"Everything is as good or as bad as our opinion makes it." the Fox from Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis

That's my thought today. What's good about watching your father in the hospital? Dad has been here for two weeks with pneumonia, strep, staph and congestive heart failure. He's been patiently patient. He flirts with the nurses with that mischievous Big George grin. We've had a steady stream of visitors who recount what Dad has meant to them over the years. He's mentored, encouraged and dispensed what-you-ought-to-do wisdom to men who are now thanking him for his direction. So what's good about that is a peek at Dad the dragon slayer. He's facing a big old fire-spitting dragon of declining health, and he's setting the example for how to take that like a man. He's been the encourager in all of this. He's looking for the good in it, and he's taking us along. In his it-is-what-it-is way, he's letting the adventure unfold. That's a good thing for us all to remember.

Did I mention that I also have a little treasure who lives in Little Rock? All you have to do is spend one minute with Noah to fall in love. He's a squeezable package of giggles and grins. I don't see him nearly enough, but he's planted firmly in Sue Sue's heart. Yep, we'll write our own stories, won't we Noah? 

Saturday. Amber and the boys have come down from Fayetteville. We've had one "spend the night" and we're anticipating another one. I'm in grandma heaven. I'm surrounded by three little ones, and I'm feeling like I've done a pretty good job at keeping them occupied. We've hiked to the park and back, and after nap time, Isaac and I have run to Walmart to buy a "surprise." I'm feeling pretty smug as we return to the house with  a bow and arrows. Grab the camera. A real Kodak moment. Who knew Isaac would  play "Shoot Your Brother" under Sue Sue's watchful eye?      

Okay. So I'm not very good at this. I'm one who is technologically challenged. I remember when we sweated out our stories on real lined paper; we used Scripto pens filled with blue-black ink. I wrote and crinkled up my paper, usually throwing it across the room when an idea didn’t work. So, I’ll resist that urge because my paper now is a laptop, and it’s too expensive to throw.

Am I the only one intimidated by the tone and voice of other bloggers? Secretly I’ve stalked blogs and marveled at the creative voices that speak to my head. That’s why it’s been so hard to post. Would anyone really care about the musings of a middle-aged wannabe blogger?

But today I have lots of time. Time to muse. Today, I’m in a hospital room, watching over someone I love. Mouk as his great-grandchildren call him…my daddy…is at a crossroads. He’s fragile and I’m fragile. We’re playing a waiting, guessing game about his heart. We’ll find out tomorrow whether they’ll tinker with it or send him home.
One thing I know about Dad’s heart. It’s big. Everyone who’s been touched by this man knows that.