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The Fruits Of His Labor

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When I take a good long look at things, I guess I’m more of a pessimist and H is an optimist.

He procrastinates getting things done, while I want results immediately. I’m still waiting on new front and back doors and two closet doors. They aren’t as high on his agenda as they are on mine.

There are articles in this house – and outside – that do not need to be here. He doesn’t mind weaving in and out around large pieces of furniture we don’t need or use. I do.

I love to mark through things on a list. It makes me feel as though I’ve accomplished something. I make him lists of the things we need to get done around here, but he tends to ignore them and has a plan of his own that doesn’t usually include my list.

He putters around the yard and babies his plants that I see as dead or dying. Last year I laughed at the twig he called a fig tree. We had moved it from the backyard to the front yard so it could receive more sun and it lost all its leaves, making it look as though there was a dead twig in the ground. Granted it’s only about ten inches tall, but look at it now. I was wrong. I’m sorry.

Now I’m wrong again. H has carted this pineapple plant in and out of the cold weather for at least four years. It’s prickly and he always seems to put it where I get stuck when walking past it.

There is hardly enough room in this house for us, much less, plants that need to come in for the winter months like the snowbirds who show up in town every year as soon as snow starts falling in the north. I begged him to either put it in the ground or get rid of it. I had no faith this plant would ever bear fruit and when he excitedly called me outside to look at his two pineapples this morning, I had to eat my words.

There is still the matter of that fence that needs to be removed from the backyard. It’s on his list.

~Elle

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Our Choices Make Us Who We Are

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Our Choices Make Us Who We Are

My mother was one strong woman. She decided young in life she wanted to be a nurse and at the age of sixteen she chose to attend nursing school in New Orleans Louisiana at Mercy Hospital.

I still hear her voice sometimes telling me to be consistent. I find myself telling my children the very same thing. I wonder if they are listening.

I can still see her sitting at the counter in her kitchen working the crossword puzzle late at night. Words With Friends would have been her favorite past time if it had been around and even though I win the majority of my games now – that would not have been the case playing against her.

I find myself singing her praises anytime someone mentions home health. (That happens more often as I get older.) She was a dedicated nurse for many years when we were young, working night duty – eleven pm to seven am so Daddy could be home with us at night. She arrived home just in time to get us all off to school and then slept until we returned in the afternoon. Later, when we were older, she was a home health director for over 40 years. I went on many a call with her in the middle of the night out on deserted roads I didn’t even know existed in our small community. Fear did not enter into her mental knowledge.

With three girls having their drivers license in high school, we fought over whose turn it was to have her car, but we always had to check in often in case she had an emergency. (There were no cell phones.) We were the only kids who drove around with catheters in the back seat.

She chose to follow my father, with four young children, into the unknown, when he decided to homestead in the Alaska wilderness in the late 1950’s. We’ve always said he was the adventurer, but she probably gave him a run for his money.

You can read about that adventure – some in her own words in Coffee-Drunk Or Blind. http://amzn.to/2h2rnKs

Happy Mother’s Day to all the adventures out there!

~Elle

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