Oh, to be in Michigan, now that summer? fall? is here...

I am in beautiful Plymouth, MI, chillin' at my dad's beautiful apartment, looking out at the beautiful garden and lawn, and if I wasn't sweating like a prizefighter after a championship bout, life would be beautiful.  While it is considerably cooler here than in Tullahoma, it is STILL in the high 80's here- WAY too warm for me, but just about perfect for my 86 year old dad-ums.  There is a nice cross breeze but it's a warm breeze, so the days are a bit sticky for my taste.  Fortunately, the nights are cool.

Daddy with Snoopy, taken about 5 years ago.  Snoopy has no use for me whatsoever.

It's strange to be back in the Detroit area again.  Until May of this year, Dad was living on the west side of the state in a sleepy little town called Stevensville, away from the sounds of planes, trains and automobiles.  Here, he is just 15 minutes from Detroit Metropolitan Airport and moments from Edward Hines Parkway.  Plymouth is a railroad town, so vehicular sounds of all descriptions disturb the peace.  This is the ambience I grew up in, which merely reinforces my opinion that I could not ever return to live in Michigan again.

Daddy (standing) with his brother Dick.  Daddy is the last survivor of his nuclear family/

Still, being back in my natal state is a bittersweet experience.  Michigan is gorgeous in the late summer/early fall.  If I had driven here with my daughter (which I now regret not doing), I would take a day tour to Lake Huron to the site of the happiest moments of my childhood.  "Up at the Lake" every summer until 1970, when my grandparents sold their property and our heritage.  Well, it was theirs to sell, but it is ours to remember and mourn.  Even after 40 years, the memories of up at the lake are the sharpest, the clearest, the most pervasive and happiest of my life.  Thanks to memory, I can go back any time I wish.

Daddy during WWII.  He enlisted at the age of 17, so this picture was probably taken in 1941-1942.

Last time I was here, Dave and I found the East Detroit (now East Pointe) homes of both sets of grandparents and the house I grew up in at 24841 Rosalind.  It surprised me how distorted my memories of distances are.  I remembered walking FOREVER to get to school... and, it turns out, the school is only two and a half blocks away from the house.  Well, I was a very short kid with polio stricken legs, so maybe it WAS a long trek.  Still- TWO BLOCKS!!??

My dad  is frailer than the last time I was here, but somehow stronger, too.  He is more mobile than he was, and his balance seems a lot better.  Still, he is showing his age in many subtle ways.  His memory is unreliable and his hearing is failing.  He is toothpick thin and the last fall he took has deprived him of most of the use of his left hand.  He can't live alone, so Dave and I are providing home care for him.  I met his care-giver yesterday and she is very nice and actually likes Dad, which is a plus (and a minor miracle).

Across the hall from Dad is a lovely woman in her late 70s who he dated about 20 years ago, after my mom died.  She keeps herself beautifully, always well coiffed, hands manicured, her trim figure flatteringly dressed to emphasize her assets... I think she has her eye on Dad and so does Dad, and he's not interested.  It's kinda fun watching the two of them interact.  Hey, it ain't over until it's over, which gives me hope.

What is neither functional nor decorative and lives in the middle of my face?

My nose.  I have a very large nose.  If the size of the nose is an indication of intelligence, then I am a super-genius.  I was teased mercilessly about my nose my entire childhood... and beyond, really.  It doesn't help that I have a small head and relatively small features.  My eyes are small, my mouth is small.  Even my shell-like ears are small.

And then, there is my nose.  It starting growing faster than the rest of me when I was about 10 and there has been steady growth ever since.  I was born with a deviated septum, which you can't see, of course, but which makes me a mouth-breather a good part of the time, especially in the winter and summer, the two seasons that love my nose the least.

When my son was a toddler, he accidentally whopped my nose with his hard little head and broke it.  I reset it myself while it was still numb to save the cost of a doctor visit.  Big mistake.  The left half of my nose collasped making the honker asymmetrical.  It has a decided larboard list.

A few years ago while I was minding my own business and sleeping peacefully in my little bed, my cats got the rips and came careening into my bedroom.  They leapt onto the bed and launched themselves at each other off my face, ripping my nose in the process.  I screamed, which woke up my hubby, who was initially peeved at me - he hates when I wake him up by screaming- until he saw the blood.  I now have a scar and a pit on my nose, which wasn't a particularly attractive appendage before the cats mauled it.  Note to self- keep your bedroom door closed.

Over the course of innumerable colds and bouts of hay fever, chronic nose-blowing has burst many of the tiny little blood vessels near the nares so that it looks like I have written on myself with a fine tipped red pen. I have yet to find a concealer that really conceals those fine red lines.  I am an almost total tea-totaler but have the schnoz of a boozer.  How fair is that, I ask you?

Now August  is nearly over, and I am battling my annual summer cold.  I cannot breathe through my nose.  Nothing as massive as air can penetrate the swollen membranes.  And yet, my nose is running.  Constantly.  Makes you wonder, doesn't it?  I am going through a box of Kleenex a day, so my nose is red.  And I have been swimming, so my nose is sunburned.  As I type, I am trying to figure out how to blow my nose without touching it because it is chapped and sore.  I hope I figure it out soon.  When something this size hurts, it's a BIG damn hurt.

All my life, I have prayed for a nose job.  (Most of my life, I have also prayed for a boob job, and lately, a tummy tuck has entered my petitions to the plastic surgery gods).  I know that cartilage never stops growing, and the nose is mostly cartilage. It doesn't bode well for an attractive old age, does it?

Any plastic surgeons reading this... call me!