Friday, July 18, 2014

 

Mom has been at Rittenhouse since Wednesday. I wrote her a letter explaining when I would be back to pick her up and listed the days so she could check them off—with the help of the staff. I spent a glorious day and night at the shore with friends and their small children. The little boy is uncanny. So gregarious. He makes friends with strangers on the beach and approaches adults in their garden and admires their herbs (and receives them later as gifts). He’s a little man in a boy suit. His sister is adorable. Absolutely adorable.

While I was there, I took a book off the shelf of the home they rented. It was by Jon Katz about his experiences with his two regal yellow labs and a wily and willful Border Collie. Fabulous story. Couldn’t put the book down, took it home and loaned it to a neighbor, and will return it to the shore house as soon as she has read it. But I wound up feeling guilty. Here I am about to leave yet again. Both pups are unusually subdued. The trips to the basement to do laundry and pack the car, all a clear signal of my business. I can hear them now: She’s leaving us again. She didn’t unpack. Mom is re-packing the car! Of course, daddy and Aunt Betty are at their beck and call. Still, after reading this book, I wonder, did I/do I do everything for them that I possibly can? I attempted to interest Val in agility, but it didn’t work out. He was possibly too old. After an initial show, he stopped—completely. Wanted no part of it; however, he liked the trip there and that it was just the two of us. Oh well.

Am off to northern PA today to visit college friends—our third annual reunion. I have work to do, but I will get to it by Wednesday. Still, the girls are thinking of staying until Monday morning, which would help us miss the awful weekend traffic, but would put me a little behind on work. And the pups and mom. The pups want me back as soon as possible. Mom is expecting me back on Sunday. I will work things out. This is it—vacation-wise. I get to drive 2.5 hours each way (same distance from my house to the shore and to northern PA) and back again.

My friends down the shore asked if I would visit mom today. Heck no. She would only insist upon coming home and become anxious all over again. But it’s nice not having to answer to Sandy! It’s nice not having to bath her and follow her to the toilet. Rob and I joked last night:

Where’s the black dog?

Rob, what time is it? I don’t understand. (She gets confused when the clock is on timer.)

Is that cat still up there? How can he stay up there so long?

Ro-ob! Can you get me something to drink?

As much as she is demanding at this age, we miss her banter—sort of. But we relish the quiet, the solitude. Even the dogs are quiet. I worry that Val is not well. How could he let a motorcycle go by alerting me? He is on my office floor now. I have to go to market to pick up the smoked pork chops I promised to bring, but I don’t want to leave him. Coming back from market will only lead to another let down. I will have to leave again for the weekend. I almost never want to go away. I belong with my pups and they belong with me. I worry that I am losing days, hours, minutes without them. Their lives are too short. But mom is away, and I am going to visit my dear friends. We’ll play Mexican Train and dominos. We’ll boat and swim and drink wine and chat. I’ll bring the laptop, but I might not get to the work. Time with friends is precious, too.