One of the purposes of this blog is for me to write down some of my favorite memories so that I can hang on to them in this fast paced, short-lived life. I was my papa’s only grandchild. He thought I could do no wrong when I was a kid and he was my favorite. My parents had me when they were 18 so they jumped at most any opportunity to lovingly pawn me off to any trusted relative so they could have some honeymoon time 😉. Anyway, last year Papa had a bad stroke at the ripe old age of 81. It robbed him of the use of his left side and gave him a nice little gift of dementia. Up until the stroke he was sharp as a tack and kept the roads hot (well, as “hot” as an 81 year old driver could) and went to eat at his favorite restaurant everyday. After a week in intensive care and then almost another week on the neuro floor, he went to live in hell–I mean a nursing home. After a couple of months there his wonderful insurance was fixing to kick him out, so I wanted him to live with us. My husband never batted an eye and gladly accepted the challenge. Papa, who evidently had ran out of circulating blood when he was about 72 years old because he froze even in the summer and used to keep his house so hot I always expected to see satan jump out from behind his green Naugahyde recliner when I walked in his house. I always keep my house about 70 degrees. The first morning he was here, one of the caretakers had come to help me change him and reposition him because my husband was gone. When I woke Papa up, he looked up from his hospital bed and said, “has the furnace done went plumb out?!?” It just struck me funny since I thought it was rather warm. After that I got him an electric blanket and it stayed on 24/7.