A Dog Named Plaid

After: Two rooms into one with a crow drawing by my grandma, both sides and details of the Bathroom upstairs…..pictures for Seedys who is building a kitchen From Georgette who built a bathroom, 2008.

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As G and I left the nursing home yesterday, one of the sharp ladies who eat at the next table stopped me. She wanted to thank us for visiting Duck every day.

“Not every day,” I protested for she doesn’t know how lazy I can really be.

“It’s awfully good of you to do this,” she replied.

I said the usual, “If it weren’t for Duck, I would be dead and G and I would not have met.” But the truth is that there are times I would love to stay home. There are times I drag G off early. I’m not really a nice person at heart.

G’s the one who goes every day while I tag along. Perhaps this visiting gene was inculcated deep into him by his mother….who went to visit her difficult adoptive mother ever weekend for hours taking her sons. There were times when they did make it difficult for her to do this. I’ve been told stories. And it was very hard on the kids to do these visits to a crotchety grandmother. Now G does it to Duck every day.

It isn’t all dogged seriousness. G has a wicked sense of humor and can get Duck laughing at nothing at all. Then they both sit there and laugh. They make Plaid jokes and more Plaid jokes to the point that even those who don’t know Duck well can see Plaid sitting by his side wagging his tail. Panting too. Laughing.

Plaid laughs too you see.

Can I remember what we laughed about last night? No. G remembers that we were talking about the fact that Duck is forgetting more now. Unless he is taken, he doesn’t go to the craft classes he loves. He can’t find his room when he leaves the dining room. He can’t find the dining room anymore either. Then again, he remembers Plaid. We need to get him a shirt with, “My dog’s named Plaid,” on it for his birthday.

I’ve decided that everyone should have a dog named Plaid whether you can see him or not.

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Duck: Just as fuzzy….tho he did laugh at one joke G made. He does insist that the food is good while his tablemate Allie dislikes the food intensely. I discovered that Allie is one year younger than I am. How truly horrific to be power-wheelchair and nursing home bound at 65 from a stroke and yet still have a clear mind.
Me: Knee continues better. Hip still with me. Ate 3 points of corn chips at lunch yesterday, and I should feel guilty but don’t. Ah well. But I am laughing.
G: G loved his fajitas in lettuce wraps with no fat beans. The salsa helped everything. Tonight we blow it and go out to dinner with Carrie. I’m very excited.
Weather: 63 for the high. 48 for the low. Very foggy out there, and burning off at 9ish. Stay safe, indeed.
WW: Peas and coffee, turkey and no fat cheese half sand with carrots et al. Totally blowing it for dinner at a local BBQ joint with Carrie who used to be a WW teacher. G and I are acting like two year olds about this dinner out with a high fat, high sugar, high salt, and high carb dinner.