Inevitability of Old Age

My time has been devoted exclusively to The Old Goat these last two weeks. He was falling. So, I took him to a doctor who referred him to the UAB Hospital, Neurosurgical Section. After ten days of testing, they concluded it was hydrochephalus. Yesterday, a drain pipe was installed in his head and today they cut him loose. Now, I am wondering how he will make it on his own since he can barely walk unassisted. TOG has claimed all of my time in the last two weeks. I missed a number of meetings with my job with the Alabama Sustainable Ag Network (ASAN). In fact, I missed the Georgia Organics/ASAN conference this weekend. It is the cost of having an aging (or is it ageing?) parent. I drove to Birmingham every day early and returned to Welch late. By the time I got home I have enough time to close up the chickens, feed the animals before going to bed.

I think my life is on hold for the time being. I hope my employer will understand. Truth is that my Dad and I have never been friends. My brother, Tinker, and Dad are big buddies but I guess I was a Mama's boy. The Blessed Saint Rebecca and I understood each other. TOG and I clashed ... often. Sort of ironic that now, all these years later, I seem to have responsibility for his care. I am learning something about what my own old age will be. Certainly, I don't expect my children to care for me. It is for that reason that if I make it to 75, the day I do, I am going to the store and buying three or four cartons of cigarettes and all the Scotch my truck will hold and I am going to commit slow suicide, with a great deal of joy. Nothing good happens to the body after turning 80. Trust me. I am seeing this truth every day.

You can't help but feel a pang of sadness for TOG. For so long he was a full-bodied, energetic, able man. Now he can barely climb the two steps into his house. If nothing else, he is instructive.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

Mick Jagger is a god, worthy of praise and adoration. You can't always get what you want but if you try, sometimes, you get what you need. Tell me that is not pure genius. What I have learned in my sorry life is that I am at my best when I live simply and seek those things that are essential and real. Simple stuff, like true love and actual commitment. Jez, how elusive are those things?

The Old Goat and I shared some father-son time today. I drove him to see his dying sister. It was heartbreaking. My aunt gasping for breath, with no clue of she was and who these people were who kept calling her name and asking her inane questions. My Dad cried. The whole scene broke my heart. The Old Goat actually had feelings for somebody other than himself. As we drive to see her, we talked about his childhood and about his father. He was a cruel man. Hard on his kids, eager to take any advantage open to him, not above exploiting any opening. Maybe The Old Goat was an improvement. If so, it had to be the civilizing affect of the Blessed Rebecca.

Spent an enjoyable evening with my friends Jim and Judy. They invited me to join them for dinner while they entertained guest, John and Nicky. What a treat. Great food and wonderful conversation although I think I might have imposed upon the general flow of exchange. Still, it was a much appreciated evening.

If all goes well, the tractor will be back in operation by the end of the week. Assuming we don't have heavy rains, I will spend the end of the week plowing in anticipation of planting onions and potatoes. It is also the time to turn over the parish garden. I want to get the lettuces, cabbage, brussel sprouts and broccoli in as soon as the weather permits.

I spent a couple of days battling privet. Again, assuming the tractor is back in operation this week, I will be able to chip up the slain enemy. I use the chips for middles of my rows in the garden. Mostly, I chip up the privet because I do not like it. I think the bush is a bully and deserves the crushing defeat dealt it at the hands of my chipper. I have lost no sleep over its demise.

Mostly, I am happy with my life. Of course, you don't always get what you want. But, I keep trying and, sure enough, I pretty much get what I need. Mick is a god. And the real God is in heaven, graciously looking over my sorry ass, generally protecting me from myself. Life continues to chug along in the wilds of Alabama.

The Daily Hundred

The last couple of days have been good ones. I feel as if I have earned my hundred bucks each day for the work I have done around the place. One day I installed a frost-free faucet near the chicken houses. The next I staged a frontal attack on the privet in the old pig pen. After a day of struggle, I emerged victorious. It has been a while since I felt that I earned my daily hundred. Maybe it is just the season. Piddling around the greenhouse does not strike me as work. Spending a day in front of the computer is not work. Driving to or sitting in the meeting, neither is work. Busting your butt, working up a sweat in the middle of winter, getting dirty, needing a shower and a cold beer, that is work. It is on those days of real work that I feel as if I have earned my hundred.

