Morning Conversations

Halloween morning, 6:45 a.m.

"Middle, you need to go get your glasses." I adjusted mine as I gave her the reminder.

"Right. I don't want to forget them all day like I did the other day."

Right. "It should be one of the first things you do."

"Momma, here's my list of things I need you or Dad to get for my costume." Youngest handed me a slip of paper.

The girls had finally settled on costume ideas last night--we are so last-minute people here--so I'd warned them they had to be quick-to-make and cheap--and I took the list. I immediately mentally crossed off two items and added two more. I looked at the time...and Middle's face. Still empty. "Middle! You need to go get your glasses now!"

"Youngest, will you come with me?" Middle wheedled.

"No." I nixed that. Youngest needed to put on socks and shoes. "Go get your glasses."

Middle crouched on the stairs. "But I can't be alone."

"It's your house!" I said, flabbergasted.

"I can't be alone," Middle protested.

"God will go with you."

"It's not the same."

I pointed to the stairs. "Go."

Middle careened up the stairs, stomping the whole way. I sighed, and turned to see that both Oldest and Youngest were wearing heavy coats. I pulled up my weather app. Yes, 44 degrees now, but going to be a high of 69. "Girls, you don't need your heavy coats." Middle stomped back into the kitchen. "A light coat will be sufficient. You don't want to be walking home wearing a heavy winter jacket when it's 69 degrees."

Oldest agreed and went to change her coat.

Middle pulled a maroon sweatshirt over her shirt, which sported dark rose pink and mauve-purple horizontal stripes. "Momma, can pink kill you?"

She would be the one to ask that. "No, it can't."

"I think it can."

"No, it can't."

"It's not worth the risk!"

I chuckled. This kid. "Come on, guys. Out the door."

*     *     *

You'd think that's all to the story, but it's not.

I ran out later in the morning to pick up the last few items we needed for costumes and stuff.

When I came back, Hubby and Special Edition were deep in discussion about something (I'm still not clear entirely on what), and then Hubby proceeded to involve math in the plans he'd left for the creation of the hat Youngest needs for her costume (Special Edition and I were both horrified).

And then I remembered.

I was going to write this post.

I smacked my hand to my forehead. "'Can pink kill you?'"

Hubby laughed. "Middle?"

"Who else?"

And then I explained Middle's refusal to go up and fetch her glasses alone.

"Because it's creepy, right? I keep telling you this house is haunted, and no one believes me!" Special Edition sputtered.

I grinned at her. The house settles, has water that moves through pipes to heat it, and it was built in 1959. I'm pretty sure it's not haunted. "I told her God would go with her."

Special Edition crossed her arms and frowned. "But that's not enough to save you from the hellspawn."

"Actually," I pointed out, "it is. Kinda one of the perks of being God."

The Lord Speaketh

Tonight, dinner here at Casa Fries was my take on ham and scalloped potatoes. However, I cheat when cooking whenever possible (sorry, my organic friends and family; just gasp, shudder, and look the other way--this is more about the conversation than the food anyway), so I don't do the whole white-sauce-from-scratch thing, slice real potatoes, slice real onions paper thin, and chop up leftover ham.

No, I cut major corners. Two boxes of au gratin potato mix. Onions, previously chopped and frozen. And one boneless, pre-sliced ham, set in lukewarm water in the sink to thaw after being removed from the deep freeze.

After letting the ham thaw for a couple of hours when I got home from work, I went downstairs when I had about two hours left until dinnertime, figuring two hours in the crock pot would work for this meal. (I figured wrong. More on that later.) Youngest wandered in and wanted to help. So we layered potatoes from the boxed mixes, cut up ham, chopped semi-frozen onions (left to thaw on the counter while the ham thawed in the sink), and the seasoning packets from the au gratin potato mixes. I threw in some shredded sharp cheddar cheese, topped the whole mess with four tablespoons of butter, and added in the liquids as prescribed on the box mixes. 

When pulling the freezer ingredients, I had a brief flirtation with the idea of topping the whole shebang with tater tots, but decided the flavors wouldn't work. The tots stayed put.

When we reached the two-hour mark and the potato slices at the top were still not quite done, Youngest and I poured everything into my largest Corningware crock and I threw it into the microwave for five minutes while we put green beans into a two-quart glass dish and started setting the table.

