Today is my father's eighty-fourth birthday and we're glad to be with him and my mother in the mountains. There has been a long-standing tradition of the weather turning to rain when I arrive in the mountains and this weekend is no exception. It's been raining since we arrived. I don't mind the rain, but it has put a damper on walks around the block with the dog and exploring my father's extensive array of plant life and yard art around their house.
The weekend isn't over yet; we still have time to explore. When we arrived though, my father was taking an unexpected side trip to the optometrist's office to place an order for a pair of glasses. Why he needed to do so in the middle of COVID-19 is an interesting story.
My parents own the lot across from their home in the mountains. This gives them an unobstructed view of the mountains beyond them, all the way to a distant mountain which can only be seen well in clear skies. Over the years, my parents have worked on that lot to build a small knee wall and flatten out the area closest to the road for additional parking.
Before we arrived, my father had been working on the edge of the lot which consisted of a steep slope and dense underbrush. My father moved some branches around and one tendril moved suddenly and whipped his glasses right off his face.
It sounds easy to say, "look around and find the glasses" because that's what I thought when I heard the story. I went over to the area in question, fully intending to find his glasses, but two minutes later I was back at the house. It had been looking at a jungle of vegetation on a steep and muddy incline. There wasn't anything to hold on to as you descended to look for his glasses and there was nothing to stand on for support.
I now understood why my father was going to order more glasses. He came home and we all looked up other options to order the glasses online because his glasses were expensive—far more expensive than anyone expected.
After a bit, we forgot about the glasses and got on with other things, but my father hadn't. A short while later he had brought up from somewhere a metal detector. I recognized this metal detector—it was one he had from when I was a child. I would guess the unit was at least forty-years-old. My father has kept it and was looking into what batteries it needed. I couldn't believe he still had that metal detector after so many years.
After lunch out on the porch today in which my daughter burst into the happy birthday song to my father not once, but twice, we were all splitting up to do different things. My husband and daughter were going to get a cake mix to make a cake for Gramps tonight. My mother was going to relax and have a nap and Gramps was going to take the metal detector across the street to look for his glasses.
That's what he'd brought out the metal detector. It had been raining over a day straight now, making that challenging terrain a big hazard now with soft, wet dirt under the foliage. He wasn't going far, my father said, but I wanted to see what he's doing.
He brushed the metal detector back and forth, slowly inching down as far as he could while holding on to the sole tree or the fire hydrant. It didn't take him long before he gave up and came back. As I saw him walking across the street I realized he was holding something in his hand—he had found his glasses! I ran downstairs to meet him.
I told him I bet he would have never have guessed saving that metal detector for forty years would someday save him hundreds of dollars. It wasn't your typical treasure, but in this case it was about the best treasure you could have found,
The Big Boy Update; My son isn't playing video games nearly as much as he used to or even as much as he once wanted to. He's listening to audiobooks instead. Today at lunch, my son wanted to play twenty questions. He picked the item to be guessed several times. He picked some excellent items that challenged even the adults. He's been paying attention to the audiobook and retaining a good bit of it.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter would really like to be played with one hundred percent of the time. It became clear today that when you're helping her with something, like getting her food or helping her set up some work she'll be doing herself, she doesn't count that as time you've actually, "played" with her. To her, quality time only counts when it's a game or other activity she wants to do with you. I tried to help her understand. Mimi is wonderful, spending lots of time with my daughter this weekend.
No comments:
Post a Comment