Ten-Finger Exercises

Various sorts of blue

I used to have a sign someone gave me that said "Put a little blue in everything you do."

Blue is my favorite color, at least my longest standing favorite. It's all so relative though. I don't care for blue walls usually, and I don't have many blue clothes because blues are so hard to match.

On the other hand, blue is a feeling too, and, like water, it is alive. An all pink, or even all yellow or all green life would stifling.

So, on this very red-hot, red-white-and-blue day, I chose to skip the big doings in the park and stay home alone. I'm missing my little Jack and Sophie--that's my little piece of blue for today. I've found a few items that didn't get in their suitcases. I swam today with Bill, and no one was yelling, "Grammy, Grammy!" at me. I guess I could have made today my annual Do-nothing-but-float-in-circles-and-read day, but I'll save that for another time.

As for WDC, I haven't had a blue day in a very long time; and all the things I've meant to write feel stale today. No, they feel put away, not worth dragging out to look at. The only writing I've done in the past week or more has been some editing.

Last Sunday we flew the twins back to their home. Jack, who has a history of getting airsick, possibly from an untimely virus, made it okay. We had taken them up for a "test ride" on Saturday, both in the back seat; and they did okay, although I suspect that Jack's getting quiet was a signal that we were pushing our luck. We headed back to the airport and no one mentioned it.

Bill thought he might do better in the front seat, having more to look at, and tried to give him that chance by asking who'd like to sit there. Wrong move. Sophie wanted to; and whatever she wants, Jack wants automatically. They decided to solve the problem themselves by playing Rock, Paper, Scissors--the winner of 2 out of 3 games. Sophie won. Jack insisted on just one more try, and then lost it too. He wailed that it wasn't fair, that he "meant to make paper instead of scissors."

(Sunday afternoon at the airport, Sophie saw some child size flight jackets and took one off the hanger to try on. Jack took it as if he thought she was getting it for him; and when she wanted it back, he made some remark about boys being pilots. Two women behind the counter were pilots themselves and set him straight. He remarked, "Boy, I didn't see that coming!")

Bill, who had just come home from a week in Chicago and wasn't accustomed to the bickering, suggested that we make a stop mid-way, at a town not far off the path, and let them trade seats. Jack, who evidently thought it wasn't fair because what would a girl get out of a front seat ride anyway, wasn't having any of that. By Sunday, though, he'd agreed to it.

Both times we took off, Saturday and Sunday that is, he was excited. He loved the headphones and immediately saw how to put the mike directly up against his lips to talk. Going up he was almost shouting he was so excited. When we had a talk about that, he said we could just unplug him if it was a problem. Good idea!

After ten minutes of little whoops and humming, he began to get pretty still. It was hot, and unexpectedly bumpy. He put his head back and closed his eyes. We'd already changed courses to land in Pullman, but I was afraid the extra landing and time in the air might be too much. He finally said he didn't care about trading seats, he just wanted to sleep; so we headed back to Spokane.

Back to blue, while we were playing and flying, there was a whole lot of sadness going on. This was a very difficult weekend for the hospice crew. The husband of one of our nurses rolled his tractor and was crushed to death. His funeral will be Friday. The whole office sat and talked about it Monday for over an hour. The nurse who has the most difficulty with loss wasn't there because she'd left on a family vacation, but she had spent a lot of time Saturday and Sunday with the other nurse. Another who had shown some difficulty with adjusting to continual job-related losses came through wonderfully, even though she had been the one on call and the first on the scene.

I found myself to be easily tearful for a couple of days. Sometimes it's such a mystery what really touches us and what doesn't. Sometimes it's the straw that finally breaks the camel's back, but not this time. This time it's hard because this nurse is so dear, and she and her husband had such a great relationship. He had MS; and although he was not yet in a wheelchair, they were having his old family homestead, which they'd just returned to last year after living in Italy, remodeled to accommodate what seemed inevitable.

Well, it's time for me to start supper. Bill should be home soon. Have a festive and safe Fourth of July, wherever you are.