So the five of us sat down to eat--Special Edition is visiting this week--and Youngest asked everyone if they liked dinner.

I was still serving myself and Oldest, but I pointed out that Special Edition and Middle were both inhaling their food, so that was promising.

"I didn't take all that much," Special Edition protested.

Middle, down to the last three bites or so, breathed heavily around a mouthful of food.

I shot her a glance. "If you wouldn't inhale so fast, then your food wouldn't be so hot when you're trying to eat it."

Middle just grinned impishly.

I reached for Youngest's plate to serve her some of the casserole. "I considered putting tater tots on top of this."

Special Edition stared at me in shock. "Why didn't you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"When you get ideas to put tater tots on things, listen to them. That is the Lord speaking to you!" Special Edition insisted.

Conversation moved on to what each of the girls is going to be for Halloween tomorrow (you'll have to wait for tomorrow's post, but Middle's is especially brilliant). Since Hubby has to work, Special Edition is going to walk the girls around the neighborhood so I and my crankle don't have to.

This led to Special Edition attempting to wheedle her two favorite entrees, her favorite potato dish, and her favorite Christmas treat as compensation for doing the actual trick-or-treating. "Lemon chicken. And chicken and stuffing. And those potatoes sliced with the cheese. And the peanut butter balls."

Now, there's no way I can make all of that this week, let alone in a day.

"Of course I'll share it with you all, but most of the lemon chicken should come my way." Special Edition smirked.

"Hey, I already made you both of those dishes for your birthday this year."

"She should have them!" Youngest piped up.

"Stop helping!"

Special Edition laughed.

Oldest admitted her agreement.

"She doesn't need your help, either!"

Special Edition explained, "This is really Poppa's fault. Poppa's and yours."

I gave her an incredulous look. "How is this my fault?"

"Poppa was the one who told me last week in the car that he had to work on Halloween and that you would have to take the girls--" she heaped "poor Momma" emphasis on the words.

"So, I wasn't even there, and this is my fault?"

"Yes. It's affirmative action." She looked supremely proud of herself.

Okay then.

Thankfully, Special Edition chuckled and said she was happy to go trick-or-treating with the girls.

So I think I'm off the hook.

Maybe.

We Interrupt Your Dinner to Report a Hilarity

I was feeling lazy tonight, and so I decided to make a fan-favorite here that I call Baked Potato Toppers. It sounds far fancier than it is, as it's just baked potatoes topped with whatever we feel like: ham, cheese, what have you.

When I went downstairs at 6:30 to scrub potatoes and put them in the oven, I suspected the kids might still want this for dinner even though it meant eating at 7:30 instead of scrapping that and letting them scrounge a more immediate dinner right away.

Enthusiasm for my original (and simple) dinner plans confirmed, Oldest asked a question about her homework, which happened to be studying the list of Amendments to the U.S. Constitution. Her paper, rather than list the text of the Amendments themselves, rather showed what they were about. She was confused about a couple of them, and we had a lively twenty-minute discussion about what the very important Bill of Rights was, especially as it related to a fictional account of me stealing a couple of TVs from Walmart and hiding them in our bomb shelter, my guilt or innocence depending on a couple of scenarios, and why the 19th Amendment was so important to us personally as women. We also discussed why the 24th Amendment was important to her and her sisters, as girls of color. (Look them up, people.)

Then I realized the time and went to scrub potatoes.

When we finally sat down to our very late dinner, Middle entertained us with a story about how she dislikes one of her (male) classmates. Intensely dislikes. Whatever word she used, she had to elaborate on it to her friend. "I loathe him," I think she said. Her friend asked for clarification at this point. "I hate him, I despise him, I can't stand him," Middle opined.

Here the friend showed she does not have Middle's vocabulary (not many sixth-graders do). "What does despise mean?"

Middle all but pounded the table as I carried my Winnie-the-Pooh tumbler into the room. "Context clues, woman!"

I almost dropped my cup.

And I immediately messaged the line to Waffle, so I wouldn't forget.

As dinner wrapped up, Middle was clearly not winding down. She had mischief in her eyes, and I'd already asked her to sit properly at the table. She sat on the floor like a dog instead. When I asked her to sit in her chair, she assumed a similar position, and would have barked if I'd not guessed that was coming next.

