The new boss rolled into town yesterday and brought me a new computer.
He went through our wish list.
He answered questions.
And basically was an all around good guy.
So, we are in love with him once again and have decided not to feel abandoned.
Just goes to show that you never know.
And then, Christmas is looming and I'm not ready. Not by a shake. I've still got shopping to do and baking and cleaning and...
But the realistic side of me says that it's all good and not to worry. The day will arrive whether I'm ready or not.
And then, there are textbooks yet to buy for next term, a carpet that needs pulling up and a doggy that acts like he isn't feeling well.
And then...I remember that I seem to neglect so much in my effort to just survive.
And life is short. And it's sweet, if you just let it be.
And then, I take a deep breath and smile, because no matter how busy I am, I have my family and my health.
And THAT is all that matters.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Saturday, September 03, 2011
Tis a Beautiful Life
Today my baby turns 19. She is young and brave and intelligent. That she loves me and still calls me Mommy melts my forty-three-year-old heart as few things do. It is a joy to be her mother.
Boy just recorded his third music CD. He is talented, friendly, strong of heart and mind. He is aware of his super powers and has assured me that he uses them for good not for evil.
In a few months, my Beloved and I will celebrate twenty-four years of marriage. I cannot image what my life would be without him...so we've decided to die at exactly the same moment. Life without the other will not be worth living. Exactly how we will accomplish this hasn't exactly been decided, but I saw the movie, The Notebook, and figure if they can do it, so can we.
This month marks the 1st anniversary of owning our little green house on the corner. I am so happy here and so thankful that God gave us this little slice of heaven on earth.
I have a great job and I work with great people. Beloved is employed and the kids are doing well.
It's a beautiful, beautiful life.
Boy just recorded his third music CD. He is talented, friendly, strong of heart and mind. He is aware of his super powers and has assured me that he uses them for good not for evil.
In a few months, my Beloved and I will celebrate twenty-four years of marriage. I cannot image what my life would be without him...so we've decided to die at exactly the same moment. Life without the other will not be worth living. Exactly how we will accomplish this hasn't exactly been decided, but I saw the movie, The Notebook, and figure if they can do it, so can we.
This month marks the 1st anniversary of owning our little green house on the corner. I am so happy here and so thankful that God gave us this little slice of heaven on earth.
I have a great job and I work with great people. Beloved is employed and the kids are doing well.
It's a beautiful, beautiful life.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
That "Ah ha!" Moment
The call came in the middle of Beloved and I watching one of our favorite shows. When I saw the number, I pushed paused, looked at Beloved and sighed. It was GC.
The conversation started out in the same guarded way that our conversations do these days.
I could hear a question lingering in his voice, but I waited for him to decided to bring up whatever subject was eating at him.
"Um...Mom wants to know if you have Grandpa Bill's service flag."
My Opa was an American GI who drove an ambulance in Germany during the war. He was smitten on a sassy, strawberry blond Fraulein whose blue eyes haunted his dreams. He was a gentle man with a quiet sense of humor, or so I've been told. He died of brain cancer when I was five.
My Omi remarried a few years later. She married a man who was so strikingly similar to her first husband that my mother darn near passed out when she met the man who became her step father and the only Grandfather any of us kids would ever know. He too was a gentle man with a quiet sense of humor and had also served in the armed forces in Europe during the war.
"I don't have the flag, in fact I haven't seen it in years. The only things I have are the dishes that mom stole and hid at my house so Omi wouldn't know where they were."
Now, just between us, I have always felt terribly guilty about that little conspiracy, but I came clean with Omi and told her that I had her wedding dishes. She was glad to hear that I had them and my mother did not.
Of course, this is all just my word, there is no one left alive who can attest to my story. Well, other than my mother who can prove that she stole them from Omi and hid them at my house.
Ugh! Family is just ugly. UGLY I say!
I promised my brother that I don't have the flag, which is true. I honestly don't, but if I did, I would give it to him. I'm not going to fight over "stuff".
But the dishes....I figure sooner or later my mother is going to want these German wedding dishes. By all rights, they are hers, not mine. Yet, I cannot help but feel entitled to them. I was the one who had a relationship with Omi. I was the one who held her hand as she lay dying.
Then again, baby, it's just stuff and stuff just complicates things and makes people miserable. So, that being said, if she asks for the dishes I will hand them over...with just a little regret in my heart.
