Greasy Pockets

How a man survives without a purse has always been one of my curiosities. Pockets being the male substitute for a purse still seems inadequate to me but so be it. Upon close examination this morning I noticed my dad's shirt pocket, carrying only a wad of tissues, looked gray at the base. And upon closer examination I determined the gray was caused by something greasy.

Now, Pop has never been what I would call a pack rat when it comes to possessions. But when it comes to cookies, ... well that is a whole different scenario. Never waste a good cookie is dad's philosophy. Yesterday sitting in one of his favorite wicker chairs I noticed him munching on the chocolate variety, one that I had not recently given him. Where it had come from I did not know and asking him would have proven fruitless, the memory long gone. Finding the cookie jar or the bags in the pantry would also have been beyond his capability. So I ruled that out, which left me with the only genuinely plausible answer -- cookie hoarding. And where would be the most logical place to stash your hoard? In the shirt pocket, of course! It is handy for the taking and it won't get sat upon to become crushed. Very logical. Greasy pocket mystery solved!

Can I Help?

I never know which pop is going to show up. Yesterday it was the oblivious pop. Today he is the constant companion who follows me around the house offering his services at every turn. "Is there anything I can do to help," has been the repetition for today? This is a gracious offer but one that is hard to oblige. His balance is poor so anymore sweeping is not an option. Vision is weak so eye hand coordinated tasks are difficult. I used to give him a basket of change and have him sort it by pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters but yesterday the challenge seemed daunting. He managed to bag the copper pennies but the silver change all looked the same to him.

This afternoon, having returned from Costco with a large bag of individually wrapped rolls of paper towels I invited him to remove the rolls from their outer covering and place them on the table for me to relocate to the pantry. Not taking long to accomplish he was ready again to be of more assistance. I resorted again to the magic bullet which always seems to salve any lonely or boring moment. Tea time! Intentionally locating him at the bar eye ball to eye ball with me he is able to sip his tea and at least feel a part of what is happening as I busy myself in the kitchen. Maybe tomorrow he'll be oblivious.

Lamp shade glasses

"What ya' got there Don," my husband asked as pop ambled down the hall pushing his trusty walker? On my fathers finger was attached the mini lamp shade from his bedroom night light. Extending it toward my husband to be examined he responded, "I don't know but I think it belongs on my glasses."