~OLD AGE~

As I posted the story about the oldest man who recently met his demise, just shy of 114, it made me think about my own Grandpa....Dad's dad....he was still out snow blowing when he was close to 90! He was so angry and rebellious, when in his 80's, his drivers license was revoked since his vision had become far too poor to continue hitting the roadways...there were so many close calls throughout his later years of driving that I marveled that he never had an accident. Poor Grama, sitting there so silently, teeth probably clenched and white-knuckle gripping the armrest....none of us liked riding with Grampa very much. He was also too easily distracted to be on the road! One time Grama saw a deer on the road and since Grampa was always so grouchy, no one wanted to have to confront him, much less point out that he hadn't seen a deer right ahead...so Grama waited until the last possible moment and meekly said "Martin there's a deer ahead!" and Grampa bellered "Yeah yeah I see it I see it!!" but of course he hadn't! It was one of a multitude of close calls!! Living in North Dakota, with all the ice & snow it truly is a wonder he remained not only unscathed but lived to a very ripe age. His own father, my Great Grampa lived to see 101! A hardy bunch they were....and hard times they'd endured! When Grampa lost his license, he was understandably angry, though why he'd want to drive, risking life & limb, not too mention other people's lives & limbs is beyond me...but he did, so to "Show THEM" he one day started up the car & drove just to the mailbox! So THERE! Lol!! He had the neatest, most well organized and spiffy garage I've ever seen! Cleaner than some folk's houses and fitted out with multiples of every tool imaginable...most of which he never used. He had a penchant for tool collecting, which my own Dad has carried on, and is organized down to the nth degree. Every tool in it's place and a place for every tool! I think Grampa, as my Dad, needs, like we all do, a little hidey hole...a place away from it all to ruminate, create, organize the chaos of our inner selves. My Mom is a truly artistic woman with no such refuge and if anyone ever needed one it is she. There is a lot of stress in her life...and she carries a heavy load. I would love to see her shed some of her stresses in her very own private cove and get back to her drawing, her poetry, her peacefulness. Would that I could build her an addition for her very own. As a kid, til this day, I've yearned for a treehouse....a place to lie in the sun, unobserved, reading, napping, surrounded by trees, birds and peace. I visit in my mind the little place I've built there...also in my mind...and I go there to escape my stresses at times. It's not as good as the real thing! Maybe by the time I'm 50, I shall get my tree house!