But I'll keep reminding myself that one day I will see Omi again and then neither one of us will care about a bunch of old dishes.
And that's enough for me.
Saturday, May 01, 2010
How May I Serve You Today?
It's been a month since FIL broke his ankle and for the most part things are going pretty darn well. My BIL, the Unabomber, was dumped dropped off by my SIL. She had volunteered to stay with FIL last Monday, then changed her mind and got the Unabomber to do it. Whatever.
At any rate there have been an extra set of hands here to help out. Which has been great, except that Unabomber doesn't do things the way I would do them.
Gasp!
It's kinda funny, really and I'm learning to let it go. I'm still taking care of certain things because, well, Unabomber won't. But I really hate cleaning up after other people. People who have perfectly good working limbs should clean up after themselves.
I'm just sayin'.
Being at FIL's beck and call means that I visit the grocery store just about every day. It also means he tries to dictate every detail to me.
Hmmmm....who does that remind me of...
He informed me this morning that he is going to get up extra early on Sunday to get cleaned up. I told him I figured he would, being Sunday and all. FIL looked me right in the eye and said, "We are going to early service!"
Really?
And just how do you plan on getting there big guy?
Wheelchair?
Walker?
Hitchhike?
Unabomber doesn't drive and he may be leaving tonight anyway.
It's all good. We knew that FIL would want to go to the early service. His friends are there at that time and just between us, FIL likes all the attention he's getting. Just don't tell anyone.
FIL can be a difficult, stubborn, angry man at times. I'm pretty sure he's one of the main reasons my beloved MIL is in Heaven (she paid pretty high dues for forty-nine years and deserves a break). These past few weeks I've heard things come out of his mouth I never thought I'd hear.
Things like,
Please
Thank you
Thanks
And they say old dogs can't learn new tricks.
At any rate there have been an extra set of hands here to help out. Which has been great, except that Unabomber doesn't do things the way I would do them.
Gasp!
It's kinda funny, really and I'm learning to let it go. I'm still taking care of certain things because, well, Unabomber won't. But I really hate cleaning up after other people. People who have perfectly good working limbs should clean up after themselves.
I'm just sayin'.
Being at FIL's beck and call means that I visit the grocery store just about every day. It also means he tries to dictate every detail to me.
Hmmmm....who does that remind me of...
He informed me this morning that he is going to get up extra early on Sunday to get cleaned up. I told him I figured he would, being Sunday and all. FIL looked me right in the eye and said, "We are going to early service!"
Really?
And just how do you plan on getting there big guy?
Wheelchair?
Walker?
Hitchhike?
Unabomber doesn't drive and he may be leaving tonight anyway.
It's all good. We knew that FIL would want to go to the early service. His friends are there at that time and just between us, FIL likes all the attention he's getting. Just don't tell anyone.
FIL can be a difficult, stubborn, angry man at times. I'm pretty sure he's one of the main reasons my beloved MIL is in Heaven (she paid pretty high dues for forty-nine years and deserves a break). These past few weeks I've heard things come out of his mouth I never thought I'd hear.
Things like,
Please
Thank you
Thanks
And they say old dogs can't learn new tricks.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
If This Were Funny, I'd Laugh
Beloved brought FIL home late yesterday afternoon. He found out that the path and ramp we had put it is a wee bit steeper than he had anticipated. For my part, I knew there was no way I would be able to push FIL up it. Beloved got him in the house and then the real struggle began.
Neither one of us truly anticipated the amount of care that FIL was going to need. Yes, we knew that he cannot put any weight on the broken ankle, but we didn't really understand what that meant.
It means:
FIL has to have someone here 24/7
FIL needs help getting into the bathroom
into bed
into a chair
FIL needs help with his clothes
his sock
FIL needs a cook
a nurse
a house keeper
FIL needs someone to remind him to take his meds
to drink enough water
and someone to empty the potty pot
We haven't even attempted a shower...
For whatever reason, none of us put together all the pieces of this puzzle to see that FIL requires a great deal and we are the ones to give it. And I have to admit that for his part, FIL is being a peach. Truly, and he is usually NOT a peachy guy.
This makes me happy.
It makes me feel like maybe we'll survive this. It is, after all, what it is. I've sent out an SOS to the rest of the family and felt some positive vibes flow back my way, so maybe, just maybe, we'll have a couple pair of extra hands at least twice per week.