So I simply asked the kids to clear the table and put away the food. I contemplated the blackberry ginger ale I'd found at work--quite tasty, if you ask me--and prepared to get up and take my dishes to the kitchen.

That's when Middle moved from behind me over to the kitchen doorway with a maniacal shriek of laughter...that wouldn't stop. She bopped into the other room.

I considered things for a moment. "I think you'd better come back in here and tell me what you did."

Middle careened back in, shaking her head, curls flying riotously, laughing deliriously.

Okay then. I looked to her twin.

Youngest held up two slightly arched fingers. "She did this to you."

Bunny ears.

Middle shrieked again, giggles bouncing off the walls, much like she herself nearly was. "The difference is," she gasped, "when I did this to Dad, I was laughing at him!"

"As opposed to?" I said mildly, smiling.

The giggles burbled out. "I'm laughing at myself and what I did!"

I nodded and smirked. "I suppose you know, this means war."

 "I can't stop laughing!" She threw her head back and dodged, while I remained in my seat.

"You won't know when, or how..." I tried to say, and she whooped before the laughter overtook her.

I stood to bring my dishes to the kitchen, and she shrieked and dodged again, nearly falling over a chair, trying to escape. I left the kids to clean up, and then heard them come upstairs to get ready for bed, because it was now after 9.

Surprise!

Deciding it was really a shame that I hadn't gotten a photo of Middle's face in the midst of her laughter during the meal, I moseyed down the hall from my room and found her filling the tank for the humidifier in the hall bath.

"Momma, I made a mess, but I'll clean it up," she assured me.

Uh-huh. (But she did. We'll give her credit.)

"I need a picture of your hilarious face," I told her.

"I'm not in the mood now. You have to surprise me."

Well...

I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall for about ten seconds...

You're welcome.

Regular Maintenance

Here at Casa Fries, we have what's called radiant heat. This means we have water pipes running through our floors, carrying hot water around the house, thus warming the floors, our toes, and the air around us. Generally pretty efficient, toasty for the tootsies, makes the cats happy, and requires some management when we first turn on the heat for the winter.

Which I did about two weeks earlier than I planned, thanks to the first overnight frost happening last week.

But I digress.

This means Hubby and I have to often bleed air from the lines to make sure there's nothing but water flowing through, or the house doesn't heat evenly, which it isn't right now. My bedroom is warm; the upstairs hallway is significantly cooler; the girls' bedroom is chilly. The stairwells are rather obviously not piped and rely on that whole heat-rises thing.

One of the air bleed locations in the basement has gunk on it that will not allow me to loosen the cap. That's one for Hubby to deal with, as I discovered when I went to bleed those lines the other day (usually my responsibility, because I'm smaller and can get back there behind the boiler). The upstairs lines (there are five of them) are all lined up in my closet and require a screwdriver to open.

While I waited for the potatoes to bake for tonight's dinner, I figured I would bleed the lines again, both upstairs and downstairs. I searched for a wrench to tackle the crusty one downstairs, and then for a screwdriver for upstairs.

As I shoved things aside in the kitchen closet toolbox, I shouted, "I need a regular rock! Where did all the regular rocks go? This is a Phillips rock. I need a regular rock!"

Middle, who has been down this road before with one of us, apparently, wasn't fazed.

Youngest, however, wanting to be helpful, offered, "Do you want me to go outside and get one, Mom?"

I snorted. Middle chuckled a little. "No, honey. I don't need that kind of a rock."

I strongly suspect Middle has been shown this Far Side cartoon. It's the only way she would know I'm talking about a screwdriver.

I found a regular rock in the downstairs tool cupboards, by the way.

Precise Definition

"Hey, Momma." Middle dropped into the rocker in the living room. "Guess what!"

I aimed the Roku remote (one of our wiser fiscal choices, that; wish we'd switched years ago) around Youngest and paused the show I'd put on for background noise while I tried to get some editing work done. Hopefully this was an update after yesterday's conversation about friendship. "What?"

"You-know-who and I are back together."

"I'm so glad," I told her, genuinely happy. Middle-school friendships are so often fraught with drama, and I was relieved this episode was short-lived.

"And I called one of my friends flamboyant today, but they didn't know what I meant, and so I had to explain that it means flashy and crazy and overly dramatic, and she didn't understand why I have to be so sesquipedalian, and..."

