouse speech by Joe Biden.

Today, Jamie has done some chores—often things I didn’t know needed doing. He dismantled and cleaned the a/c unit in the living room. I’m never sure what to call it but I think a ductless split system describes it—it hangs up near the ceiling and functions as needed to heat and cool. Jamie found mold, though he assured me it wasn’t black mold—there are grades of mold? He’s emptied garbage, reached things I can’t on the shelf, and stepped in to give Jordan and Christian a break from taking care of me.

I never like to think of myself as needing a caretaker. That reminds me of a meme I saw yesterday that said, “It’s weird being the same age as old people.” That’s how I feel about it, and I would bristle at those who might suggest I need a caretaker or can’t take care of myself. But the truth is that being mobility challenged and needing a walker, there are things I can’t do—like reaching something from the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet or making a bed that’s, by space necessity, shoved against a wall. I can cook and, do a fair job of cleaning, but I can’t take my laundry into the house where the washing machines are—no space in the cottage. I realize more each day how dependent I am. So I am daily grateful for Jordan, Christian, and Jacob—and for occasional visits from Colin, Megan, and Jamie. Besides I enjoy their company so much.

So I’m grateful to have Jamie here—and Sophie is grateful to have Kosmo, although he doesn’t play as much as she would wish. Tiny as he is, he thinks he’s a cat and walks around on tables, sleeps on the back of the cough. Sophie, who cannot get to any of those places, is a bit frustrated. And I cannot help thinking how horrified my germ-conscious father would be were he with us.

Meantime, a patio disaster. My patio is shaded by a beautiful, spreading, sprawling pecan tree. It provides lovely shade and a wonderful home for birds such as the pair of cardinals who have taken up residence. But it has drawbacks—those pesky yellow tassels—worms, Jordan calls them—at some times of the year, and recently we had to have it trimmed away from the power lines before Oncor came to do it. And now a new problem: for the first time that I can remember the tree has pecans—and the squirrels are going wild, cracking nuts and dropping the shells. I can sit and my desk and hear the ping, ping, ping as they hit. And the patio is a mess, littered with shells. Maybe Jamie will blow it tonight, though it will probably be littered again immediately.

And low water pressure problems popped up today—the sprinkler system is not working efficiently, and one patch of grass is turning brown.

The worries of a homeowner are many and seldom solved all at once. It’s always something.