Our snow has melted, and a herd of deer has taken up grazing on my new meadow grass. They come around late every afternoon, and they’re very bold. If I knock on the window, they just look up at me, and then keep eating. They’re avoiding our regular lawn, even though it’s half sheep fescue. I can’t remember what all I mixed up for the meadow grass, but they like it.
Dad got the Yerf Dog running! He tried one thing and then another, and he finally hit the jackpot. If you want to know what it was, just ask him. I’m thinking he can give Yerf Dog rides at the cabin on Thanksgiving morning, and maybe he’ll let the older kids drive it themselves. It’ll be cold that day–a high of 36, but it shouldn’t be snowing.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, we’ll be here for whoever wants to come. Right now it’s Nora and Vanessa’s families for sure. I’ll call around, if I don’t talk to you today. I’ll be doing the turkey and dressing and my usual pumpkin and chocolate pies. Whoever comes, and whatever we eat, it’ll be fun. Dinner will be at 1:00, and pie probably around 5:00. Social distancing if you want, or whatever. I’m not worried about Covid. One of my best friends, who was doing absolutely everything right: mask, social distancing, no ministering in person (she’s my partner), having their groceries delivered, having church at home–well, you can guess. She has covid, and her husband, too. That shows me it’s pretty well going to make the rounds, whatever. I have to have the test this Friday, before my surgery. If I’m positive, I won’t have the hip replacement. Either way, I’m OK with it.
Heather’s still recovering from her surgery. She says her neck doesn’t hurt at all, but they had to push her windpipe aside to operate, and that hurts her still. John’s hernia surgery is December 17, but that won’t solve all his problems. He’s been having odd pains in his joints. He saw a rheumatologist who thinks she can get to the bottom of it. He might have rheumatoid arthritis, or reactive arthritis, or something else even stranger. The treatment she’s looking at right now is an old chemotherapy drug (John can tell you the name of it), which he’ll have to take for a year. He can’t have it before his hernia surgery, and he might put it off longer. I wish all our medical problems could be magically solved.
Here’s an easy one: Scout was suffering from a sagging belly last Sunday, but it turned out he ate too much of Nora’s leftover spam, when she was here. Too bad the rest of our problems aren’t that easy.
Lots of love, Mom