We returned a little while ago from Abingdon, where we celebrated MeeMaw's birthday one day early. I've been planning this outing for several weeks, and I was excited to finally see it through.
I took MeeMaw to The Martha Washington Inn in historic Abingdon, about an hour's drive from Possum Cough. A very, very elegant setting. The Inn is situated in a massive red brick antebellum mansion, and the dining room itself is as posh as anything we've seen in a while. Subdued lighting, well-appointed tables, and some of the most comfortable draped chairs we've sat in.
MeeMaw ordered lobster ravioli; I selected the lamb. We shared bites off each others' plates, and were both satisfied with the quality and quantity of the fare. We had coffee and dessert (cafe' aulait creme brulee for MeeMaw and tiramisu for me) and headed for home, replete and content.
Our friend Harry's daughter used to work as a sous chef at The Martha Washington Inn, but is now traveling in Europe (near Zurich) and working as an au pair. Last week, we enjoyed some photos of her adventures and were pleased to see how much life she's soaking up. While we were eating, I asked our waitress if she knew Dawn. She did indeed, and said some very gracious things about her (all true). Dawn is a remarkable young lady, sweet-natured lovely, but without an ounce of pretense or pose in her bones. Our waitress said the same thing we did: she's very pleased that Dawn is seeing the world and making the most of her time.
Our waitress also mentioned that she and Harry's wife have a barter thing going: she raises chickens, and swaps eggs for some of Harry's goat's milk. This part of the conversation got us thinking, naturally, about our plans for poultry and caprinary.
We watched an old horror movie the other night. My, my...what a cinematic tour de force. It's called The Giant Claw, and is probably one of the most wretched (and thus hilarious) flicks ever.
The basic plot line is that the goverment has been doing some atomic testing, and this enormous birdlike creature has been spawned from the aftereffects of the nefarious tests. Our first glimpse of the beast is when it divebombs a military plane. The bird looks like an old sweater, wadded up and thrown past the camera lens.
Later in the movie, when we finally got a good look at the thing, we decided that it looked like a rogue rooster that had fallen under the evil influence of Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious. It actually had a mohawk, and veiny eyes that roll around in the sockets. Oh, and it's about 45 feet long. "As big as a battleship!" as one of the characters squeals. A true black and white classic. We broke up laughing every time the creature made an appearance. And the dialogue...oh, the dialogue. Like the Air Force general who intones, "That'll be the end of the bird who wasn't there, but who really was."
That just about sums it up.
This past Sunday was a very emotional time at church. Miss Ruby, one of the Hash twins, had to leave before the worship service started because she was so sick from her chemotherapy. When John was making the announcements and prayer requests, he broke down crying. He had been trying to finish his sentence, "Ruby couldn't stay. She wanted so much to see my son baptized today..." Miss Ruby and her twin Miss Edna are two of the most precious people we know. Neither of them ever married. They have always lived together. They worked side by side for over thirty years in the cafeteria at Holston Valley Hospital, standing for long hours over steaming trays and dish water. And ever since they retired, they have devoted their time to Christ and His church. They are faithful in all things, and always have a cheery word and a sweet smile for us. They read their Bibles at night while sitting in matching recliners in their little living room. And now Miss Edna is watching her sister, from whom she has never been separated in her life, as she battles cancer for the third (and probably final) time. Please pray for Miss Ruby, for Miss Edna, for their brothers.
In spite of the sadness about Miss Ruby, the baptism was a beautiful and joyous thing to watch. John's father, a retired minister from the PCUSA, was there to perform the sacrament. Frail and suffering from Parkinson's Disease, Mr. Irwin nevertheless conducted the baptism with solemn precison and reverence. The best part was after the parents and the congregation had taken vows and the baptism had been applied. At this point, the senior Mr. Irwin took baby Xander in his hands and said, "Allow me to present to you this covenant child, the upbringing of whom you people have just vowed before God to assist in. Look upon him, and remember your own baptism, and remember the promise of the everlasting covenant." Then he walked past each pew with the baby in his hands, presenting him to us. And little Xander's eyes were on his grandfather's serene face the entire time. The event was a living poem.
Two years ago when I was working at Indian Path hospital, I became close to an elderly man who was one of my patients. I used to visit him daily and pray with him and for him (he has many, many medical problems of varying degrees of seriousness). His name is Mr. Morrison, and he and his wife have been a blessing to me in many ways. MeeMaw and I were eating in Perkins Cafe about a year and a half ago and ran into them, so I was able to introduce my bride to the couple.
