On a lighter note...

It's that time of the year again, and although we didn't have much competition yesterday, the Dogs are looking mighty good. Stafford and Moreno were sharp, as expected, and freshmen AJ Green, Caleb King and kicker Blair Walsh made terrific debuts. Go Dogs!

A difficult week

After her last stroke, Mrs. Dewar couldn't swallow without aspirating, and the only options were to put in a feeding tube or to "let nature take its course": a wrenching choice. It would be one thing if she was in a coma, but she's not; she recognizes us and smiles and tries to communicate. Jimmy felt that the feeding tube was the only decision he could live with at this point, so she has it now, and is at home, and we're hoping for the best.

Our friends Mike and Jayne Godwin had offered us a ride in their plane to the Bahamas this weekend, and we really wanted to fly down to check on our little house in Marsh Harbour. We haven't seen it since March 2007, but Jimmy wasn't comfortable leaving his mother yet, and cancelled. I hope it doesn't get hurricaned too badly this season. Gustav doesn't pose a threat, but tropical storm Hanna might later in the week.

Dorothy and Jimmy

The cat scan showed that Mrs. Dewar has lost over 25% of her brain function.

Although she tries, she can't get the words out, but it's like Tot, one of her sitters, says, she can almost talk to you with her eyes. And when Jimmy walks in, the love on her face lights up the room.

More updates on Jimmy's mother

8PM After being on an IV all day, Mrs. Dewar looks better and is much more alert than she was this morning, but she's still unable to speak.

1:30Mrs. Dewar's not doing well. She's been sleeping for the last 24+ hours, and may have had a larger stroke; we haven't yet gotten the results of the most recent cat scan.

This morning when we'd talk to her, she'd look at us and smile and try to squeeze our hands, but that was all the response we could get. She may rally, but it's not looking too good right now.

Giving

Driving back from Highlands Sunday, I don't think we've ever seen as many instances of blue flashing lights: state patrolmen pulling over transgressing motorists. Jimmy says it was six or seven, but I'd say closer to nine. What a depressing way to spend your day, ruining other peoples' by handing out speeding tickets. It's got to be a tough job.

At the other end of the job spectrum would be that of Mike, an agent of millionaire John Beresford Tipton in the old 1950's TV show "The Millionaire." Mike, at the instruction of Mr. Tipton, would hand out checks for one million dollars apiece to people he'd never met. It was a strange hobby, but probably more satisfying than passing out traffic tickets.

The studio audience for another old show,"Queen For A Day," also got to be benevolent. Four unfortunate women tearfully related the harsh circumstances of their lives, then an "applause meter" determined which of them had the biggest sob story. After the winner was crowned with a glittering tiara and draped with a red velvet robe, she was given a dozen roses and usually a new washing machine, and sent on her way with a heart less burdened.

Update

Mrs. Dewar remains hospitalized, but she's doing about the same. She's able to speak clearly at times, although there are episodes of weakness when she can't get her words out right. She has a small blood clot in her brain that may be causing a series of mini strokes. She's getting medication to dissolve the clot, and may get to go home in the next day or so.

Jimmy and I are at Emory for the 100 Day tests, and we should know the results in a couple of weeks. We're spending the night in Atlanta tonight; we did Priceline and got The Intercontinental for $75. Such fun.

Enchantment

The evening before we came back to Valdosta, Jimmy and I had dinner at the home of our friends, Glenda and Griffin Bell. Jimmy had been there before, but I had not. "You're going to love it," he told me on the way: what an understatement.

The rain and drizzle had reduced the visability, but still....when I stepped onto the back porch, I gasped, then was nearly overcome by a strong urge to throw my arms up ino the air and burst ino song: "THE HILLS ARE ALIVE with the sound of music..." a la Julie Andrews. The view is beyond description.

Griffin insists that on a perfectly clear day, he can see the Atlanta skyline. Glenda, when asked if this was true, said, "Maybe...with very strong binoculars and a very good imagination."

Jimmy and Griffen, who pledged KA together fory-seven years ago, stand in front of the main cottage. There are four structures, built in 1934, that look like the setting for a fairy tale book. Magical.

This really is a room wih a view.

The view overlooking the koi pond.

Sometimes it's what you DON'T get

Today is my sweet baby brother William's birthday. (To refresh: William was the perpetrator of the infamous "Ghost in the Closet" caper nearly a half century ago.)
This is a picture of William and his beautiful wife Pam, taken earlier this year in St. Bart's. My present to you, William, is that I'm publishing THIS picture, and not THE OTHER ONE. Happy birthday!

Back in Valdosta

We got a call yesterday afternoon from Jamey, telling us that Mrs. Dewar had had a stroke and had been rushed to the hospital. Fortunately, quick thinking by her sitter Eunice, who immediately called 911 and gave her aspirin to dissolve clots, prevented any serious damage. She's still in the hospital, but has regained most of her speech and movement.

Jimmy wanted to come home at once, but as her condition was stable, I convinced him that it was prudent to leave Highlands early this morning, which we did. We were so relieved to find her much improved.