Speaking of the greenhouse, I have blooms on my heirloom tomato plants. I intentionally and with forethought selected two of the two dozen plants to survive. The two are now three feet tall and filled with blooms. In a couple of weeks, I might actually have tomatoes. In the meantime, I am sprouting a couple of herbs, basil and lavender. I placed my order for seeds. My onions will arrive next Thursday; two hundred sweets and two hundred reds. At the same time, I will put in my potatoes.

My parish, Barney’s Church and Bar, has agreed to let me plant a parish garden. My thought is that we will put in a salad crop. That will allow us to plant early and harvest well before the heat of summer. Then, we will come back in the fall and put in a crop of greens. Barney’s has a beans and rice ministry so the garden will complement it well.

The Old Goat (TOG) and I headed out last evening for our usual Friday burger night. As we approached the fine eating establishment, TOG lost his balance and landed on his ass in the parking lot. He sustained no injury, as far as I could tell. He was a little embarrassed but nothing permanent. He does seem to have issues with his balance. We subscribed to that service that answers anytime he presses a button on his alarm bracelet. Couple of weeks ago when we arrived home after another spectacular night of burgers we found the yard at TOG’s house filled with an ambulance, a fire truck, and a sheriff’s deputy, all their blue and red lights flashing. Apparently, TOG had accidently hit the Help button. I guess it is good to know that the system works.

WitchWoman joined me in Little Rock for an agriculture meeting last week. We discovered the Capital Hotel. Better, we discovered the chef at the Capital Hotel. What food! A brunch that featured Southern favorites in a new and fresh ways, bar food featuring the best quail I have ever tasted, and a breakfast that rivaled anything that the Blessed Rebecca ever cooked. Overall, Little Rock is working hard for respect. Having Bill Clinton as a key selling point hurts but the place has some redeeming features. It may come as a surprise to many but I paid to tour the Clinton Library and Whore House. It was a three-story advertisement for Bubba and Hilary. I had to fight nausea during the entire experience. And, to think that I paid to see this shit! In sharp contrast, I enjoyed touring Heifer International. WitchWoman and I walked all over the place and enjoyed the time in Little Rock.

A New Year

A new year. Yeah, right. Another opportunity for a measure disaster or a timed opportunity for the world to fuck you over. Aw, that is just the negative Tom talking. I am better than that.

The Christmas holiday, the so-called Holy Days, were wildly varied. At one moment I was the subject of blistering condemnation, the next I was the source of all pleasure and satisfaction. Hard to find a median in that confusion. The bottom line is that I dislike the holiday. It encommpasses too many disappointments, too many exhilerations. The essense of the good life is to live the golden median. Christmas always violates that rule.

Spent some time with my daughter over the holiday. She is involved with a guy whom I distrust. She complains that I do not like him. Well, seems to me that he has to earn a little confidence. Same for her. Tried to talk to her about joining me on the farm but she would have nothing to do with it. I think that is a big mistake on her part.

WitchWoman was a joy to be around. It was hard to leave her to drive back to the farm. But, I did. I drove from Kansas City to Welch, stopping only for fuel.

When I arrived home, I discovered that my heater was not working. And, because the temperatures were plunging, my water lines from the well froze. I spent a very cold night. This morning, I spent hours thawing out the pipes. I gave them blow jobs. (That is, I used a blow dryer to heat up the pipes.) When they were thawed, I turned my attention to the heater. I fixed it but did not trust my effots. So, I called an expert (a high school drop-out) who verified that I had fixed the situation but still charged me $50. Tonight, I am warm and have water. It is a considerable advantage over last night.

Sassyfrass, my cat, is pregnant. She is real pregnant. Due at any time. I let her out to wander a bit this afternoon. It is almost 7 pm now, dark and cold, but she has yet to return. I am a natural worrier. I hope she did not drop the kittens in the woods. If she did, they will never survive the cold temperatures.

I worked on the herb garden again today. I will continue tomorrow. I have to get the tractor repaired before I plow the area for the millet, milo, corn and sunflowers. I still have time but would like to get it done in order to put down some nutrients before planting in early spring.

My regret is that I am not more excited about a new year. It is just routine. And, that, in itself, is a sad commentary. New starts ought to generate some genuine enthusiasm. Instead, it is just another January with some routine chores and tasks.

I know that I really dislike the cold.

