Not As Unhinged As We Thought We Were

Some people around here let their grass die in the summer--come October, when the rains return, the green grass will too.

Adam is not one of those people.  Every year, he valiantly and carefully waters our lawn.  Every year the inevitable brown patches break his heart a little bit.

It's doesn't dampen his drive to dampen the lawn though.

Saturday we were watching The Good Guys on hulu.  (I can't in good conscience recommend The Good Guys to you.  At different times Adam and I have laughed so hard our oxygen intake was seriously compromised.)  Adam would set up the sprinkler in one of his complicated patterns then set the timer.  We'd pause our show (why we never watch TV, only hulu) and he'd go move the sprinkler.

I went out with him on one of his irrigating ventures.  We were looking at the stars (I grew up under a star spangled sky with nary a pollutant light so when I say we were looking at the stars I mean, not really.) and considering planting a tree in our yard and talking about an enlarged bed along the side of the house.  We walked into the house while I was telling Adam I wanted the side of the house to be symmetrical.  If we planted a big hydrangea bush (like I want to), I want to plant two big hydrangea bushes.

Adam set the timer and we settled back into our show.

When it was time, Adam went back outside.  He came right back.  He said, "The sprinkler was turned off."

"Turned off?"

"Turned off."

"The hose was kinked?"

"No.  It was turned off.  Did I turn it off?  Did you see me turn it off?"

"You must have turned it off," I said.  But I didn't remember him turning it off.

"Do you think someone came around the back of our house and turned it off?" Adam wondered.

"No, you must have turned it off.  But we were talking about hydrangeas and walking in the house, remember?  You didn't stop to turn it off."

Adam and I looked at each other.  We were either going crazy and losing our memories or someone was playing tricks on us.  Either way it was a little unsettling.

I moved away from my red chair by the open sliding door to the other side of Adam on the couch.

Just in case.

Every few minutes, I'd ask, "Is the sprinkler still going?"

Adam would say yes.

We decided we were losing our minds.

Last night, Adam was outside again, arranging his sprinkler.  Our neighbor, Om, stopped his car and called to Adam.  He told Adam that the night before they'd driven by and thought we'd accidentally left our sprinkler on.  He'd walked around to the back of our house and turned it off.

Hurray for good neighbors that look out for us!

Hurray that dementia is not knocking on our door...yet!