My brain screeched to a halt. I knew the word, but the definition escaped me. Fortunately, I had thesaurus.com open in a browser tab, and a quick flick switched it to the dictionary side.

"Did you say sesquipedalian?"

Her eyes widened. "Maybe."

"Did they say that about you? Or did you say that about yourself?"

"What? No. I didn't say that."

I pinned Middle with a look. "I know you said it. I heard it."

She grinned. "I said it about me."

"Okay. I was just checking." I cocked my head and studied her. "Where did you hear it?"

"I don't know." She skipped out of the room.

I watched her go. Middle's my wordie. She likes to try to stump me. I at least knew how to spell the word, and Google doesn't recognize it here as correct. (Neither does spellcheck anywhere else I've mentioned it so far.)

Middle is the definition of sesquipedalian, given to using long words.

And she very nearly stumped me today.

I've got to up my game.

Snap, Crackle, and Pop

We here at Casa Fries, as you know, don't believe in doing anything halfway. Buckle up, because we have another one of these.

This week, I'm out at my mom's. Mom is recovering from surgery to repair a full rotator cuff tear in her right shoulder. The twins joined us on Monday this week, after Oldest went off to camp on Sunday and my mother-in-law went home Sunday evening. 

We had planned a relatively quiet Fourth of July. I would put out the flag at Mom's (she can't do it); Mom would go over to lunch at Sis and BIL's place; the twins and I would do something fun; and then Mom, the twins, and I would go over to the Lowe's parking lot and watch the fireworks from there.

Well, we all know what both Robert Burns and Solomon said about making your own plans...something about things going all agley when you think you've got it sorted out and the Lord making his own determinations.

The day started off as planned. I took Mom over to Sis and BIL's and then told the twins we'd go to Wendy's for lunch. I am not the grill master my father was, and I didn't feel like messing with my mother's broken gas grill, so Wendy's for cookery we went. Then we went to pick up some groceries that Mom had ordered through Walmart's website, and headed back home. Mom was still at Sis's, so we returned to watching Fixer Upper on HGTV (which we don't get at home).

Shortly after 3 p.m., while watching Pocahontas II with the twins, the phone rang. "Mrs. Auntie J, this is the camp director at Northwest Christian Camp. I have Oldest here, and she's hurt."

Well.

"She fell and tumbled down a short embankment and it looks like she might have dislocated her knee. We think she needs to be seen in the ER. Do you have a preference where we send her? We normally send them to Nearby Regional Hospital, but we can send her to Southern Hospital, if you prefer."

Given that I'm out at Mom's, Nearby Regional is closer. "I agree she needs to be seen. Go ahead and call the squad, and have them take her to Nearby Regional."

"Okay. Will do. We'll get things rolling here and call you back."

And so I waited for a bit, continuing to watch the movie with Middle and Youngest, and I sent a text to my mom around 3:30, explaining that I needed to leave. I also called Hubby to let him know the situation.

Mom responded about twenty minutes later, and the kids and I packed up to head out. I looked up Nearby Regional and figured I could get there without too much difficulty.

We were about twenty minutes into the drive and had arrived in Pickletown when my phone rang again. It was the camp director again. "The medics have been in touch with us and told us that they've felt they need to divert to Holy Ghost Medical."

"Where's that?"

"Mount Hill."

I whipped into the parking lot of of a church that's on the familiar route between Mom's and home, which had been the general route to Nearby Regional. "Okay. I'll find it."

"Please keep us informed about Oldest. We're all praying for her here."

I thanked him and hung up, and then did a search for Holy Ghost Medical and punched in directions. Fortunately, we weren't that far away.

Unfortunately, the skies opened up and God chose to celebrate the Fourth with us as I drove. The twins and I dashed through the rain to the Emergency Room entrance.

"My daughter Oldest Fry is here," I explained to the triage nurse. She frowned in concentration as she searched her system. "I may have beaten her here."

"Looks like you did," she confirmed. "Have a seat and I'll let you know when she arrives."

The twins and I settled down in the waiting room. They quickly got interested in America's Ninja Warrior and I pulled out the book I'd brought along, because, well, waiting rooms.

We waited about twenty minutes before being called over. We were led to a small room back behind the waiting room while the receptionist explained that Oldest had arrived and was being evaluated by their team, but we couldn't go see her yet. "She's getting the very best of care and being treated the fastest because she's in one of our trauma bays."

