About five o’clock today my grandson and his fiancé welcomed their son, Rafe Elliot, into the world. Rafe is about four and a half pounds and a couple of weeks early. He is in the NICU for now so good vibes of every kind are welcome. I am so excited to meet him and help with his care as much as I can.

This has been a hard pregnancy, and the baby had to be delivered by C section. Both mother and baby will be in the hospital for a few days, the baby probably longer. We have known for a while that Rafe has a heart defect that is likely to require surgery sooner rather than later. If you want to send a gift or words of encouragement, please check out rantingandrafing.com to see what Curtis and his stepson, Layne, are doing for the baby. Sharing that information in every way you can is one of the most useful things you would do. Making a purchase if you want will also help.

As you may imagine, we are excited and apprehensive for this little one. My hope is that he thrives and grows strong and he feels the love we all have for him already. I will drive up to Louisville soon to help with practical stuff like housekeeping and meals so the family can have a break when coming home from the hospital. Chances are I will make that drive a few times in the near future since babies are my favorite people.

Looking out at my back yard this morning with tears in my eyes. Just a few days ago Tyson would be there, rolling in the grass and barking to let his dog friends next door know he is there so they can visit. When I sit at the computer to write or check e-mails he would be on the floor behind me. When I go to the kitchen for more coffee he would follow along and lay down beside me. When I take the cup into the living room to watch the news he would come along. Come bedtime he would be on the floor next to my bed and anytime I would go outside Tyson came too. Now the space where Tyson used to be is just empty.

I will be okay. After all, I have dealt with worse and survived, even learned to be happy eventually. Even so, having learned through experience how to adjust, adapt and live on, the ache stays for a while. Since I travelled this road before I know the way. I will go for a walk, talk to a friend, hug the great grandkids, and find gratitude for all that I have. Might cry a little but will laugh a lot as time goes by.

Memories are the thing. The thing that softens tough times and reminds us of the good times. I remember that floppy puppy with the big feet that he stumbled over. I remember midnight walks just to have a furry buddy with me to go see the full moon. I remember when he could still jump onto the couch and lay his head in my lap to let me know he thought it was time to go to bed. I remember how patient he was with the grand kids and great grandkids when they treated him like a pony. He was friendly with all the neighbors, who frequently gave him treats. I remember that low growl upon a man we did not know approaching while we walked. Turns out a one-hundred-pound dog is pretty intimidating.

I will remember that I have been loved beyond measure by a gentle giant of a creature with the biggest heart in the world. Fourteen years with the best companion ever. I’ll take it.

For the sound of water pouring into a metal container — sounds like a cow peeing on a flat rock. When we heard a woodpecker in a nearby tree — bet that makes his pecker sore. For a freezing winter day — colder than a well digger’s ass in the Klondikes. When one of my aunts was late — must have crashed her broom. In response to a silly question, like, do you want a cold beer — is a pigs ass pork? When my pants were too short — expecting a flood are ya?

My parents were the kind of people who could make almost anything a party, or at least an adventure. In my family we laughed our way through adversity, joked about some of the serious stuff and clowned our way through disappointments. We of course were respectful, when necessary, like funerals. But, I do remember nearly choking when some of my grandfather’s drinking buddies showed up sobbing loudly in the back of the church. My mom was not pleased, but I still think that was funny as hell.

Dad was a representative for the carpenters’ union, and I recall a time when there was a strike where some of the workers walking the picket line scattered a few nails where they shouldn’t have and the line became contentious. Dad and some others got all the wives together and organized daily picnics at the site where the women brought food and their kids for the day. Seems like the guys didn’t want to show out with their families watching. His version of making lemonade out of lemons.

I am thinking that if every child could grow up like I did we would have a world full of people who know how to make themselves happy when life tries to kick your ass.