They had me come back today to measure the pressure in my eye and make sure all was well and for me to ask questions.

Was it normal to see, when we turned the lights off last night, a blazing half-circle of light?

The retina specialist chuckled. Yes, it was. And this and this and this: everything was as it should be. But be careful: he counseled sitting on the couch and acting like a slug. Yes, knit, definitely, no, four pounds of wool is not too heavy a project.

Michelle and I were walking to the parking garage when I suddenly stopped. Coming as we were going…

Mrs. M? I asked.

She didn’t quite stop but she didn’t quite answer.

Shirley M? I asked again. The woman who had asked me about twenty years ago, Do you remember in this neighborhood in 1952 when….  And I’d grinned, I wasn’t born yet. She had expressed annoyance at my making her feel old.

She stopped. Wait–that name I’d just said. That WAS her!

I saw that I needed to explain who I was. ‘Your old neighbor across the fence’ didn’t quite do it at first. As Michelle described the encounter later, “She was a little confused.” But she eventually caught on and was delighted. We got to meet her son, who was bringing her in just like my daughter had been bringing me in and who was clearly delighted that his mother’s outing was turning into a reunion with the old neighborhood. (He was grown and gone by the time we showed up in the late 80’s.)

I knew she’d moved into assisted living when her husband had died; email sharing of stories is different from in person, though–and clearly, things had changed since that conversation. She told me again.

They both wanted to know if I’d met the new people who’d bought their house, and it was clearly important to them. I said I’d dropped off homegrown tomatoes but so far, I’d missed them.

Which means I need to go try again, and not only that, I now have an excuse to show up to do so: Mrs. M wants me to make sure you’re properly welcomed into the neighborhood.

And all was right in her world in those moments. It was great to see.

To my sister Anne: don’t look.

I’m debating adding a splintered-off base of the tree to the end of that top log on the beaver lodge, and if I get really determined and if it works out okay, maybe the beaver itself. Maybe. And add a stitch to the turtle’s front leg on the far side to balance it a little better. Etc etc.

And of course eventually it will have a border all around. I don’t usually do white for a border but in real life it matches bright for bright and I quite like it. The only thing is that the gauge of that particular yarn came out looking looser than the others in the body of the thing. But hey. Ribbing can have its own character.

My memories of West Virginia are of gleaning huge peaches two weeks after the commercial harvest (for $2/bushel if I remember correctly, Mom?) and of visiting Harper’s Ferry and standing above where our Potomac River and their Shenandoah River come together in a huge rush of water.

I knitted in that little beaver lodge anyway. Just to let nature speak up for itself. 

Last week I went in with Richard to his appointment with the wound care specialist.

The doctor barely made eye contact with him, and me not at all. He dealt with the problem at foot, competently so. All business, all seriousness.

He had a follow-up Tuesday this week and again I came in in case there was anything the doctor wanted to teach me about taking care of those injured toes, since he had changed the protocol a little and who knows if he might again.

This time, I was wearing Galina’s gerdan with the small beaded bird perched on a Ukrainian bandura, singing its heart out. (Wow, that article: there was a time when you could be shot by the Bolshevik Russians for being a Ukrainian playing one. No wonder Galina used that imagery!)

The doctor came in, nodded hello, and did a slight double take as he seemed to be taking in the heart of that bird for a moment. Something in him seemed to let go of I could only guess what, and he exhaled.

He talked to us. He made eye contact this time. He took off the bandaging. He saw that all the open wounds but one were now healed and that that one was making progress, and that was very gratifying to him: last week he had said this could still go either way (meaning he could still lose those toes), but now, six weeks in, he said with clear relief that we were finally getting there.

That 7mm kidney stone that they hospitalized him for five weeks ago and then it moved and stopped hurting but wouldn’t go away?

It finally, finally got laser-sprinted out of there today.

A few hours later, we took him to the wound care doctor he sees twice a week, who looked at his foot and was pleased at the improvement.

There’s a batch of chocolate in the melanger in celebration. And typing this I just realized–it’s being stone-ground. I’ll see myself out…

Last night at dinner our daughter was recounting some experiences and thanking her daddy for teaching her that science is about the how, religion, the why.

Today one of the speakers at church was a scientist at Stanford. He came bounding up to the stand with a little planter full of beautiful small white flowers, like he couldn’t wait to share this! He talked about discovery and learning and how glorious it was to gain new insights into this beautiful world G_d had created for us to live in.