I had a flash of sudden understanding. I know what this room is for. Thankfully, I knew it wasn't for that purpose today, but it was still rattling, especially when the receptionist's departure coincided immediately with the arrival of a tiny woman wearing a habit. "Hi, I'm Sister Mary Joan, director of spiritual care."

We introduced ourselves, and Sister Mary Joan was quick to offer whatever assistance we needed. I only had a few moments to chat before I was called out to meet with the doctor.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Tall. You're mom?"

I nodded.

"Okay, what she has is a fracture of the growth plate here in her leg..." He turned to gesture at the x-ray, only to discover that it wasn't on a screen anywhere. "Okay, anyway, it's in the growth plate. That's orthopedics, and she really needs a pediatric orthopedist because of where the fracture is."

I nodded again and looked over at my daughter. Her injury was obvious, her left leg twisted and her knee swollen. I turned back to the doctor as he continued.

"So we are sending her to BigMed—did they tell you that?"

I shook my head.

"We're sending her to BigMed. They have a pediatric orthopedist there who's accepted her as a patient. So you don't have to go through any of the waiting or anything there; she's already a patient, so she skips the line. They're coming to transport at 6. Because she hit her head, we do need to do a CT to make sure she's okay. Any questions?"

That's a lot of information, awful fast. I looked at the clock. Twenty-two minutes until 6 p.m. "So what do you think we're looking at to treat this?"

"Probably surgery would be my guess. That's why she needs peds ortho. BigMed will take great care of her. You can go see her now."

I walked over, trying to avoid wires and cables and ER staff. "Hi, honey. Mom's here."

Oldest screamed and writhed in pain.

I reached for her hand. "It's okay."

"It's not okay!" she cried. "Why would you say that?"

Fair point. "I know. The doctors and nurses are going to help you, though. It's going to be okay."

That calmed her down some.

The nurses took her over to get her scan done, and I stood in the trauma bay and called Hubby at work. Again. Surprisingly, he answered the phone. I gave him the results of my two-minute conversation with the ER doc. After that, I called Mom and discussed what we were going to do with the fact that Oldest was going to be admitted forty-five minutes away, that Mom still needed help, and that I had to be with Oldest while the twins could not go stay with Sis and BIL.

Then I reviewed her history with the nurse. No weird diseases. These are her regular prescription meds (she takes two, and one OTC). She previously had her tonsils and adenoids out. No medication allergies that we know of. 

I stayed with her until the ambulance transport packed Oldest up and departed, promising to follow as soon as I could. Then I collected the twins, bid goodbye to Sister Mary Joan (who stayed with the twins the entire forty-five minutes I was gone; all the saints preserve her), and dashed through the rain to the car.

We drove back to Mom's, where we formed our game plan for the night: Sis would spend the night at Mom's with Mom and the twins. I would go be with Oldest. Reevaluate in the morning. I threw stuff

BigMed is very patriotic.

in a bag and drove to BigMed, where they were waiting for me. History review? Lather, rinse, repeat. No, I didn't see her injure herself. She was at camp. It was now about 9:30 p.m.

Meanwhile I'd learned a bit more about the accident that brought us here. Oldest had safely navigated the zip line at camp and gotten unhooked from the harness, landing aground safely. But when the time came to run the rope back up the trail to the tower for the next camper, Oldest missed the trail and ran out of rope. She stumbled and landed on one knee, letting go of the rope. When she jumped to grab it again, she missed, and tumbled down a two-and-a-half foot embankment.

I met a wide association of doctors, nurses, techs, and was brought up to speed. The orthopedic fellows and one of the trauma docs and her admitting physician all decided that the best route to treat her was not surgery, but rather to sedate her in her room in the ER, set the fracture, cast it, then vent the cast by cutting slits in it to allow for swelling, then wrap the vented cast in a soft dressing. We'd come back and see them "in clinic" for follow-ups and go from there. Should be released in the morning after observation overnight.

So that's what happened. The admitting doctor thought they'd cleared her C-spine (x-rays showed no injury), but Oldest still complained her neck hurt at a level 4, so the collar stayed on, especially after she winced and cried after the doctor probed the back of her neck.

I stayed in the room until Oldest fell asleep under anesthesia so that the fracture could be properly set, and then I got punted to the waiting room. I bought the last bag of Smartfood popcorn from the vending machine and was bummed when I found there wasn't any more in the machine. (That was dinner.) 

