Immeasurably More

After my grandfather died in January, my aunts made sure that one of them or one of their friends was sleeping over at my grandmother's house all the time.  Grandma was pretty shaken by the loss of her husband of 66 1/2 years, and because of her chronic back problems, everyone agreed that it was better if she had some company during the day and definitely someone else sleeping in the house at night.  Then I showed up in March and Grandma's had three months of my being around.  And for three months she's been insisting - really, she could live alone if we'd all just give her the chance. Over the course of 86 years, my grandmother has gone from living with her parents, to a residential position at a children's home where she fell in love with my grandfather, to 66 years of married life.  And I, as a woman who's lived alone most of the last 8 years, I'm thinking... Grandma.  You have *no* idea what you're asking for. But the out-of-Tulsa-town family is...

When I was a teenager, my parents gave me a birthday card which had a drawing of a messy pink bedroom and the message "Living with you, we understand why hurricanes are named after girls."  I would like to claim that this was an unprovoked act of parental humor, but no one who has seen my bedroom then or since would believe it.  Tidiness is not among my natural gifts. When I packed to leave England, I have 49 parcels; 47 were shipped and 2 were taken on the plane with me to Tulsa.  Of those 47 shipped parcels, half a dozen found their way into my former bedroom, forcing me to negotiate a path to the closet so I could hang up my coat.  "Ah... the good old days." I thought as I was forced to find floor space for my duffle since my guitar case was already on the bed. I had arrived at my parents house with a list of things I wanted out of those 47 boxes and suitcases: kitchen scale, books, stationary, contact lenses, summer clothes and high heeled shoes, and, of co...

Posted from the house I grew up in (but it's a different color now). I'm thinking about buying a cow.  A Jersey or Guernsey.  Something with high fat content milk.  My mom says I can't keep it here, so I'll have to bring it back to Tulsa with me. I know you're thinking it, but are too polite to ask.  For a woman who struggles with the care of dogs and cockatiels,  why would I want to buy a cow?  Well, it all started with scones.  Scones should have clotted cream.  Clotted cream comes from cream.  Cream comes from milk.  Milk comes from cows.  It's just logical. "Surely", you are thinking, "Surely it must be possible to acquire clotted cream in the US without actually purchasing, feeding, housing and cleaning up after a cow?" **Here follows all the information I have gleaned from much googling.  Don't bother reading it unless you're really interested in the production of clotted cream.** Q: What is clotted cream? A: ...

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom ~~ Maya Angelou  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am a cat person and not a dog person.  I find that dogs are incredibly guilt inducing... They look at me with those sad eyes and all I can think about are my inadequacies as dog's best friend. From: http://thebarkpost.com/26-dogs-who-really-need-a-friend/ Cats are better.  They don't *want* to be walked or taught tricks.  Feed them.  Change their litter.  They will amuse themselves with your couch or your resident mice.  Much lower maintenance. So, it was after a certain consideration to LOE (level of effort) that Grandma and I agreed we should adopt a cinnamon pearl cockatiel named Sue. I have no experience with bird care and Grandma has only limited bird-sitting ex...

Stoick : [ as Hiccup tries to sneak past ] Hiccup. Hiccup : Dad! Uh, I have to talk to you, Dad. Stoick : I need to speak with you too, son. [ They both take deep breaths, then both speak at once ] Stoick : I think it's time you learned to fight dragons. Hiccup : I've decided I don't want to fight dragons. [ then ] Stoick ,  Hiccup : What? Stoick : Uh, you go first. Hiccup : No no, no, *you* go first. Stoick : All right. You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning. Hiccup : Oh, man, I should have gone first... Because, I was thinking, you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough... *bread-making* Vikings, or small home-repair Vikings...? from the film How to Train Your Dragon Dear Dad, You will be pleased to know that I am making progress on my small home-repair career plans, since dragons are in short supply here in Tulsa. Today, I fixed a shower door that had come off its tracks, measured ...

In the 18 hours since I have officially moved into my grandmother's home, I have investigated the contents of the fridge, the freezer, and all the kitchen cupboards. I've been advised to look for a Dymo labelwriter among her appliances so that I can label canisters, but Grandma is actually pretty careful about labeling things. Grandma seems to keep her food in pairs; either there's a little bag which has been portioned out of the Family Value size bag, or there's one jar open and one jar for backup.  The two containers are rarely stored together. One of my mom's friends is a professional organizer.  She says that being organized just means being able to find what you want when you want it; you can organize your life in cardboard shoe boxes if that's what works for you. My corollary to her axiom is: no one can tell you where to store your pasta sauce.  (My grandmother's unopened jar was in the laundry room, rather than in the cupboard with the canned ...

My touch down to American soil comes in Chicago, but there is no one there to welcome me.  Not even an immigration officer.  Flights leaving from Dublin Terminal 2 to the US require passengers to pass through customs and immigration in Dublin, and I suppose it would be untrue for the immigration officer there to say "Welcome Home" when I'm still on Irish soil, so he doesn't. My brother, sister-in-law and neice are waiting to meet me when I arrive in Tulsa and they say "Welcome to Tulsa" (which is truer, anyway, since Tulsa isn't really home).  In the spirit of Truth, what my neice actually says is something like "yah ahh gah yah", but it comes with a hug, so we can assume that means "welcome," too. I manage to sleep from 10pm until about 5:30am.  16 hours of travelling will do that to you.  Fortunately, my aunt is up before me; they have a new coffee maker with more buttons than the last one and I am not sure how to run it.  O...