Yes, we may survive intact.
Yet, I'm stressed. My blood pressure is too high, I can feel it and I'm constantly worried that FIL will fall.
Not on my watch buddy!
To make matters more interesting, God threw me a curve ball in the form of a call from my estranged brother, Golden Child. You may recall that GC and I haven't spoken since that unfortunate event the day my Omi passed away. GC left a very nasty message on my phone telling me that our father is in the hospital.
Yes, the same father who told me that I was a disrespectful child, a liar, and basically a useless human being. He also stated, way back in September, that he was, and I quote, "Done with me if I didn't make things right with my mother!"
Which leaves me a couple of options:
1. I can rush to my father's bedside and beg his forgiveness and make amends with Satan...er, my mother.
2. I can phone him and tell him I am sorry he is ill and attempt to avoid a conversation that begins, "You need to make things right with your mother...."
3. Ignore the entire event and let sleeping dogs lie.
4. Pack up and move out of state.
I decided on phoning him and actually managed to dial his hospital room, but unfortunately no one answered. A friend suggested I call the nurses station and leave a message, so at least he'll know I called. I thought this to be a great idea and did so.
So, between FIL's broken ankle and neediness, my father's illness (which will more than likely kill him at some point in time), my harried work schedule, my Beloveds adjusting to being a part time care giver, graduation, and my pending trip South in the name of justice, I'm ready to crumble.
I just wish I could sit back and laugh at all the craziness.
Neither one of us truly anticipated the amount of care that FIL was going to need. Yes, we knew that he cannot put any weight on the broken ankle, but we didn't really understand what that meant.
It means:
FIL has to have someone here 24/7
FIL needs help getting into the bathroom
into bed
into a chair
FIL needs help with his clothes
his sock
FIL needs a cook
a nurse
a house keeper
FIL needs someone to remind him to take his meds
to drink enough water
and someone to empty the potty pot
We haven't even attempted a shower...
For whatever reason, none of us put together all the pieces of this puzzle to see that FIL requires a great deal and we are the ones to give it. And I have to admit that for his part, FIL is being a peach. Truly, and he is usually NOT a peachy guy.
This makes me happy.
It makes me feel like maybe we'll survive this. It is, after all, what it is. I've sent out an SOS to the rest of the family and felt some positive vibes flow back my way, so maybe, just maybe, we'll have a couple pair of extra hands at least twice per week.
Yes, we may survive intact.
Yet, I'm stressed. My blood pressure is too high, I can feel it and I'm constantly worried that FIL will fall.
Not on my watch buddy!
To make matters more interesting, God threw me a curve ball in the form of a call from my estranged brother, Golden Child. You may recall that GC and I haven't spoken since that unfortunate event the day my Omi passed away. GC left a very nasty message on my phone telling me that our father is in the hospital.
Yes, the same father who told me that I was a disrespectful child, a liar, and basically a useless human being. He also stated, way back in September, that he was, and I quote, "Done with me if I didn't make things right with my mother!"
Which leaves me a couple of options:
1. I can rush to my father's bedside and beg his forgiveness and make amends with Satan...er, my mother.
2. I can phone him and tell him I am sorry he is ill and attempt to avoid a conversation that begins, "You need to make things right with your mother...."
3. Ignore the entire event and let sleeping dogs lie.
4. Pack up and move out of state.
I decided on phoning him and actually managed to dial his hospital room, but unfortunately no one answered. A friend suggested I call the nurses station and leave a message, so at least he'll know I called. I thought this to be a great idea and did so.
So, between FIL's broken ankle and neediness, my father's illness (which will more than likely kill him at some point in time), my harried work schedule, my Beloveds adjusting to being a part time care giver, graduation, and my pending trip South in the name of justice, I'm ready to crumble.
I just wish I could sit back and laugh at all the craziness.
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
So, It's Come to This
I may have mentioned that I'm a little over my head just now. Life is busy and I don't really have time for extras. I've stepped into my new position at work, which is totally cool! Girl's graduation is just few weeks away, I leave for the south in five weeks, and Soldier Mommy should be state side very soon. All this and keeping the house clean, the family fed, and the laundry done.
It's enough, don't you think?
God, in His infinite wisdom, does not. Funny that. Really. I mean do you think He just has a weird sense of humor? Or is He trying to tell me I can handle more than I think I can?
I just wanna say that my blood pressure disagrees.