The doctors proclaimed the procedure a success and I came back to wait with Oldest, who slept peacefully (thank goodness). Then they brought us up to her room. It was well past 2 a.m. when we finally got to fitful sleep.

Today dawned with Oldest waking me to read stuff on the television that's required for parents to read and acknowledge before they'll spring you from this joint.  I met with the social worker, who asked what she could to to help, and I explained my clothing dilemma: Oldest was at camp, all of her stuff is still at camp, home is ninety minutes away, and we are discharging to Gramma's home 50 minutes away. Yet more doctors came in, including the ones from last night. I wondered how much sleep the one whose name I originally thought was Dr. Quack (cell connection was poor because of the storm when Hubby called) had actually gotten, because it was almost criminal for him to look that good when I'd last seen him a scant four hours before. These young kids. I figured he was probably wearing yesterday's clothes like I was and felt better (before I went right back to sleep; he came in just before 6). A cheery Child Life volunteer came in around 9:30 and offered to have Oldest play Bingo via streaming video at 10:30 since she wasn't ambulatory. More nurses came in just at Bingo time and helped Oldest play, and she won the first of three games. (The roving Prize Patrol cart came to her.) Person #700 came and introduced himself as such, bringing some possible clothes for Oldest.

Of course, that's when we thought we were getting out of here today.

Because then Dr. Strong came in. He's the pediatric orthopedist who's really in charge here. He didn't like the way her leg was laying there in the cast, and determined he wanted to do what he hoped was a closed procedure to set the bone in precisely the right place so that she wouldn't end up knock-kneed. It was close enough, he said, that had she been 4, he would have left it alone. But because Oldest is almost 13 and the growth plate in her tibia (the bone she broke) stops growing at age 14, he didn't think she'd have enough time left to grow to have the bone straighten itself out. He gave me several options for what might need to be done in a traditionally closed procedure. 

Everything else today has been marching towards that procedure. Neuro came in, wanting to get an MRI done of her neck to make sure that there isn't anything wrong there that's causing pain and discomfort.

So I'm sitting here in a padded chair, in the very waiting room I was in almost exactly three weeks ago when Middle had her heart surgery. Not too long ago, last night's admitting doctor came out to talk to the family of another patient. He saw me and stopped before he went to talk to them, and asked if Oldest was in surgery, and if she was still in the collar. I explained Dr. Strong's reasoning, and he nodded, and we talked a little about last night before he moved on to his patient's family, but not before he gave me good wishes for Oldest's healing.

The receptionist informed me just now that Oldest is in surgery, and that Dr. Strong says they'll just be casting.

Sounds like good news to me, which means we should be out of here tomorrow. Whew.

If I'd had to pick which daughter would break a bone first, I would have said Middle, hands down. Agley is no respecter of a mother's intuition, I suppose.

To a less-adventurous Fourth next year!

All Things New

I have been camping out at my mom's this week, taking over as chief cook, bottle washer, chauffeur, and nurse. Mom had surgery on Tuesday to repair a full tear on her right rotator cuff, and her surgeon wouldn't even schedule the procedure until he confirmed Mom had live-in help for two weeks post-op. Enter me.

The original plan called for the girls to come with me, and then Hubby would come out and pick up Oldest to pack her off to camp today. However, that changed last Friday, when my mother-in-law called and said she and Hubby's oldest sister and her husband were coming out a week earlier than expected.

Okay then. The girls got to stay with Gramma Bevvie, and I came to Mom's alone.

Which turned out to be a good thing all around, as it turned out. I love my mother-in-law, and I was sorry I couldn't spend more time with her than just a day, but Mom and I both agreed that having it just be the two of us in the immediate days following surgery was a good thing.

Innyhoo.

That's why I'm here.

Here, and scorching along with everyone else in the vicinity of the East Coast. We are all baking.

To that end, one of my daily tasks has been watering Mom's flowerbeds and tiny garden.

With temperatures soaring and the heat index skyrocketing, it was equally imperative that we get out to the cemetery and water the new tree Mom had planted on the plot where Dad's ashes are buried.

This is the part that requires a little history.

