A Might Bit Chilly…

I threw caution to the wind last night and turned  the air conditioning down to a chilly 73 degrees.  It sure made for some good sleeping and Maggie enjoyed it as well. I was warm under my covers. I am now wearing a jacket it is so cool in my house.  I am freezing and chattering my teeth.  The temperature is slowly warming up, though, and the air conditioning will cycle again at 79 degrees.  I’ll be warm by then and ready for it.  It is already 92 degrees outside according to my wireless weather station.  The sensor is in the shade on the porch. The barometer on it is showing that it will rain today hopefully.

I just called mom and asked what Helen was cooking today.  She was half asleep.  We are having cube steak and gravy, the ubiquitous and ever present creamed potatoes, steamed broccoli, and I believe mom said Southern style sticky rice.  I will have my starches covered after that meal. We will also have the also ubiquitous pan of cornbread.  I miss Helen’s Bisquick biscuits, but my father doesn’t like them and he is the boss dog around here – alpha male that he is.

Helen Arrives…

I was just over getting my sodas for the day this last hour.  Helen was walking with a cane today saying her legs were hurting her.  Helen’s legs are elephantine in size.  She greeted my father and I as she slowly walked up the back steps to the deck.  She asked me what I wanted her to cook and you all know the answer: Meat loaf and Macaroni and cheese.  Dad was sitting on the porch during all of this and was listening in as we stood in the kitchen.

“We’ll have that next week,” he said. “I want cube steak and gravy today.”

Helen got some money out of her envelope in the kitchen drawer and headed to the grocery store with a list of ingredients my father wrote. I offered to go get them for Helen, but my father frowned and I then shut up before I got in any trouble.  Dad said I wouldn’t know the right things and ingredients to get.  We were out of some staples and Helen would know we brands my father likes.  Oh ye of little faith I mused.

“Go work on your shrubbery,” my father then told me grinning. “You have a baby pecan tree growing up through your hydrangeas and that mimosa Lopez cut down is making a comeback.”

Dad was soaking wet with sweat and had mud all over his t-shirt.  He had been trimming his hedges before it got too hot.

I deplore yard work. Hate it! I told my father I might work on it some late this evening, but I wasn’t making any promises. It’s hard to believe that in one part of my life I was trying to make a living mowing lawns.

The Long Journey Home…

My brother and his family will return back to the Valley in two weeks.  It is going to be so good having them back in our lives again.  Dad is flying out to San Diego to help my brother drive his two cars back to Alabama.  I don’t envy him of that task, but it is a marvel my father can still do such things at his age.   He will be 70 in August.  I offered to help drive, but my father wants me to stay here and look after my mother.   My brother and his family will be living in one of Charlie’s spare houses until the house they are building is completed.