Joe ($#^%) Biden

NPR, leftist radio in the US paid for by the US taxpayer, ran a story yesterday featuring Joe Biden discussing the US withdrawal from Iraq. It drove me into a fever. I quickly accessed the NPR website, had to register, then frantically typed in my response to Biden's remarks. My input was not published because I guess it was not civil. Any criticism of O'Bama and his fellow travelers is considered incivil. Here is the truth I learned from everyday Iraqis: Joe Biden is an idiot. He is widely held in disrepute by Iraqis. He is bright bulb who proposed that we divide Iraq into three separate countries, thus guaranteeing civil war in the region well into the foreseeable future. The man did not learn a thing after thirty years of serving on the Senate's Foreign Relations Committee. Poor ol' Joe is evidence that once stupid, always stupid.

Of course, I decided at the same time not to send NPR any more money. The system has biases to which they are completely blind. If Hilary Clinton ever left the national scene, NPR would collapse. Sad commentary. But, you can always read a person by whom he/she holds in esteem. Here is a woman who sleeps with Bill Clinton. Naturally, she is qualified to be Secretary of State. Only on NPR.

The Old Goat

Wednesday I had to drive down to Columbus for a meeting. Yeah, a meeting. I actually got a job and now have to be places at precise times and take regular showers and shave. I'll write about my job later but right now I have something else on my mind. Wednesday was cloudy and rainy. I left early. The Old Goat, up early as usual, went to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things. When he got back to his house, he lost his balance while carrying in his treasures, fell onto the rock driveway, and was unable to get up. He laid there for a quarter of an hour when, fortunately, Tinker and Squeeze drove up to visit. They found The Old Goat sprawled out on the driveway, a little bruised, and a bit dazed. Scared the holy spit out of them. When I arrived home that evening, I got the low-down from Tinker. I talked to The Old Goat. He dismissed it as nothing. I thought about it at length and realizing that since I am now a working stiff there would be many times when The Old Goat would be here without me nearby. We went to dinner as usual at the catfish place on Thursday night. While fine dining, I just let it blurt out. "Dad, it is time for you to move to assisted living." That went over real well. On Friday morning, I met with the lady that runs the assisted living in Roanoke, toured the facility, met the other staff members and several of the residents. I walked away from that meeting feeling positive. I talked to The Old Goat and he thought I had lost my mind. Yet, he agreed that he would have dinner at the assisted living facility tonight (Friday) instead of going out for our usual Hamburger Night. The food was delicious. The residents welcomed The Old Goat as if he were a nice guy. He toured the place. I think he liked it. On Monday I am meeting with the director again. This time our discussion is about payments and move in dates. These last 48 hours have been stomach-churning. Putting my Dad into an assisted living facility is something I knew was coming. Just, it come faster than I thought. Tinker is absolving himself from any responsibility for the decision. I guess that is the reason I come home afterall. If I thought Dad would be better off continuing to live out here in the country, I would not have done the things I've done in the last couple of days. But, I think I have acted in his best interest. The country can be lonely. And, he is lonely. He misses the Blessed Rebecca terribly. He only interacts with me or Tinker. Even his dog spends most of her time at my house. Television is fine but it is not a friend. The assited living place gives him the chance to interact, to engage. I think he welcomes the opportunity but, of course, he will not admit, yet. I think in time he will. Or, at least, I hope he does.

No more politics, OK?

OK, enough of politics. Every time I mention anything about O’Bama, I get a ration from former friends about my wrong-headedness. OK, enough of politics. I won’t mention another thing about the community organizer who now is the chief executive of the national government.

Rather, I am going to talk about gardening. Fall and Winter are the times to talk about gardening. Larry, my neighbor, came up today and used his garden tiller attachment to his tractor to run over my gardens for next spring. What I will do now is plant a cover crop that will add some nitrogen to the soil until it goes under the plow next March. I have no less than ten gardens: the Kitchen Garden, the Herb Circle, the Flower Square, the Berry Run, the Strawberry Field, the Spud Ditch, the Squash Plot, the Melon Patch, the Asparagus Bed, and the Corn Bottom. All total, I have over an acre under cultivation.

God, I love this stuff. Growing stuff. Nurturing plants that produce all sorts of fruits. The temps dropped below freezing for a couple of nights. I had no choice but to yank up the tomatoes and the peppers and the eggplants. Thing about the peppers is that there were a number of peppers left on the plants. And, they were good despite the frost. So, I picked them and now am trying to figure out what to do with them. I do have a greenhouse in which I have lettuces and tomatoes. When I was a kid, I took baths in that wash-house that is now the greenhouse.

Looks like I might end up with a job with the Alabama Sustainable Agriculture Network (ASAN). Imagine, somebody is willing to give me a job? If it works out, I will be the Executive Director of the organization. Again, imagine that?