As promised, here is a picture of the newly painted and hung screen door. The Old Goat opened it, walked through the door, then promptly asked me if I had finished painting the screen. A few of his cylinders aren't firing at full stroke. During dinner tonight he twice mentioned how tomorrow is Friday. When I pointed out that it will be Thursday tomorrow, I think he was briefly confused. His eyes are not sparkling as they did in years past. I think he is tired, maybe a little depressed. I know he misses the Blessed Rebecca. It is not a lot of fun to see such a brute of a man become frail and unsteady. My Grandfather told me that my Dad could plow the straightest rows in Chambers County. That was back when they plowed with mules. He has always been a hard worker. Part of me wants to relocate him into an independent living situation where he would have buds with whom to pal around, have all the buffet food he could stuff down, and his own little place with a television. Mostly, there would be skilled nursing available. I didn't take many geriatric care courses in my collegiate days. But, I know how stubborn he is. On more than one occasion he has made clear his thoughts on a nursing home. In his mind, when you surrender your keys and move out of your house, your life is essentially over. The other part of me wants him to enjoy his place and his freedom. The issue is deciding when to put an end to that liberty before it endangers him. Either way, I know that I will be the focus of his anger when the time comes. Tinker has already surrendered the field. He has no intention of being held in any way responsible for the decision.
Just to make sure, tomorrow is Thursday, right?
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