First off, thank you so much for all of the beautiful comments you left yesterday. I almost turned comments off because I really did not want to feel that I wrote about what happened yesterday just to get unearned sympathy and reassurance. But so many of you know exactly what I was going through and hearing your voices tell me of your experiences helped tremendously. There are so many things about getting older that no one even really hints at. Sure we hear about what's going to happen to our knees and our hearing and our poor little minds but no one ever told me that at some point I'd be this disinclined to go visit an old friend in the hospital.
I suppose I was just having a very hard and odd day yesterday and then adding in knowing that I really should go and see Tom pushed me over the breaking point.
Glen decided to wait until today to go see Tom. He'd been driving for hours and hours, it was raining, he was exhausted in every way. So this morning after he ate his breakfast he went and delivered the two boats he was retrieving and then went to the hospital. He said when he walked into the room Tom said, "Oh. Hey," and that was that. No mention was made of yesterday's outburst. Tom has had more strokes and he has lost much of his ability to find the words to speak with. Glen says that his memory seems fine, it's just the communication part that is hard.
He said that the doctors are talking about some sort of long-term care for Tom but Tom has said, Oh no. That's not going to happen." He figures he'll just get some speech therapy and then go home.
And his home...well. Probably over forty years ago Tom bought a chunk of land not far from here and either he had a trailer moved there to live in or else one was already there. I am certain it was not new.
He still lives in that trailer which you can only imagine is falling apart. I don't think he's had hot water for a year. There are serious problems with the structure that I won't even go into and the idea that he will be going back there is at once frightening and ridiculous.
But it is his home.
Tom is not poor. He could well afford to buy a new modular home. He's even built a wood-working shop and an art studio on the property. I've never seen either but I hear they are fine, sturdy structures. Glen has tried and tried to get him to put a little kitchen and a bathroom in the studio and move into that but no, that's not what he wants to do. And no he hasn't and no he won't and although we despair over that, we know full well that it is up to him where and how he wants to live.
And aren't we all? Some of us are more complicated in traditional ways, some of us are complicated in ways that are more difficult to understand. And sometimes the least complicated thing to do is simply accept.
So yes, my man is home. Maurice has given him a small wound which is to be expected. She absolutely has to let him know how she feels when he abandons here. Jack, on the other hand, was delighted to have his other human in the bed last night and allowed Glen to kiss the top of his head which is what he does. I am attempting to gracefully re-adapt to having someone else in the house again. I do have a lot of practice in this regard, though. And it's nice getting the hugs and kisses that I've been missing. I've cooked us some pinto beans and collard greens for our supper. I'll make some cornbread to go with.
It has been raining for about 24 hours here now but it's coming down in a drizzle instead of the steady drumming we were getting. There are puddles all over the yard.
I wrapped my fruitcakes in their rum-soaked cheesecloth shrouds and then two layers of aluminum foil this afternoon.
I don't think that's it exactly but it's descriptive.
I am happy to report that the fruitcake is, as Lis would say, fit. As in fit to eat. I confess that I was so out of my mind yesterday that I made so many mistakes making those cakes. First of all, my food processor has a broken something-something that triggers the on function and although I have come up with a fine work-around which involves the handle of a wooden spoon, it's not as easy to control the pulse function and I processed a great many candied cherries almost into mush. AND, I forgot to put in the dates and golden raisins I'd gotten to use, AND I misread the oven temperature and instead of setting it at 250° I set it at 200° and wondered why in hell it was taking SO LONG for the cakes to bake.
I figured that out about halfway through and I think they turned out fine despite my mental fucked-uppedness.
Tomorrow we will go see Owen at work. I am really having a hard time believing that he's old enough to have a job. I will try my hardest not to embarrass the boy. I can make no guarantees though.