hipster

The breeze is blowing. The koa room ceiling fan is working, which is not always a given. Dogs are out in the yard, chewing on pig necks. All dog poop is in the trash can under the deck. Nag Champa incense is burning and I'm on the second cuppa and showered and clean. Ooooooohhhh, summer...

My mom broke her hip on Saturday. She was handing out kool-aid and sandwiches at our Olde Country's local mental hospital (a place that was excoriated in the 30's for involuntarily sterilizing mental patients) and she tripped on a chair and took a tumble. It was cracked, and repairable by pins, and it seems, that after a week or so of physical therapy and bedrest, she'll be released to come home with a walker. But it's worrisome, nevertheless. Anytime a 70 year old woman breaks a bone, it is cause for concern, methinks. She's active, she drives a stickshift pickup truck, she has a house with stairs...my dad, at 78, still barbers in our nearby town. It's times like these that have me wishing I'd never moved to the islands, leaving my sister to deal with the whole mess of aging parents, up close and personal. It was their spryness that was a factor in my move. But 70 and 78 are facts of life, in spite of the barbershop, the veggie canning, the running around the county doing good deeds to those less fortunate.

So I spoke with her today, and she insisted I not come home to visit, to wait til she was ambulatory and we could run around together. I'm going to agree to that, as I kinda need to be looking for a job this summer, anyway, and I have, in my possession, an as yet unhousebroken puppy. Mercifully, my parents are independant sorts, who would rather not have me or my sis poking around in their business, if they can avoid it.

Back to my domestic goddess pursuits. Think I'll put on the White Stripes, for the little musical energy boost.