room for the spirit

Sick again.  Meh and bah, ya know?  I swore on my mother's cookbook back in July that I wouldn't whine when it got cold so I'm shivering quietly.  At least I didn't get stuck on the freakin' highway for hours.  My weekend with BG was nice and low key and enjoyed by all.  I had forgotten what it was like to have all those people and dogs on one couch together.  Warm!  That's what it is.  I missed the office Christmas party and managed to get all entwined in some family drama in spite of my intentions NOT to get outside again.  I'll spare the details, but there was a sudden rescue by myself and BG and one very unhappy cowboy standing there in his boots and short pajamas when we whisked her out to "make cookies".  She brought her phone and purse so I knew she was serious.

We managed, with the help of her walking stick and sheer grit, to get up the snowy stairs and into the warm little den.  Three generations of Reaves women sat huddled together with one very sweet chocolate lab and talked about our realities.  Fronto-temporal dementia is very rare, thank god.  Less than 5% of dementias are of this type, formerly known as Pick's disease because of the pick like bodies that are deposited in the frontal lobe of the brain.  Hallmark symptoms are OCD behaviors with a surprisingly sharp memory and a good dose of ritualistic behavior.  In other words, they're control freaks.  My mama is legally blind and can't walk well so she depends on the "keeper of the world" over there with the remote in his hand to guide her through their last days.   It's enough to make somebody say the "F" word, if you know what I mean.  Her friend who died last week is the one that got her to saying "shit".  Aunt Granny is the one who drops the F bomb on occasion.  Heh.

As Mr. Yates would say " this too shall pass".   And as Old Hoss would say " and so it goes".

Merry Christmas from Pecan Lane ya'll.