And then he held up his pretty little flowers for all to see. They were petunias (clearly one of the mini varieties).

But what made them different, he said, though we couldn’t see it yet, was that they had been given the gene from a firefly: they glow in the dark.

Then he invited everybody who was curious to come to the mother’s nursing lounge (where I bring chocolate every week, that’s my assignment) because that was the darkest room in the building that could hold a number of people. (I wondered for a moment about kids finding out what else that room held, but I don’t think any noticed.)

First he had one of the women knock on the door and peek in to make sure we weren’t interrupting anybody.

That is the first time in my life that my camera, not my mom or dad from when I was little, scolded me to hold still for the picture. It managed to capture this much.

So. Cool!

(Ed. to correct what my hearing missed: this NPR article says the firefly gene didn’t take well enough so they used other bioluminescence genes from a mushroom and a fungus. But you can actually buy these now.)

Edited again to add after reading NGS’s comment: so if animals eat them, will their poop glow?

It’s one of those old family stories that it turns out not all our kids knew.

So for the record.

My grandfather was elected Senator in 1951 and served four terms. My grandparents became close friends with Prescott and Dottie Bush.

Grampa was in his 90s and retired for some time when one of his grandkids was going to make Eagle Scout and the proud parents asked if he might speak a bit there.

I have to give a speech! I have to give a speech! He fretted and worried about it; it had been awhile. He was a good writer himself but I imagine he missed having his Congressional staff to vet it for him after having been able to rely on their expertise for so long.

The stress got to him and suddenly he’d lost decades. A TIA? A stroke? Don’t know. He was hospitalized. (Later, the family would tell him it was okay, the Eagle ceremony was over, they were so sorry he’d missed it and that he did not have to give a speech. Grampa bounced back to being himself and was discharged. But on with the story.)

President George H.W. Bush, knowing how close his folks had been to them, called that hospital to offer his best wishes.

Grampa was gobsmacked by the outrageous swagger of the kid he remembered–what on earth did he think he was trying to pull on him!?–and exclaimed, EISENHOWER is President! He slammed down the phone.

The hospital switchboard cut in with an apologetic, I’m very sorry, Mr. President. There seems to be a problem with the connection.

I got word today that my cousin Janna had passed, the one I’d knit all the chemo caps for. The one who told this story about our cousin John and her granddaughter. I’m glad for her that she’s no longer having to go through–waves arm in a wide sweep–all. that. I am so very glad we got to see her and her husband and that granddaughter in early June, and I hope those hats are being passed around her family in remembrance of her love coming back to her and now returning outward once again.

She was a good one.

I don’t know that they could have caught her ovarian in time in any case, but still: a plea from here for getting checkups and screenings scheduled. We need you.

A pre-fab Diamond brand vegan pie crust made of ground pecans and oat flour: I was intrigued when she showed it to me. Sure, I’ll try it out.

I’m sorry we did not get to it before John left, but we looked at each other tonight and knew we could not let the last of the Andy’s peaches age out of their supreme goodness, and peaches and pecans, well, the state of Georgia can tell you those two were meant to be together.

Notes to my future self: my 1952 Betty Crocker said to bake an 8″ peach pie with 3 1/3 tbl flour and 2/3 cup sugar. Also a tbl of butter, but not for the allergic and I forgot to add her Miyoko version in. It’s fine. I added a tsp cinnamon and let the peach slices sit soaking in the mixture for a few minutes.

But that 425F for 40 minutes for 8″ (measured across the top of the interior of the pan) was a bit much for it. I would decrease temp or time next time.

But there should most definitely be a next time and it will most definitely do.

The kids and I went past a clerk’s line on our way to another aisle and from there I made sure we doubled back and checked out with her, thinking, let’s see if we can help that woman feel like she’s cared about. She looked tired.

She’d had a long day and we were her last.

The kids were putting all kinds of stuff on the conveyor I don’t usually buy: resealable candied nuts, granola, flavored water (here, let me give you a Hint), cookies, jerky, roasted nut mix. Stuff that will see you through if your car has any issues along the way. (There was a friend of Richard’s and my parents in our childhoods who’d been in a plane crash in Alaska and had hiked two weeks to find help. He found a Hershey bar in the snow along the way and made a huge impression for life on us about how much energy there can be in a few ounces of chocolate. To our own children: Always always have some food with you when you travel. And take some chocolate.)

