My father, age 92, is obsessed with his garden. It's the first thing he thinks about every morning and the last think he thinks about every night. He goes outside to tend it several times a day. He rigs a radio and light to keep the deer away. He uses a one million candle power spotlight to scan it several times a night to be sure the varmints aren't eating too much of it. He is obsessed.

My mother is obsessed with her floor. It's a custom designed tile that immitates a quilt pattern. She, the master quilter, designed it herself. Every time dad walks out into his garden and back into the house, his shoes track in grass and dirt. She can spot a fly speck at 50 yards, and every speck that lands on her floor irritates her until she dispatches it. She is obsessed.

All day, every day, he obsessively tends the garden and she obsessivley tends her floor.

All day, every day, each regards the other with a kind of love and respect and understanding that only those who have grown together over many years can sustain. It's all the more tender because both of them know the time they have together is limited. Among the books on my mother's reading table is her favorite poem by Albert Kennedy, Should You Go First.

When I stop to consider this couple who has been together for 71 years, I begin to understand the difference between love and obsession.

http://www.healingheart.net/poetry/go_first.html

Should You Go First

Should you go first and I remain
to walk the road alone,
I'll live in memories garden dear,
with happy days we've known.

In spring I'll wait for roses red,
when faded, the lilacs blue.
In early fall when brown leaves fall,
I'll catch a glimpse of you.

Should you go first and I remain,
for battle to be fought.
Each thing you've touched along the way
will be a hallowed spot.

I'll hear your voice, I'll see your smile,
though blindly I may grope,
The memory of your helping hand
will buoy me on with hope.

Should you go first and I remain,
one thing I'll have you do:
Walk slowly down that long long path,
for soon I'll follow you.

I want to know each step you take,
so I may take the same.
For someday down that lonely road
you'll hear me call your name.

~by Albert Kennedy "Rosey" Rowsell~

I looked forward to babysitting my beautiful grand daughter while her mom was out of town for a business trip and her dad's working hours were the typical American 60 hours.

Playing the nanny role for a little six year old sweetheart was every bit as much fun as I thought it would be. I arose at 6:00 AM, and prepared a breakfast exactly as she ordered. I picked out color coordinated outfits with matching hair accessories, and indulged her girly-girl primping and brushed her hair with the joy only a grandmother could know.

I walked her to the school bus stop in the wind and the rain, and quietly listened to the litlle huddle of children tell their jokes and stories while they waited for the big yellow bird. I even enjoyed walking her to the bus stop in the pouring rain because her rain slicker was such an awesome spring green with plastic angel wings and matching umbrella and boots. She smiled in the rain and reminded me of the little girl on the salt box from my childhood memories. I loved it!

We shopped after school. We did homework together. We went out to eat. In short, it was bonding on steroids, except for the DOG!

I haven't been a dog owner in many years, and I had forgotten how challenging a large, energetic golden retriever puppy can be. He's a new dog, and he isn't trained very well yet. Well, little sweetie loves the DOG, even when he chews up her hair ornaments and her favorite toys and her homework, so the DOG rules.

The second time the DOG took advantage of an opportunity to escape through the front door and go racing through the neighborhood, I understood why they named him "Colt". I also understood how time can transform a grandma's body from that fine young racing form that allows moms to win the DOG races.

Colt didn't even know I was in the race. He led me around and around the neighborhood into garages and across streets and into back yards, while I barely managed to keep him in sight. He easily bolted from my grasp every time I caught up with him to tear into another wild run for freedom. When I finally caught him, it was my tongue that was hanging out and panting rather than his.

My body aches now in a ways I haven't known in a very long time, and I am reminded of why it's better for young women to raise children and contend with their hyperactive dogs. I loved the visit, and the bonding was great, but recuperation is sweet.

A house full of guests has departed one more time, and I’m cleaning house and doing the laundry. Now, at my house, I have a substantial group of bath towels, sheet towels, hand towels, guest towels, etc of the variety we call “embellished”.

  If I thought for a single moment that I could tease out clues to an ancestral trail with DNA testing, I was woefully over simplifying a complex puzzle of science and human development.

When Watson and Crick identified the molecular structure of DNA as a double alpha helix, they understated both the complexity and the significance of the discovery.

http://nobelprize.org/educational_games/medicine/dna_double_helix/readmore.html

Snip: "This structure has novel features which are of considerable biological interest" may be one of science’s most famous understatements. It appeared in April 1953 in the scientific paper where James Watson and Francis Crick presented the structure of the DNA-helix, the molecule that carries genetic information from one generation to the other."