My Father-in-law, who I'vecomplained about mentioned before, took a spill Saturday night. Beloved and I were home, which was awesome. I really don't know what would have happened if he were home alone.
The basic story is that he went down to feed his pets (cows), forgot his wire cutters (our most recent hay bales are held together with wire instead of twine), and stomped back up to the house in a tizzy.
Trust me, he's an expert tizzy thrower.
What you may not know is that our driveway is caving in. Yes, it's true and yes I'm embarrassed about it. The only part of our driveway that is paved is the portion that runs up the hill to the house. Because FIL wants someone to come and fix his driveway for free, it hasn't gotten done. It's been months. Because of this, he no longer parks his car by the house. Instead, he parks it sideways at the bottom of the driveway so no one can use it. To get down the hill, one must walk around FIL's car either through the mud or around the long way (which really isn't that long. I do it every day!)
So, as FIL came stomping down the driveway, totally pissed-off, he decided to take the short cut through the mud.
Yep, he slipped, breaking his ankle in three places. Beloved and I were home and were able to get him up and to the ER. I was very thankful that my seventy-six year-old, FIL who is usually difficult, stubborn, and annoying most days, went willingly to the ER.
Now he's in rehab and will be there for weeks. After that, my darling FIL will come home to be cared for by his loving family.
yeah
In the meantime, I am happy to report that my sis-in-law (mommy-head to Soldier Mommy) is close and ready to help. Even though FIL (her father) is a butt head to her, she is here forme him.
Words cannot express my thankfulness and joy knowing that I will not bear this burden alone.
We are going to build a ramp so that FIL can get into his house. I am going to clean his house, spend as much time each day at rehab as I can, and try to keep up with everything else.
So, it's come to this, if you need me, take a number. If you can do it yourself, then you'd best do it. If you cannot do it yourself, then learn to do without.
My dance card is full.
All this and I gave up coffee...
What was I thinking?
It's enough, don't you think?
God, in His infinite wisdom, does not. Funny that. Really. I mean do you think He just has a weird sense of humor? Or is He trying to tell me I can handle more than I think I can?
I just wanna say that my blood pressure disagrees.
My Father-in-law, who I've
The basic story is that he went down to feed his pets (cows), forgot his wire cutters (our most recent hay bales are held together with wire instead of twine), and stomped back up to the house in a tizzy.
Trust me, he's an expert tizzy thrower.
What you may not know is that our driveway is caving in. Yes, it's true and yes I'm embarrassed about it. The only part of our driveway that is paved is the portion that runs up the hill to the house. Because FIL wants someone to come and fix his driveway for free, it hasn't gotten done. It's been months. Because of this, he no longer parks his car by the house. Instead, he parks it sideways at the bottom of the driveway so no one can use it. To get down the hill, one must walk around FIL's car either through the mud or around the long way (which really isn't that long. I do it every day!)
So, as FIL came stomping down the driveway, totally pissed-off, he decided to take the short cut through the mud.
Yep, he slipped, breaking his ankle in three places. Beloved and I were home and were able to get him up and to the ER. I was very thankful that my seventy-six year-old, FIL who is usually difficult, stubborn, and annoying most days, went willingly to the ER.
Now he's in rehab and will be there for weeks. After that, my darling FIL will come home to be cared for by his loving family.
yeah
In the meantime, I am happy to report that my sis-in-law (mommy-head to Soldier Mommy) is close and ready to help. Even though FIL (her father) is a butt head to her, she is here for
Words cannot express my thankfulness and joy knowing that I will not bear this burden alone.
We are going to build a ramp so that FIL can get into his house. I am going to clean his house, spend as much time each day at rehab as I can, and try to keep up with everything else.
So, it's come to this, if you need me, take a number. If you can do it yourself, then you'd best do it. If you cannot do it yourself, then learn to do without.
My dance card is full.
All this and I gave up coffee...
What was I thinking?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Picture Perfect
Girl and I have been going through our photographs choosing a variety for her graduation ceremony in June. So many of them have made us laugh.
Um... Wow Mom, that's some BIG hair you're sporting!
There have been those that truly made me sad; seeing smiling faces from the past and knowing now what the future held. Each time Girl or I pulled out a picture of our friends who are in the depths of despair we looked at each other and said, "sadness".
My Girl was surprised to realize how many pictures I had stashed away. She hasn't seen the photo albums in YEARS, but let's not tell her about all of those pictures.