Two weeks ago today, one of my former coworkers from Indian Path called me at my office and told me that Mr. Morrison was back in the hospital and not doing well. I went immediately to see him, and found him in poor condition but in good spirits. He has an aneurism on his aorta, a blockage in his abdomen, acute kidney failure, hepatitis, and a half-dozen other things. We talked for a while, and I prayed with him. I went back to see him every day that week. On that Friday, when I started to leave after praying together, Mr. Morrison looked at me and said,
"Don't forget me." I assured him I wouldn't.
The following Monday (a week ago today), I went over to visit Mr. Morrison and found that he was not in his room. The offgoing nurse said that she thought he had been discharged home. This made me feel better, and I went back to work. About two hours later, Mrs. Morrison called me at the office and told me that Mr. Morrison was in ICU. I went right over.
When I got there, I learned that the surgeons had decided that they needed to operate that past Saturday, and that the procedures had devastated Mr. Morrison's body and strength. He had to be entubated and placed on a ventilator. Mrs. Morrison was very grieved and worried, and I kept in close contact with her. I was also able to meet several members of their family, since many had come into town because of the seriousness of Mr. M's illness.
Yesterday after church, we went by the hospital and I took MeeMaw in to visit. Mrs. Morrison was her usual loving, gentle self. I prayed with Mr. Morrison, although he is pretty much comatose. I tried to be as encouraging to her as I could, but my dear friend does not look well at all. He has lost a shocking amount of weight in the last week, and the machines are doing all the work. I believe that his time of dying is at hand. He and his family would appreciate prayer at this time.
On a more positive note, the weather here has been incredible. Wednesday morning when I left for work, the Texas thermometer on the back deck read 32F. The days have been in the 70s, the nights in the 40s. It was a bit warmer this afternoon, but still very nice and no humidity. The sky was as blue as Barack Obama's gums, and the trees are beginning to show that subdued flame that will very soon burst into a conflagration of glory across the mountains.
We've had a bit of trouble sleeping the past two nights. Two nights ago, the cows kept us awake much of the night. That's right, the cows. Mr. Davidson mowed down his entire cornfield for silage, and has dumped it all in the silage pits beside the cemetary. The cows can smell it, and - ravenous for something green and substantial on their current diet of sparse autumnal grass - bellowed all night for a little room service. They finally got quiet at about 2 am, but then at about 4 am, a coyote up on the ridge began to howl and yip, and the cows decided they would join in. And they let 'er rip.
And then last night, we were both juuuuuussst slipping into sleep when a very odd noise awakened us both. The sound was right outside the bedroom window. MeeMaw heard it more distinctly than I did, and she reports that it was an animal noise unlike anything she's heard. I mused that it may have been a coon, but MeeMaw is wondering if it were a young bear. Since we know that there are bear in the area, we can't rule this out. My thinking is that it was either a coon, a bear, or The Giant Claw.
Or perhaps it's a despondent Kimbo Slice, looking for some consolation. Either way, we have the shootin' irons close at hand.
Last night, while MeeMaw talked on the phone and caught up on correspondence, I watched a four-hour documentary on the Russian empire. Very enjoyable, though they glossed over the wickedness of the Bolshiveks and what they did to that beautiful land. I pay close attention to Russia these days, as I am intrigued with Vladimir Putin. I believe he is a true nationalist (which is a high compliment, incidentally), and I believe the West underestimates his intelligence, his resolve, and his prowess. Even though he has stepped down as President and is now Prime Minister, he still wields enormous power and influence. It'll be interesting to see how the new American president handles the vast nation of the tsars.
I spent a good chunk of today priming the walls in the middle bedroom. It really brightned that place up; the tawny paneling was drearier than we'd realized until we saw how it looked all coated white. I'll put one more coat of primer on tomorrow, and then it'll be up to MeeMaw to finalize the selection of a color for the wall. Her plan is that the middle bedroom will be fully functional before Christmastime, in case we were to have, say, four adults and a couple of babies with us.
In law enforcement circles, that's what we call a clue. Or at least a sizeable hint.
Tomorrow, we celebrate the birth and life of the most wonderful, most amazing, most loving human being I have ever known in my entire life. Happy Birthday to MeeMaw! She is God's gift to my heart.
'Night, y'all.