DNA testing is becoming increasingly popular as a tool for matching genetically related individuals, and assisting families with determining their ancestry. There are basically two kinds of DNA testing for genealogical research.

• Paternal DNA is passed from father to sons for generation after generation. Paternal lineage can be established by testing yDNA. Since last names are also passed from father to sons, genealogical histories can be strengthened by matching surnames with yDNA test results.
• Maternal DNA is passed from mother to both daughters and sons. The sons do not pass mtDNA to the next generation, but daughters do. Therefore, one can follow maternal lineage by testing mitochondrial DNA (MtDNA).

It sounded so simple when I read about it. I could have some strategically chosen relatives tested, and match their DNA sequence with huge databases of others who had been similarly tested. I could combine that with the extensive genealogical research other family members had done, and the brick walls would come tumbling down. HA! How naive was that?

Now, as I try to decipher the results, I wonder how I could have been so arrogant. I was under estimating the complexity of genetics, the complexity of DNA, the complexity of human history, the complexity of human relationships, and the vast amounts of unknown information about all of them.

I will continue to work on the puzzle, because I learn huge amounts of history that I did not learn in an educational setting. I am now, however, much more realistic about the genealogical significance of the information.

Even though DNA testing may establish that two people share a common ancestor within some 20 generations, how significant is that to establishing ancestral lineage? Since major religions and mathematical models establish that everyone on earth has a common set of ancestors, perhaps the DNA testing can only further solidify what has already been established by other disciplines.

http://tedlab.mit.edu/~dr/papers/rohde-mrca-two.pdf

 Snip: "This study introduces a large-scale, detailed computer model of recent human history which suggests that the common ancestor of everyone alive today very likely lived between 2,000 and 5,000 years ago. Furthermore, the model indicates that nearly everyone living a few thousand years prior to that time is either the ancestor of no one or of all living humans."

I love to whistle when I’m happy and busy. One morning, I was whistling softly as I went about my work. A co-worker laughed and said "Two things in this world come to no good end." I laughed with her and replied "A whistling woman and a crowing hen". Neither of us could believe the other had heard that proverb.

I had heard it since childhood, but never repeated it because I thought no one else would know what I was talking about. My co-worker and I grew up in different parts of the country and in different cultures, but somehow we had a common thread in our background. I decided to find out exactly where that phrase came from.

My introduction to it came from my grandfather. Occasionally, a hen on the farm in Arkansas would attempt to crow. The superstition was that bad luck would come to the house where a hen crowed, so that hen became Sunday dinner. My grandmother was a happy woman who usually sang or hummed as she went about her chores, but she would no more whistle than she would be caught out without her cotton stockings.

There are several variations on the proverb, which appears to be of Scotch or Irish origin around the mid eighteenth century. Scotch-Irish immigrants brought their culture and their superstitions with them when they migrated to America. Almost three hundred years later, my friend and I repeat it with a joy of recognition as we work in a modern, high tech setting.

I can’t imagine exactly why a whistling woman was historically considered such an abomination, nor why that would be coupled with a crowing hen. Perhaps both reflect an "uppity" nature that offends those who are only comfortable with the strict delineation of gender roles.

Maybe that discomfort explains one of the reasons Hillary Clinton’s presidential bid was doomed. Three hundred years and a lot of diversity and change and high tech innovations may have occurred, but we are still uncomfortable with those who stray outside the narrow parameters our culture has defined for them.

As I sit here evaluating 15 baskets with 15 hand made print liners, matching garters and coordinating skirts, I remember the cliche about the fine line between hobbies and insanity. This time, I may have crossed it.

It started out very innocently. My grand daughter needed a place to put her toys between visits. I decided on several baskets to keep them organized. The baskets weren’t sturdy enough, and they allowed small things to filter out, so I decided to make liners. To make the liners sturdy, I decided to add coordinating lining to the liners, and add inner lining to make them stiff. No problem .

As most addicted seamstresses, I have a large stock of fabric and trims on hand, so I just measured the baskets and proceeded to cut the pieces, and sew them together. Because the baskets varied in size, and the top measurements didn’t match the bottom measurements, the cutting became a little more complicated than expected, so I put the measurements and the sizes needed in a spreadsheet to keep track of them during the construction process. No problem .