There were some photos that really made me smile. Photos of my Omi. I miss that German!
Then there was this photo.
Today would have been my Mother-in-law's birthday and wedding anniversary. It's a somber day for FIL. Heck, it's a somber day for all of us. We miss her. We miss her so very much.
In this photo she's holding Girl...who was born a brunette and then turned blond. When my FIL saw this picture he wasn't sure if Mom was holding Boy or Girl because of the dark hair. Funny that.
Looking through these old photographs is sometimes bitter sweet, but I'm glad to have a recorded history of good times. It amazes me to see the passing of time when I remember it as if it were yesterday, when in fact it's been many years.
Sometimes I am obnoxious with my camera, but I like to think that when I'm gone, my children and grandchildren will be happy I've taken these photos.
Because regardless of what emotion they stir up, they are all picture perfect.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Devil in a Devin Suit
Just about two years ago I wrote a blog about Devil in a Devin suit. He's the infamous woman beater, drug addict, convicted felon, who danced into our lives for a short period of time. He can be charming and very personable, but it's all a front.
He's the type of guy who beats women for Pete's sake.
I'd like to run him over with my car.
I'd like to stomp his a$$ into the ground and then run him over with my car.
Any body gotta gun? Oh wait, I have my own.
Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.
Anyway...
He's been in and out of jail. He's been bailed out by his father, Worm Tongue Denny. The justice system seems to have forgotten that bad dudes belong locked up, not roaming the streets free and clear doing whatever they desire.
Back around Christmas we learned that there was a shooting in the small, rural town where he hangs his hat and it was rumored that he had been killed.
He wasn't.
Pity that.
I seldom give Devil in a Devin suit any thought. Except when our great nephew is here. Sometimes I worry. I worry that the Devil in a Devin suit will peek in my windows. He's done it before. I worry he'll kick my dog. He's done that before too. I worry I'll run out of bullets and will have to reload before the police arrive.
The reason for today's blog is that he has finally made the evening news! Yes! Carjacking! Robbery! Attempted murder!
At long last he may finally have committed enough crimes to lock his sorry butt away for a long, long, long time.
I am a hopeful woman today. I am trusting in a justice system that promises to protect the innocent and convict the guilty.
May justice be served!
And soon! He's on the lamb, but I'm sure it won't be for long. After all, I think his GPS on his cell phone is still on. Easy to track those you know.
He's the type of guy who beats women for Pete's sake.
I'd like to run him over with my car.
I'd like to stomp his a$$ into the ground and then run him over with my car.
Any body gotta gun? Oh wait, I have my own.
Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.
Anyway...
He's been in and out of jail. He's been bailed out by his father, Worm Tongue Denny. The justice system seems to have forgotten that bad dudes belong locked up, not roaming the streets free and clear doing whatever they desire.
Back around Christmas we learned that there was a shooting in the small, rural town where he hangs his hat and it was rumored that he had been killed.
He wasn't.
Pity that.
I seldom give Devil in a Devin suit any thought. Except when our great nephew is here. Sometimes I worry. I worry that the Devil in a Devin suit will peek in my windows. He's done it before. I worry he'll kick my dog. He's done that before too. I worry I'll run out of bullets and will have to reload before the police arrive.
The reason for today's blog is that he has finally made the evening news! Yes! Carjacking! Robbery! Attempted murder!
At long last he may finally have committed enough crimes to lock his sorry butt away for a long, long, long time.
I am a hopeful woman today. I am trusting in a justice system that promises to protect the innocent and convict the guilty.
May justice be served!
And soon! He's on the lamb, but I'm sure it won't be for long. After all, I think his GPS on his cell phone is still on. Easy to track those you know.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Still Waiting....
She was supposed to be back sometime around midnight our time.
We are still waiting.
No news is good news...
Right?
We are still waiting.
No news is good news...
Right?
Friday, February 05, 2010
Soldier Mommy
As you may know, our niece, Soldier Mommy, is in parts hot and sandy. In just a few hours, if she hasn't left already, she'll be heading out on a very dangerous mission.
While I'd love to blather on about details and locations, I don't think I will. Unlike the liberal media I don't think it's necessary to give all the details to missions where our soldiers lives may be in jeopardy. Funny that.
Anyway, Soldier Mommy will be driving the lead vehicle in the convoy and they are headed to a pretty nasty neighborhood.
