Abigail Thomas wrote A Three Dog Life about her husband who was brain-injured in a car accident in 2000 and about the three dogs she owned and who comforted her. I can see how they would. (And why am I being drawn to books like this? The last two I read were by a neurosurgeon!)
I read the book in two days; it's a quick read, but so full of good things, I may read it again. I told Sher she needs to read it - it's about the woman's husband, yet so many parts of it remind me of our experiences with Mama. Loss, tears, laughter, memories. There were so many funny/sad things in the book that I wish I had marked. I'm sending it to her this week.
One night this week I dreamed about Mama or Teri. The next morning I couldn't remember. Sher dreamed about Mama after we talked about the song I heard (Angel) on Thursday. We're passing their memories around between us.
Getting away from that theme, I've started on English Creek by Ivan Doig. I enjoyed Whistling Season so much I wanted to "go back" to Montana.
This has been a perfect-weather weekend: perfect temperature, sunshine, no wind, flowers and trees still in full bloom. As Brother Matt said this morning, it has been a gift of God's grace. Yesterday I walked without Oscar because he was literally dragging his feet, in the head-down-stubborn-donkey position and refused to go any further after he peed, so I went alone. I called Sher and she "went with me," as I do her sometimes. Yesterday evening O decided he'd trot along in front of me after all. He loves sniffing in the tall clover as yet untouched by mowers.
I did a little grocery shopping, cooked a little, napped a little. I made a meat loaf and called Neall to see if they were home and they were in Atlanta visiting Becca's brother! He said he'd come by for the meat loaf when they got home today (Sunday).
Today after church and Sunday School, I warmed leftovers and made creamed potatoes. It was an early lunch and I love long Sunday afternoons. Oscar and I rode with Paul to the cemetery this afternoon so Paul could mark a grave. Yesterday a carful of 70-ish cousins called Paul, having gotten his name from a florist, and wanted help finding a great uncle's grave - someone who'd been killed in 1930 - hit by a train - and buried here. This man wasn't from here, they just buried him here. I suppose in the 30's that was the expedient thing to do under the circumstances. Maybe the family couldn't afford to have him taken back to his hometown... But they didn't find the grave. They were trying to locate family members such as this so they could provide a marker for those who didn't have markers or monuments.
I gave Oscar a bath today and trimmed his whiskers, around his eyes and tail. I thought he could dry off outside and as soon as I opened the door he took off like he was after a bird in the yard, but there wasn't one to be seen. He tore back toward the house and immediately dove into the new mulch under the barberries beneath the kitchen window. Luckily, they didn't grind into his clean, wet coat and I could brush most off. I dried him inside.
Steve called me when I was getting dinner ready; just checking on us. I called Mike after dinner and Marsha was home with her grandma "Nanny;" Mike and Benjamin were gone somewhere. M&M leave May 9 for their Alaska cruise, will be back May 17. Before I could "remind" her, Marsha said they'd send us a postcard. That's what I ask for when someone's making a trip. I got a postcard from Sher, from La Quinta in Palm Springs: "WYWH." Me, too!
Doing a little sunning.
Now this side...
The sun had the creepy-crawlies out. He really was only about one-half inch long.
Azaleas in the back yard by the garage.