Thanksgiving recapped, briefly.
8:05 p.m.
The next morning the boys went off to a music store looking for guitar strings (Hubby ended up buying yet another electric guitar, this one ostensibly for playing solely with slide because the action is higher and he can outfit it with higher gauge strings) and an army surplus store where Buddy Boy purchased a couple of helmets which could double as cooking pots if need be. The girls instead went out in search of a particular hair product recommended to me by twocoffees which I found (it was very expensive!) and we stopped in at a health-food store where I found the lemonpepper I adore and I bought Little Princess a Diva Cup, which is the newest incarnation of the Keeper, the main difference being that it is made from surgical-grade silicone instead of rubber. I didn�t get myself one because my own child-bearing days are numbered, and I didn�t see the point. We then headed off to a LCBO and bought booze (my mother wanted to get a nice bottle of wine to bring to my in-laws for dinner).
We dined with my in-laws and we four went over to my brother-in-law�s in Cambridge (my mom stayed in Guelph) for a visit, and the next day, very stiff from the air mattress Hubby and I shared on the livingroom floor, Little Princess and I took a walk to the local mall where she got herself a very red skirt.
Thanksgiving dinner was the usual: turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots, stuffing, cranberries and dried out salmon for the non-turkey eaters (I smothered my fish with cranberries, and it was actually palatable) with pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream for dessert. It was pretty dull without my brothers- and sisters-in-law there, and Hubby thinks it is just too much effort for his mother. She was visibly exhausted, but was doing Thanksgiving in shifts: us one day, the others the next. There�s something wrong with this picture.
And now for something that came up which gave me food for thought. When my father was told prior to his hip replacement operation that it might kill him, he was not deterred but told the doctor that life was so unbearable that he would take the poison pill if it were offered. His children were grown up, his wife was provided for, and his own quality of life had deteriorated to the point where his days were spent girding his energy against the constant pain. The irony is that the operation did kill him.
Now my mother is complaining that she tires easily, that the least bit of effort expended requires a period of recuperation, being it going downstairs to put on a load of laundry or bringing the clean clothes in from the line. She was told by the cardiologist that there are blockages in her heart that could be corrected with a by-pass operation. At age 86, there is a certain risk involved, and she said that she�s not having so much fun living that she would necessarily miss it. When I heard her say this, the whole thing with my dad went through my mind again. I don�t think the two are on the same level. He was in constant pain, she is not. Is it worth the risk?
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