This Isn't Kansas Anymore

Yesterday was rainy and raw, the third straight day of steady rains.

But nothing was going to keep me from visiting my Mom and Dad yesterday. It didn't matter if the weather was crappy. It didn't matter if I felt crappy. I was going.

And I went. And Barb graciously joined me.

We took off through the puddles, hit the bank, filled the FJ up with gas, and made a quick stop-over at the Norlanco Medical Center between Elizabethtown and Mt. Joy so I could have my monthly bloodwork done.

It was around lunchtime. We were directed straight back to the second waiting area, which was empty. This looked good.

But just then all the nurses took off for lunch, and patients quickly piled up. We waited for quite awhile to be called back to have the blood drawn.

I was now behind schedule and looking to make up time.

I guessed that I could take the road next to the medical center and likely cut across between Elizabethtown and Mt. Joy and connect with Route 72 eventually and sneak into Lebanon that way. Doing this, I figured, I could also spare the time to drive back into Elizabethtown or Mt. Joy to take one of the routes I usually take.

Barb, my awesome navigator, agreed that it was a sound idea.

And it would have worked.

If there was any such thing as a straight road in this area of Pennsylvania.

Many of the older, country roads in Pennsylvania follow property lines. Roads can, and often do, come to sudden 90-degree turns. A 90-degree turn isn't much of a problem for a horse and buggy afterall.

After we left the medical center, and drove beneath a major interstate, suddenly we were in the middle of nowhere, completely lost, somewhere we've never been before, surrounded by farms.

Even in the rain, it was beautiful countryside.

But I was on a mission. Barb may not drive, but she's paying attention from the passenger seat all the time. She has an excellent sense of direction. She also has an incredible memory and remembers things like road names like I never will.

Barb called every turn, at every intersection. Miraculously we ended up in Colebrook, just outside of Mt. Gretna, and snuck into northern Lebanon from there.

What a journey! I would have loved it on a nice day with nothing better to do. But I was feeling pressed on time, and dodging standing water on back country roads.

I dropped Barb off at the front door and parked the FJ before dashing through the rain to join her at the elevator, heading toward the second floor. We found my Mom and Dad in his rehab room at Spang Crest and I left out a big, "WHEW. We made it."

Physically, my Dad looks great. Everytime I've gone to see him he's progressively looked better and better, healthier and healthier, stronger and stronger.

He is stubborn about some things. But then if he wasn't, he wouldn't be a good Pennsylvania Dutchman, nor would he be my Dad.

Although he's working with two knee replacements, 82-years on the body, and balance that is not always on target, he just will not utilize the assistance of the walker. The nurses at the rehab facility do not trust him so they have him triggered with alarms. If, and when, he gets up alarms sound and nurses come running. They are worried that he will fall again.

I tried to convince him that the walker could be cool, that chicks would dig it. But he wasn't buying it.

He is getting stronger and stronger. That is good to see.

But the effects of small strokes have had effects on his thinking processes and his memory. It is tough for him, and all of us, because my Dad is a very intelligent man. And he is still a very intelligent man, it's just that the order and relevance of his toughts right now can be a little mixed up.

The thing my Dad thinks of most right now is finances. That's what you get for being an accountant your whole life I guess. That's all he wanted to talk to me about.

How much interest am I paying monthly on the loan? I don't have any loans.

How much did I still owe on the house? The house is paid for.

Who was paying for the bills at the house?

"Dad, you don't have to worry about that. It's being taken care of. You just have to concentrate on getting better and getting back home," I tried to convince him.

We visited for quite awhile. We had the pleasure of a surprise visit from my Mom's brother as well.

When we left it was still raining. I was tired and anxious to get back to Marietta. Heading out Route 72, over the turnpike and towards Manheim, we suddenly ran into a fire policeman directing all traffic off to the left, onto a small country road.

Oh man, here we go again.

We drove over hill and dale. We ended up in the woods somewhere between Mt. Gretna and Brickerville. We were completely lost in the Pennsylvania countryside.

There was no detour. There was no drive around or directions of any kind. The fire policeman just got rid of us all and the traffic splintered into the hills and woods in every direction.

I let Barb call all the turns, as always, and miraculously, after an extended trip through who-knows-where we came into the sqaure of Manheim from the east. Then it was a quick trip home to Marietta from there.

Not feeling rushed for time on the way home I could soak in the countryside a bit more. It was beautiful. It really was.