Our family would greatly appreciate your prayers for her and the other soldiers heading out.
For another great post about American heroes, please visit HERE.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Now I've Got YOU!
Right now, Jurassic Park is playing above my head. I know it's Jurassic Park because I can clearly (clearly!) hear the growling, snarling, burping of the dinosaurs.
My FIL is not deaf.
He simply likes the sound on his television set to be LOUD.
Because television sound wasn't enough, my Beloved hooked up speakers around the entire upstairs living room so Dad will have "theater quality sound".
When people live on your head you hear every footstep. You hear when they run their dishwasher. You note when they've got a leg cramp at 2:30 in the morning and are walking it off. You know exactly where the upstairs tenant is because you can hear them wherever they are.
Sometimes
Sometimes it makes me kinda crazy
It's true
But there have been times when a strange silence floats down from my ceiling and I'll listen...carefully. I'll rack my brain and try to remember if I've heard any movement up there in the last hour or so. I'll peek out the window to see if FIL car is still there.
Is he sleeping?
Is he outside? I didn't hear the front door slam closed...
Is he dead? (and seriously, I do NOT want to find him dead in the upstairs. I've been party to the last two deaths in this family and I do not care to participate in any more!)
I'll wait
I'll listen
Then I'll charge up the stairs to see what's going on.
Sometimes he's at his computer, scanning Ebay for arrows. Other times he'll have snuck out the front door and disappeared out into one of the pastures. He's not a little guy, so sneaking isn't really one of his talents. Yet everyone once in a while, he gets me.
But now I have a new weapon in my arsenal. It's called a cell phone.
For Christmas FIL's good buddy gave him a cell phone. Yes, he gave a cell phone to a man who:
A. Can't see
and
B. Hasn't been able to program ANYTHING since 1968.
Thus far everyone in the house has dealt with FIL and his cell phone. He carries it everywhere. He tinkers with it. He has no idea how to use it, but he still thinks it's important to have one...in case he needs one of us.
And that my friend is a two way street.
Now I can FIND him wherever he goes. There will be no more sneaking off in the early dawn light and not returning until dark, leaving me worried. He won't be able to hide in the back pasture without me being able to locate him. I will never have to wonder if he's killed some innocent family with his car when he's overdue.
I'll just call him.
Technology is a great thing.
My FIL is not deaf.
He simply likes the sound on his television set to be LOUD.
Because television sound wasn't enough, my Beloved hooked up speakers around the entire upstairs living room so Dad will have "theater quality sound".
When people live on your head you hear every footstep. You hear when they run their dishwasher. You note when they've got a leg cramp at 2:30 in the morning and are walking it off. You know exactly where the upstairs tenant is because you can hear them wherever they are.
Sometimes
Sometimes it makes me kinda crazy
It's true
But there have been times when a strange silence floats down from my ceiling and I'll listen...carefully. I'll rack my brain and try to remember if I've heard any movement up there in the last hour or so. I'll peek out the window to see if FIL car is still there.
Is he sleeping?
Is he outside? I didn't hear the front door slam closed...
Is he dead? (and seriously, I do NOT want to find him dead in the upstairs. I've been party to the last two deaths in this family and I do not care to participate in any more!)
I'll wait
I'll listen
Then I'll charge up the stairs to see what's going on.
Sometimes he's at his computer, scanning Ebay for arrows. Other times he'll have snuck out the front door and disappeared out into one of the pastures. He's not a little guy, so sneaking isn't really one of his talents. Yet everyone once in a while, he gets me.
But now I have a new weapon in my arsenal. It's called a cell phone.
For Christmas FIL's good buddy gave him a cell phone. Yes, he gave a cell phone to a man who:
A. Can't see
and
B. Hasn't been able to program ANYTHING since 1968.
Thus far everyone in the house has dealt with FIL and his cell phone. He carries it everywhere. He tinkers with it. He has no idea how to use it, but he still thinks it's important to have one...in case he needs one of us.
And that my friend is a two way street.
Now I can FIND him wherever he goes. There will be no more sneaking off in the early dawn light and not returning until dark, leaving me worried. He won't be able to hide in the back pasture without me being able to locate him. I will never have to wonder if he's killed some innocent family with his car when he's overdue.
I'll just call him.
