So old and so tired

When my oldest brother Doug was around three, he and his parents (Mom and Lee) lived in a garage apartment at his grandparents' house. His great grandfather on his dad's side was living in the house and spent many an afternoon rocking in his chair on the porch reading a book. After his great grandfather died, Doug asked why. My mother explained that Great Grandaddy was just very old and very tired so it was time for him to die.

Probably a year later, Mom and Lee had divorced and she and Doug were on their own. While Lee was never very helpful when we was around, my 25-year-old mother was feeling the stress of keeping things afloat as a single mom in 1963. One day she collapsed into the chair, saying, "Oh, your momma is so old and so tired."

Doug burst into tears and ran to her sobbing, "I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!"

Rich doesn't like it when I say that I'm tired. It's not the statement, but more the tone of voice that I use - a small voice as if even making the statement wears me out. He says it worries him. So now I've found I don't actually say I'm tired much anymore, or if I do, I try to be extra cheery about it.

I'm not actually all that tired these days. But every time I'm tempted to collapse in a chair and moan a "woe is me" I think of Doug. And then I realize things aren't so bad.

I come from a long line of list makers

Our birth instructor told us last week that by the 36th week we should have our bag packed and by the front door, just in case. I leaned over and whispered to Rich, "Um, that's Tuesday. Guess we should make a list." Fortunately, I am a champion list maker. Both of my parents are list makers as well. My mother keeps 3x5 index cards in her shirt pocket with a variety of lists on them at all times. Their bathroom mirror is littered with several lists (some woefully out of date but still there like organizational relics).

Yesterday my father left for the family farm in North Carolina to make molasses. His family has made molasses every year since his father was doing it for everyone in Edgecombe County. It's a bit of a family tradition. These days, though, it's harder and harder to make it all happen. Daddy is in his late sixties, his brother is in his early seventies and most of us kids have other obligations that keep us away (this year, my belly keeps me close to home and away from the molasses cooker).

Since the farm is not used regularly, we end up bringing every possible thing we could think of needing for a weekend. I went to check on my mother who's under the weather this afternoon and found Daddy's packing list by the computer. For posterity, I'll share it with you all.

Money, cell phone, charger, inverter Camera, batteries, memory Flashlight, big beam and charger Back belt, neck brace, knee brace, shoe under-arch pipe [the pipe is a contraption he created to help with foot cramps] Insect repellent and itch meds Umbrella and small ground mat

Acid reducer, Alka-Seltzer, Pepto-Bismol and Tums Baby aspirin and gum [both help his sore throat] Muscle relaxer, Motrin and large aspirin Tooth picks, dental floss and nail file Band aids, tweezers and hand lotion Eye drops and eye patch [not sure what the eye patch is for]

Deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste Razor & shave brush [my father still uses a camel hair shave brush] Soap, wash cloths, shampoo, conditioner Bath mat towel Glasses, pens, handkerchief and comb Night light, sleeping pants and shirt

Belt(s) and phone case(s) Shirts, pants and shoes (work and nice) Socks and underwear Hats - summer or winter and gloves

Plastic cups and paper towels Drinks, juice or energy drinks Candy, nabs, nuts, dried fruit Beanie weenies and canned fruit

Duct tape and tie wire Spare tire, jack and flares Tools and sockets Lug wrench and pipe handle Jumper cables or jump box Bungy cord and rope Ether [usually for starting the Model A Ford that runs the grinder]

He also had a short list of items to take home with him:

Dogwood tree Acuba plant Romex Turnip seed

I have my own long and detailed list of things to bring with us to the hospital (thankfully all of which fit in a backpack), but my take home list pretty much only has one extra item on it:

Baby

Dad's duck

15 years ago, my father lost his job and it almost ruined him. He had always had a job (if not several) since he was a teenager, but his contract job with a fax machine repair company was eliminated just before I left for college. 1994 was also the year Mom got breast cancer. It was a rough year for us all. When you suddenly don't have a job after 40 years, it can really turn you on your head. Dad had a very hard time adjusting. There was talk of getting rid of the pets because we couldn't afford them anymore, selling anything and everything we had and other gloomy premonitions for us all. Over time, though, he rallied when he realized we would indeed make it and eventually his contract job asked him to come back. But it was a long year or so in between.

During his period of unemployment, my father discovered a sickly duckling in the yard. I'm not sure where she came from or how she was injured, but Daddy took her in. He fashioned her an outdoor pen but because the raccoons might get her after dark, she spent the nights in my parents' bathroom. My mother brushed her teeth each morning with a duck to keep her company.

Because I was away at school, Mom sent me pictures to chronicle the progress of Dad's patient. The duck apparently had some sort of inner ear problem that made her fall over and unable to walk well. If you put her in water, she would immediately capsize and would have drowned if not rescued. So my father designed a sort of duck traction device out of a 2 gallon water jug and old pool ladder to keep her upright and encourage her to paddle. There were several versions of this device, but they all seemed to help in her water therapy.

Eventually, the balance issue resolved itself and the duck could again eat, drink, waddle and swim. Unfortunately, as the weather turned cold, we also discovered that the duck could fly. She flew south that winter to migrate with her fellow kind, leaving my father behind.

We worried that Daddy would get depressed once his duck had disappeared, but he seemed content enough that the duck recovered and adapted back to the wild. He did mention once, though, that if he ever found another sickly duck he might clip its wings so it would stick around a little longer.