Jimmy's 100 Day tests at Emory are Wednesday, so we'll just go back up to Atlanta for those, then come home the next day.

(P.S. Jimmy's Blog is one year old today.)

Never never never never give up

Emboldened by last week's foray into croquet, Jimmy ventured onto the putting green. That went well, so he decided to take a few swings. We expected him to be sore the next day, but he felt fine. He's taking it slowly, but we're hoping that by next week, we can get a cart and play a couple of holes. Wouldn't THAT be something!

Golden

Like most everybody else in the world, Jimmy and I have been mesmerized by the Olympics this summer. With the torrent of dismal news we're inundated with on a daily basis, what a joy it is to watch all these amazing young people, so filled with hope and determination.
On the left is Ricky Berens, shown with his teammate, Michael Phelps, after they won the gold medal and shattered the world record for the 800 freestyle relay last night. Ricky's high school swimming coach in Charlotte, North Carolina, was our own Ellen Mullis, Stuart and Claudia Mullis' daughter. Way to go, coach!

Croquet, anyone?

The sun was bright and the air was cool and crisp when Jimmy and I showed up to play croquet Friday morning. Everyone was dressed in white, a pretty contrast with our sharp dark shadows on the green croquet court. Although "Wine and Wickets" has long been a beloved pastime here in Highlands, we had never participated; it turned out to be a lot of fun, and now we understand its popularity.

The Colemans had scheduled a round to entertain their house guests from Valdosta, the Templetons, the Stubbs, and the Cranes, and had included some locals: the Baylesses, the Powells, and the Dewars. We were divided into teams of two, with two teams competing in a game. Three games were concurrently played with the losing team sitting out a round.

It reminded me of a combination of miniature golf and pool, and Jimmy took to it like a duck to water. When complimented on his good game, he replied,"A misspent youth: too much time spent in pool halls."

George and the snap brim fedoras

George Powell's rapier-sharp wit and mischievous pranks have kept his friends entertained for decades, but he told a story at dinner the other night that still has Jimmy and me in stitches. It happened forty years ago, but we'd never heard this one before.

Back in the sixties, George and Karen lived in Chicago, where George carpooled with some co-workers, from the suburbs to their jobs downtown. George was a brash young pup in his twenties, while one of his fellow carpoolers, Sid, was older and took himself (and life) very seriously. Sid wore a snap brim fedora to work every day.

George found out where Sid's hat had been purchased and bought two more exactly like it, but one was a size larger and the other a size smaller. Sid kept his fedora under the seat of his car, and every day, George would manage to swap the hats: on the small hat days, it would barely perch on the top of Sid's head, and on the large hat days, it fell down over his ears. Some days George would leave Sid's real hat under the seat, and of course it fit just fine.

This went on for weeks, until poor Sid went to a doctor to have his head examined: he was convinced that something like a brain tumor was making his head expand and contract. At this point, George, a kind soul at heart, relented and fessed up.

Georgia on my mind

When I took Andy out for his 10PM walk last night, there wasn't a breath of air stirring, and it was so quiet, all you could hear was a dog barking in the distance and a couple of cars driving down Highway 64. Tonight was another story.

It might have been tree frogs, or maybe it was crickets, but whatever it was, they were chirping up a storm. They didn't all chirp at one time: it sounded like one group called, then another group answered. The Hallelujah Chorus came to mind.

The more I listened, the more it started sounding like at Sanford Stadium, in the middle of a big game, when one side of the stadium roars GEOR-GIA, and the other side yells BULL-DOGS, back and forth. In the eighties, it would be HER-SCHEL, then WAL-KER.

Georgia football season 2008 is looming.


This is one sorry video but the point is the sound, not the picture. Listen.

Camp Dewar

Sometimes I think that Jimmy has a drop or two of gypsy blood in his veins, because he loves to be on the go, and homebody that I am, I balk a little at leaving home. I'm a nester, and once I settle in, I don't like to be uprooted. But coming to Highlands last month was a good decision, for both of us.

You can almost see Jimmy getting stronger from one day to the next, and we seem to have found a good balance between rest and activity.
He still sleeps ten to twelve hours a night, and takes long delicious naps on the porch swing in the cool mountain air.

He's eating well, and some days we go to lunch at one of Highland's many fine restaurants. Today it was The Wine Garden at the Old Edwards Inn.
When we first started going to the fitness center, Jimmy had lost so much muscle that he could barely lift the lowest possible weights. That's improving.
Walking up and down these mountains can get you in shape in a hurry.

Please note the slacks Jimmy is wearing in the above photograph. A few weeks ago, Jimmy was telling Carolyn Eager how baggy all of his clothes are on him now, and she said, "I'll bet some of Bill's old clothes would fit you." Jimmy was skeptical because Bill was taller and thinner and had a different build than Jimmy, so we were surprised when the pants she brought for him to try on fit perfectly.

He's loved wearing them: they look good on him, but more importantly, they had belonged to his friend.