I said to that clerk, When your kid drives twelve hours to see you, you get them every fun stuff you can think of for their twelve hours home.

All the sudden our family reunion was her family reunion and it made her day to see us together and looking out for each other and with her on this very fine Labor Day of a day, and the kids had her laughing in the back-and-forth.

My youngest is going back to his own life in the morning. Which is wonderful for him and a little bit hard. The delight on that woman’s face on his behalf helped more than she could know.

The time together is so short. None of us are used to tripping over other people in the kitchen anymore. All of us are loving sitting down to share a meal together. Savoring every minute and bite.

And the surprised delight and big hugs to my kids this morning from old friends who didn’t know they were coming.

Here, taste the tip of a spoon here, see what you think of it so far.

They approved.

Then the kids drove to San Francisco to Dandelion Chocolate for some sibling time and brought home a splurge of bakery goodies and hot chocolate. Not your standard lunch. That orange sanguine entremet–wow!

As my dad loved to say, How many meals do you eat in your life? Now: how many do you remember?

Then John drove me to Kings Mountain Art Fair, with the ocean to one side on that twisty road and Silicon Valley laid out below on the other and the Fair on the spine of the ridge, where we got to see Mel and Kris. Mel knew exactly what I wanted when I broke my favorite tall mug and held the new one up in happy anticipation of my delight. Which he got. I liked it even better than the old one. Kris was there for the first time in several years, her chemo long over and looking great. I picked up one of the smaller mugs–and it had a sheep on it! (With apologies to them that my photo washes the colors out a bit.)

I knew she played with adding hummingbirds and dragonflies and honeybees…

She was delighted that I was the one who bought her first sheep.

Not long after we walked back in the door, Michelle and I ran an errand exploring a store that sold favorite pantry items she hadn’t been able to find in Boston. And because she liked going there; it was part of being home.

John cooked dinner.

We all got to FaceTime with Lillian, who wanted to show her grampa the wart on her foot in solidarity. She wanted to see his foot, too. He gently told her she wouldn’t want to.

And then at long last we turned off that goshawfulloudnoise that had been going in the kitchen for 26 hours at that point (24 is about optimal on the conching) and John and his dad worked for a couple hours more at cooling and re-warming and thus (hopefully) tempering our new batch of homemade chocolate correctly while getting some one-on-one time of their own.

I got to do the honors of pouring it out and did as messy a job as I ever do and we managed not to devour it before it had even set, probably because, really? We had a lot of cleanup to do. And we’d had a lot of chocolate today already.

And all of it was very very good.

I like days like this!

John’s home, John’s home!

And so there are fresh peaches from Andy’s, chocolate conching in the melanger, and our two younger kids being each other’s best friend and I tell you, that is the best.

Today was the cataract guy. He was thorough. I got referred to a corneal scarring specialist at Stanford to go to after all this; he says some of the bright scattered reflection problem is from that, and that it can be fixed, too.

So: a multifocal lens, or what by the sound of it is a new improved multifocal with fewer problems at night, or monofocal, and if the latter, for distance, mid, or near, with glasses for the rest?

Multifocal+ sounded good to me!

Richard cautioned that a friend of his greatly regretted making that choice. His own prescription is quite mild, so he went for mid on his so he could spend his work time and grandkid time without having to worry about glasses.

Me, I’ve worn glasses for distance since third grade and just assumed that’s what I would choose. But maybe not?

I’d love to hear anyone’s input, because I have zero experience with this.

Meantime, the person who was supposed to call back to schedule the surgery didn’t, and doctor #2 didn’t seem to be in a hurry about it, and I’m okay with that right now.

The important thing is, it’s going to happen.

Meantime, when I changed Richard’s dressing his foot looked way better. I feel like I can finally breathe easy on that one.

That carton of cream I didn’t remember using that much of: it had somehow gotten knocked over and the bottom of the fridge was covered along with the bin sitting above it.

Not to mention the kid is home who’s allergic to dairy. Out!

It was a job.

One major fridge clean, once you’re done, is like fresh sheets on the bed straight out of the dryer on a cold winter night. So perfect.

Michelle’s home Michelle’s home!

Car keys have been borrowed. Somehow that makes it feel official.