When Mom went looking for a cemetery plot, she specifically wanted a place that would allow her to plant a tree. Specifically, an oak tree, because oaks were special to my father, featured prominently in a poem he had written about his own father. Mom had gained permission from the cemetery my sister found, in a nice location, next to a small private airstrip (Dad also loved planes), and everything seemed perfect. We planted the tree and buried Dad's ashes.

And then things went sideways. Turns out, the owners of the cemetery—who also owned several cemeteries and properties in Ohio—were crooks. Mom was contacted by federal agents investigating the owners. The marker Mom ordered and paid for never arrived nor was installed. (As of this writing, Mom has seen the marker, and it's actually complete, but it still has not been installed, after three years.) Getting questions answered was next to impossible. The cemetery fell into disrepair, tended by only a few volunteers. Dad's tree was the only thing marking his grave.

Then I got a call from my mother in mid June last year, telling me that someone had cut the tree down.

Devastated doesn't begin to describe how we all felt.

The tree wasn't just cut down; it was chopped so low to the ground that it looked like it was never there.

Mom went and talked to the mother-in-law of the skeezy husband who owns the property, trying to find out what happened. This tree, after all, was tall enough and established enough to not just be a nut job planted by a forgetful squirrel. Of course, if they'd actually installed Dad's marker, then the tree wouldn't have just looked like it didn't belong in the middle of an expanse of plots. The mother-in-law said they never would have allowed a tree to be planted, while Mom argued that the owner said he loved the idea and wanted to plant more pin oaks in that section.

But with everything going on, and the owners in Ohio trying to wrap things up before beginning prison sentences, there was no way to get confirmation...and then the feds decided Mr. Martin was too much of a flight risk and scooped him up.

So. No tree. No marker.

My brother-in-law went out and hunted around, and found the very short stump, so at least we knew we could find the plot again.

Seasons changed, and Mom researched what she wanted to do.

This spring, she planted another oak tree. This one, she told me, was not a pin oak like the last one, just a regular oak with the more rounded leaves. And BIL had helped plant it, and he'd made sure that it would not be so hastily cut down. Mom mentioned that he'd also put up a cross with Dad's name and dates of birth and death.

Which brings me to today.

And our heat wave.

Hatchet proof.

Mom had wisely chosen to not attempt church, and after we had lunch and took a short walk, she decided she didn't truly need to go to the cemetery with me. I could go and water the tree alone.

I took five full gallon jugs of water and drove over, hoping that BIL's attempts to prevent another hackery were sufficient. I wasn't sure I could handle seeing another tree gone, and I hadn't been to the cemetery since the last time I'd gone, when I'd seen the awful truth for myself that the tree wasn't there.

I pulled up next to the section where Mom and Dad's plot is and smiled. The tree still stood, as did a small sturdy cross. I smiled. Well. That does discourage a quick hatchet job. BIL had constructed a cage support for the tree out of two-by-fours and chicken wire.

I grabbed the first two jugs and strode over. Huh. That's an awful lot of foliage near the ground there.

I set the jugs down when I got there, and dropped to my knees. It can't be! Shoots burst out of the ground. Actual branches. One threaded two and a half feet high, in through the chicken wire surrounding the new tree. I tugged it free.

I shoved aside the branches. They're saying poison oak is everywhere. Am I getting myself in a world of trouble? No, this is oak oak! I felt around. There it was--the stump, the jagged two-level cut that felled it that I remember.

This is Dad's tree!

I laughed in outright glee.

Death cannot stop true love.

I studied the leaves. Yes, these were pin oak leaves. They were clearly oak leaves, but also very clearly not the same as the oak leaves on the oak tree BIL had carefully caged. I shrieked and laughed some more. This is the coolest little resurrection story!

I dumped water on both trees—although admittedly the pin oak looked more like a bush than a tree—with glorious abandon.

See? I told you not to lose heart. I am making all things new. The words fed life into my soul. Thank you, Abba.

I messaged Waffle. I called Hubby, who was driving his mother back to meet his brother (the twins will be joining me tomorrow).

Then I plucked two leaves, one from each tree, and went home to tell Mom.

As I staggered into the house from the heat of the garage, she asked, "So, was it there?"

"Oh, it was there," I told her. "They were both there."

Mom whipped her head around as fast as she could. "Both?"

"Yes, both." I grinned. "Despite everything, that pin oak has grown back."

"Well, how about that."

How about that.