The first baskets looked so good with the liners, I decided to coordinate them with additional baskets to organize my "stuff" in an appealing way. Soon, I had 15 baskets in various sizes that exactly fit the various hidey holes in my den. Because of the additional numbers, the measurements took longer, and the spreadsheet became more complicated. I am spreadsheet fanatic, so No Problem .

I would have to cut five pieces each for the 15 baskets in each of the three fabrics for the liners, the lining for the liners and the inner lining. That meant cutting, matching and sewing 225 pieces of fabric. Well, I had the spreadsheet to keep it organized, and a retired lady has plenty of time, so No Problem?

Well, there was a little problem. Some of the baskets had a cutout for hands to easily lift the basket. I didn’t want to cover up the cutout, so I had to line it separately. Covering four sides of a three dimensional small rectangular opening is not too easy, but it’s doable. Since I didn’t have enough of my lining fabric, I chose a coordinating fabric. To make the rectangular opening look better, I added skirts that would blend in with the cover for the cutout. No Problem!  .

Stapling and glueing those skirts to the baskets took hours, and it aggravated the little issue of mild carpal tunnel, but it went okay. The skirts didn’t drape exactly the way I anticipated, so that meant making garters to match the liners to hold the coordinating skirts in place and make them look neat. By now, a week has gone by, and I have done nothing but make basket liners, and I’m sick of looking at them .

The only thing I have left to do is attach the garters to the skirts on the baskets, and I will have 15 perfectly matching baskets with cozy liners and neat skirts that coordinate with the colors in my den. The only thing I can think of now is WHY DID I DO THIS?

Then I realize how neat it would be to just attach a fastener and handles to each of the removable liners so that we could just take toys or projects with us anywhere by picking up the basket liners with all the contents........ I believe there is a second part of the cliche about hobbies and insanity..... No project is ever complete.

   It soon became clear that the cordless phone system I had installed in my parents home to help prevent falls and assist them in getting help in an emergency was not working out. They couldn’t see the buttons. They couldn’t hear on the "voice enhanced" hand set. It was too complex, and many of the features could not be used in their rural area anyway.

I searched for a replacement phone system that had the same look and feel as the old phones, and had volume control in the hand set for the hard of hearing. I found the perfect solution. It had huge buttons that could even talk if someone had sight problems.  It had the personalized phone book that would speak the name of the caller. It had a very sensitive speaker phone that could pick up voices from as far away as 15 feet.

To make matters even better, it had a remote control pendant that would allow answering from a remote position. The pendant could even be used as an emergency call device. If the button on the pendant is held down for three seconds, the phone automatically dials pre-programmed emergency numbers and plays a pre-recorded emergency notification message.

http://www.seniorssuperstores.com/cart/html/Products/PHONES--PAGERS/Telemergency-ClearV-598.html

I purchased the phone and installed it for them. Mom loves it!! She mostly uses the speaker phone because it’s easier for her, and she and dad can both participate in the conversation. She is still reluctant to try any of the other features, and asked me not to program any emergency notification numbers into it until she was sure she understood it.

She was afraid a curious great grand child might push the emergency call button and she would have a lot of explaining to do. She’s probably right. She usually is. Anyway, since they can depend on each other, they don’t face the challenges of an elderly person living alone.

The only issue we have now is that I had to remove the cordless system because they had read that no more than three phones should be connected on a single line, and they had to keep their old phones for connection to medical monitoring devices. 

Now, mom misses the answer machine that she had on the cordless system, and the freedom of walking around with a phone in her hand. She used more of the new fangled features than she thought. Dad still bypasses the new phone with a voice amplifier handset especially for him, and uses the same old phone he has had for twenty years.  I understand his choice. I still use a clock radio that I purchased during the vietnam war.

     After my elderly mother took a bad fall from tripping over the phone cord to get up to answer my call, I vowed to get rid of the cord. On Christmas morning, I proudly presented a brand new phone system to my aging parents. 

It was marvelous!! There were several cordless units in the set. One was a base unit, and the others were remotes that did not require the installation of new phone jacks. They were 5.8 Ghz digital gigarange. They were voice enhanced, with volume controls and speaker alternatives to the hand set. They had built in, synchronized, personal phone books. They had variable ring tones with volume adjustment. The base had an automatic answer machine with personalized message recording. It had talking caller ID, a hold button, and "call waiting" flash button. It had a memo reminder function. It could even be used as an intercom. It was awesome!!!

