Dear Readers,

You may recall that, in Chapter 21, I instructed you on self-rededication — and promised to let you know at the top of Chapter 22 how much behavior modification I had achieved, personally. Well, here's a quick report.

I didn't exactly re-create myself! I did admit to my failure in housekeeping and call the Merry Maids. (Oh, I love Elizabeth — and Meghan, too.) I haven't stopped swearing. (But I do swear more softly now.) Or stopped being petty. (I hate it when Rawbaw beats me at cards and can't even see them clearly.) But, to my credit, I have begun to offer Rawbaw more variety in her diet. (She isn't accepting it, but I am offering it.) Lastly, I have failed miserably to get Rawbaw's funky dawg to the park for walks, or to brush her fur daily, or to put her on a healthier diet. (The scamp holds out for human food before she condescends to eat any dog food. I think she is doing a mind number on us, which doesn't say much for human beings.) But I have been lavish in loving her, which is something.

Hey, I think I've told you that rededicating yourself is not a walk in the park. So, I will now take my own advice and not flagellate myself about not being perfect. As a matter of fact, I told you in Chapter 19 that perfection is highly overrated — and if you do achieve it, you'll tick off a lot of people.

I had tentatively planned to revisit the importance of keeping your sense of humor in this new chapter, folks, but it turns out to be a badly timed topic. I just had all my (remaining) wisdom teeth extracted, and the discomforts of convalescence are making me as mean as a snake. (I would beat the dog if I didn't love her so.) Therefore, I suggest that I save humor for a later date, when all the stitches are out of my gums and I can chew with wild abandon again.

You know what? This seems like a sterling opportunity to forgo humor and get into what I like to call “the art of letting things slide.”

I am really good at it. This morning, while revising my things-to-do list, I first noted that it's Sunday, which is my day off. (See Chapter 20.) Which means I should do very little today beyond basic caregiving. There will be beaucoup card games and Scrabble games today and tonight, for sure.

I have already looked at the list quite critically and answered the key question, “What tasks need to be done right now or very soon, and which tasks can be put off for a while or (let's be candid) forever?” Well, I must call Spectrum and get a cheaper combination of TV channels. (Paying over $200/mo. to watch TV is a bit exorbitant.) And I must call Geico and get cheaper car insurance. (Keeping my Michigan-based insurance was a dumb idea: it has driven up the cost of insuring my car in Wisconsin.) So, I have deftly determined two things I should get right on. But then I apply the “Sundays off” rule and justify not even thinking about Spectrum or Geico till tomorrow (Monday, a legitimate work day).

Pretty slick, huh? Then I look at the things to do that are not nearly as pressing and promise myself to handle a couple of the easiest ones in the near future — and simply speculate when I might get to the harder ones.

Bringing some of Rawbaw's clothes downstairs, where she lives now, would be a no-brainer. Check! And it wouldn't be a huge project to clean the inside of the fridge and freezer, either. But, hey, I could hand those two chores off to the Merry Maids! (Thanks, Elizabeth and Meghan. You're the greatest!)

Now I'm thinking!

Looking at the less urgent tasks, I could muse about buying a two-drawer file cabinet at a thrift shop to house all of Rawbaw's papers and mine. Right now they're one huge file in two big, ugly cardboard boxes in the family room. Note that I said I could use about it, not do it. (Yeah, I'm giving lip service to the idea, not actually getting around to it. I have honed this procrastination technique to a sharp edge.)

Regarding bigger projects, cutting down junk trees at the base of the house's foundation out back should be given a priority. Yes. And I recall that Mark, our good neighbor next door, volunteered to remove them last year. (Rawbaw decided against it, arguing that the larger trees in the ravine behind the house would bear witness to “the slaughter,” hold that high crime against us, and come for us in the night. But maybe by spring I can convince Rawbaw to allow Mark to bring his chainsaw (again) and remove the junk trees. (I think her objection to having it done was just her sense of humor, but could also stem from her dementia and possibly her long-term cultivation of animism.) (Hey, people, we're all animistic in some way. My late wife talked to her car.)

Of course, every complete things-to-do list has a number of items in the pie-in-the-sky, by-and-by category. Mine include adding a small balcony off the back of the house and installing a walk-in bathtub in the downstairs bathroom. If I were a betting man, I'd say, “Not in this lifetime!” — but these things are fun to talk about. (I think everyone should have pipe dreams. They're good for you.)

Maybe in April, when spring has sprung and I no longer am a crabby old man with sore gums, I will deliver a chapter on the importance of keeping your sense of humor. Rawbaw, who is far more challenged than I am by the cards dealt to her in the game of life, keeps her sense of humor handy around the clock — and sets a fine example for me to follow. (Ever her dog is upbeat.)

Robin sees the humor in everything. After we baby-sat her son's dog, Duke, for a few days this month and he had returned to the Milwaukee area with Rawbaw's son and wife, Rawbaw said we should give Duke a code name, because Doggie Brooke would hear the word “Duke” spoken and get the idea that the old dog was coming back right away — something that agitated her greatly. I suggested that, since Duke is very hard of hearing, we henceforth refer to him as “Stone” (alluding to the fact that he is nearly stone-deaf).

Rawbaw really liked that. But, ever the rascal, she still sometimes enjoys exclaiming, “Duke is coming!” out of the blue and watching Doggie Brooke's eyes roll up in her head. (Rawbaw may have the slightest bit of a mean streak. Or, at a minimum, mischievousness on steroids.)

—Michael E. Hearons