Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Other End of Life's Spectrum

I am reading “New Mommy Blogs” lately because I have a friend who is one (a new mommy) and has one (a blog). And I have lots of time on my hands these days. But I am at the other end of life’s spectrum. I should write an “Aging Parents” blog. Because I have one (my dad, age 84) and writing is a creative outlet for me and gives my psyche an emotional boost.

My new mommy friend wrote about worrying if her newborn was sleeping too much, not pooping enough, not getting enough milk. Here it is, 7:30 am, and my dad’s not up yet. He’s usually up at 7am. He’s late. I worry that maybe he had a heart attack in the night, and ask myself “how long should I wait before I knock on his door?” (I give myself until 8 am). At 7:35, he passes my door, as I am typing this, to turn the heat on in the house. I am relieved that I won’t have to make that dreaded phone call to my siblings, less than a week before Christmas. And what exactly would I do if I found him lifeless one morning? This morning, I awoke to six inches of snow outside, the roads are not yet plowed, and the short but steep driveway is covered in a blanket of white. I can’t get out; would an ambulance be able to get in? I doubt it. Not without skidding brakeless down the steep driveway and crashing into the garage. My dad pays a guy to plow his driveway for him, but it could be hours, or even days, before he shows up, depending on how much snow gets dumped overnight and when the roads get plowed. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. A week ago, I met the neighbor a few houses down the street, the day I locked myself out of the house and my dad wasn’t home. Last night, my dad mentioned that this neighbor, “Kevin”, has a snow plough attached to the front of his pickup truck. I think its good to know your neighbors, although not everyone here does. Kevin has lived in Wilton for 13 years and the only neighbors he has ever met are the ones across the street, and only once at that. My dad used to know a lot of his neighbors, back when his six children went to school in Wilton. Now, he only knows his next door neighbor, Paul and his wife. (Paul and wife were not home the day I locked myself out.) Well, at least, knowing one neighbor is better than not knowing anyone, especially when you live alone and you’re 84.

I stocked up on baking ingredients yesterday at the grocery store, because what else are you going to do on a snowed-in Sunday in Connecticut, the week before Christmas. And I've been thinking - maybe I'll bring some homemade Christmas cookies (sugar cookies, the kind you cut out with cookie cutters, with red and green sugar sprinkles on top) over to Kevin and his two little girls. It couldn't hurt.

2 comments:

  1. welcome, welcome WELCOME to the blogosphere. i am so happy that you are up and writing.

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  2. Thanks to one Crazy Baby Mama..

    ReplyDelete