How pleased I was as I went about installing the phones. I would put the base in the den, and I would put one in each bathroom, one in the kitchen, one in the guest bedroom. It meant no more falling while trying to reach a phone, no more stretching cords across the room, no more invitations to trips and falls. How sweet it was!!

After several hours of selecting the right placement, setting up the ring tones and the message unit, entering the phone book numbers and synchronizing them, I was ready to demonstrate the features to mom and dad. Mom listened carefully as I explained the most basic usage. She tried it out, and vowed that she would get used to it, given a little time. Dad said "It’s real nice, and since i don’t use the phone much, just don’t worry about teaching me how to use all those buttons."

Each time I called, I asked how they liked the phones.

In the beginning, mom said "I think I will like them once I get used to them".

Dad said "I can’t hear you".

Later, mom began saying "How do I get it off the speaker?" I replied "Just push the small, black Talk button.". Mom said she couldn’t see which one that was because the letters are real small. She always answers by just pushing the orange button because she can see that one. The orange button turns on the speaker phone.

Dad said "What?"

Soon, mom asked how to connect dad’s pacemaker monitor to the new phones. On a regular basis, a technician calls and instructs them to connect the pacemaker monitor to the phone so that it can be checked remotely. I said "Uh Oh!"

I installed a splitter and re-connected the old phone, so it could be used in addition to the hotsy totsy new-fangled phone system that would not work with medical monitoring equipment.

The telephone wars were escalating. On my next call, dad sounded really strange and hoarse.

What’s wrong, dad? I asked

"I was taking a nap. When the phone rang, I got up to answer it, and didn’t realize my leg was asleep. It buckled under me and I fell". He sounded like he was in pain.

Rather than use the new, cordless phone system I had installed to prevent them from having to get up suddenly to answer the phone, he had bypassed and ignored the new phone system, and attempted to go for the old phone, because he only knew how to use the old phone. 

I was devastated. 

  Since I live far away from my elderly parents, I stay in contact with them by phone. About a year ago, my mother took a nasty fall when she got up from her easy chair to answer my phone call. The conversation went like this:

"How are you, mom?"

"I don’t think I broke anything, but I’m going to have a big knot on my forehead."

"What happened?"

"I tripped over the cord when I got up to answer the phone, and I hit my head on the corner of the table when I fell. Don’t worry. I think I’m going to be alright. Is anything wrong?"

"No, I just called to make sure you were okay."

"I was fine until I got up to answer the phone."

I wallowed in guilt for the rest of the day, and started plotting the demise of the phone cord.

To understand the telephone wars that were brewing, you need to know that my parents never saw any reason to give up a telephone that was still working. They retired their 1960’s model black rotary dial phone only when Ma Bell sent her henchmen out to collect it after the breakup of the behemoth in 1984. 

 www.youtube.com/watch

For anyone who is not old enough to remember, before 1984, the phone company owned all the phones that were connected to their phone service, and customers rented the phones on a monthly basis. Customers were not permitted to purchase and connect their own phones. If you purchased your own company approved phone and connected it, you only owned the outer shell. The phone company still owned the working parts of the phone by definition, no matter how much a customer paid for it. After the breakup, the phone company went out to private homes and collected the company supplied phones from anyone who had not already replaced them.

http://www.usatoday.com/news/offbeat/2006-09-14-phone_x.htm

I’m calling this battle one in the saga of the phone wars, but there were preliminary skirmishes that preceded it. The involuntary surrender of the company owned rotary phone was skirmish number one. It resulted in the loss of the beloved rotary phone and the permanent demise of a beautiful phone I had previously purchased for them as a gift. The phone company henchman insisted that we only owned the shell of the phone, no matter how much we paid for it nor where we bought it, so he ripped out the interior working parts of the phone and took them prisoner of the phone company.

 A decade later, after a fall when getting out of bed to answer a night time phone call, my parents gave in and allowed the installation of a second phone jack in their bedroom. In a world that is now strewn with phone paraphenalia in every room, most cars and most pockets and purses, it’s hard to remember the times when families had only one phone in the house, one telephone jack and one telephone number, which only required dialing seven digits.