My wife and I lived in the same home for 40 years and raised 3 great kids. It was and always will be "home" to me. I thought they would have to carry me out in a box, but PD was making taking the stairs a little scary and we knew it would only get worse. So we moved into a newly renovated bungalow and who knows, it might become a home someday but for now, it is just an amazing house.
My grandchildren have taken to the new house. The two boys first head to the fridge and then to the basement where the Wii machine awaits. The girl is less excited but eventually she joins her cousins. They are great to have around. They make me laugh and a home needs laughter.
The latest laugh came via my granddaughter who is not yet three. For the purposes of this tale, she shall assume the alias of "Brenna".
The scene
My daughter stops to get gas. The owner of the gas station, who is a Sikh and is wearing his turban, looks into the car. Brenna thrusts her pointed finger at him and says, "I DON'T LIKE PIRATES!".
My embarrassed daughter explains to Brenna that he is wearing a turban as that is part of his religion. She tells Brenna he is not a pirate, he is wearing a turban to which Brenna responds "Actually mommy, some people call turbans pirate hats.
I can never get enough of those 3 kids. They lighten my burden.
As for the PD, it remains on the brink of the stage 2 abyss but I was able to walk 2 miles twice last night so my incident at the lake may have been a one-off thing, much like many of the symptoms I have written about. Symptoms that hit me hard but went away and have not returned.
One can only hope.
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