Bring on the Cavalry — from Beth — November 27, 2005  

Everything about today was stressful.  Stress filled.  Stress heavy. 

I stopped in the tunnel between the main hospital and the geriatric center at the blood pressure machine, and when it read 189 over 99, I went straight into denial.  What kind of hospital would put a broken blood pressure machine out for people to use?  

Two EMTs pushed a rolling ambulance stretcher into Daddy’s room to move him to the nursing home.  The guy was probably two generations away from anyone who spoke Spanish, but to Mama, despite being from a Mississippi family filled with black-haired relatives, everybody with dark hair is Hispanic and she’s convinced they’re the new mafia because of all the fights in the barrio she hears on her police scanner. 

The female was pretty, and preppy looking, with the long flipped up hairstyle every WHS girl wore back in the day — well, my day.  First-class Carolina girl, just slightly redneck — and that’s a compliment, not a pejorative. 

 I looked at the company logo on their shirts — a horse head, and the name “Cavalry” spelled out in script. Mama looked at the girl.  “What company do y’all work for?” 

 “Oh, we work for CaLvary.” 

Mama didn’t hear her. 

“What?” 

So I piped up.  “CaValry.  Like soldiers mounted on horseback.” 

The brunette agreed.  “Yeah.  CaLvary.” 

Mama kept going.  “Oh.  Are you affiliated with Calvary Church?” “No, Mama, it’s CAV-AL-RY.” 

“No,ma’am.  It’s CAL-VA-RY, like when you’re watching a ol timey western and the CALVARY rides in.” 

I got tickled and just gave up.