Technology is a great thing.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Semi-Wordless Wednesday
Monday, December 07, 2009
What a Seal of a Deal
Soldier Mommy is my Beloved's niece. She has been my FAVORITE member of Beloved's family (with the exception of himself) for years. As a scrawny, colt-legged seven-year-old she won my heart. It didn't matter that she didn't know she was supposed to brush the back of her head with a hairbrush before she went to school. It didn't matter to me that most of the time her clothes didn't match. And it didn't matter that there were times, when she was a kiddo, that she was dishonest with me (even though at the time I wanted to smack her silly).
She is and will probably always be one of my favorite persons on the planet.
Right now, at this very moment, she's playing soldier in Iraq. Scary. She assures me she's in no danger, but I looked on her myspace and I saw those pictures of her with the big gun on top of the big truck. I'm not nearly as stupid as I look.
When she was in boot camp, about a million years ago, I wrote her nearly every week. When she was on security detail for the Olympics, I kept a close eye on the Game Master (her oldest son). Whenever she's been called away on Army business, her boys have dropped their duffel bags at our house.
But not this time. This time they are with the General and he's running a tight ship.
Aside from not having the boys around, I haven't sent her a single letter. Not one. I am a bad auntie.
It isn't as though we don't talk, because we do, I just feel bad because I haven't sent her anything.
She told me she wanted COOKIES. My cookies, to be exact. She told me to seal-a-meal them. I looked around. I asked around. I begged and pleaded. No one I know had a seal-a-meal. I thought I'd have to buy one, meaning, on payday I'd have to price them and see if I had enough pennies to purchase one.
When I told Soldier Mommy that I couldn't find a seal-a-meal during our online chat at Thanksgiving she said okay. Then moments later she informed me that a camcorder and a seal-a-meal would be arriving in a week or so and would I please mail the camcorder and FILL the seal-a-meal bags with COOKIES.
How could I pass that up?
Because I don't mail packages out of the country very often, I didn't realize that I needed a customs form. Duh.
So, the box has been carefully packed and is sitting here waiting to be mailed. Customs form attached this time.
And while I know that the cookies I baked (chocolate-chocolate chip and oatmeal walnut) will be gobbled up and appreciated, I cannot wait for her to be back home. Safe in the arms of her family.
Man, am I gonna bake her something then!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Grin and Bare It
I've gotten pretty good at letting things go. Snide comments, snappy come-backs, those irritating one-liners that leave you wondering exactly what was meant; I just let em roll off.
What's worse though, is when I say something that leaves the recipient wondering what the heck I meant by that. It's too bad I don't have an automatic hand that could slap right over my gaping pie hole before I said something snarky.
Not that I'd want one of those all the time...
I'm just sayin'
So, yesterday, while my brother-in-laws were here working on the front feeder, my sis-in-law and I were visiting - all.day.long.
Don't get me wrong, I love her! We've grown beyond the petty competitiveness of our youth and settled into a pretty nice friendship. I'm just saying that spending all day, on my day off before a VERY busy weekend, with anyone would have left me weary.
But, I digress.
We were all sitting around in the living room, talking about this and that, when her husband, Mr. Sensitive Guy, announces that he quit smoking and has started putting on a few pounds. I laughed and said that Beloved wouldn't know anything about that (my Beloved quit smoking twelve years ago and has gained a pound or two). Everyone laughed.
Then his wife said, "I told him if he doesn't knock it off I'll have to get rid of him."
I was really surprised that she said that. I mean, she's not exactly a size 4 - or 8 - or 14, if you get my meaning. She hasn't been a tiny size in years and we've had some pretty frank discussions about our weight.
But that's neither here nor there. It's what leaped out of my mouth next that made me wish for a roll of duct tape.
"Oh come one! He's lived with your fat butt for years..."
ahem
Everyone laughed, including my sis-in-law, but I cringed inside. That was a mean thing to say. I quickly tried to cover it with a comment about how diet and exercise become more important to the hubby when HE starts to gain weight. At least it did in our house (sort of...Beloved still brings home things we've agreed we shouldn't eat!).
While I've had to grin and bare some dirty comments from family members, I wish I could learn to keep my big mouth shut. So no one had to bare mine.
What's worse though, is when I say something that leaves the recipient wondering what the heck I meant by that. It's too bad I don't have an automatic hand that could slap right over my gaping pie hole before I said something snarky.
Not that I'd want one of those all the time...
I'm just sayin'
So, yesterday, while my brother-in-laws were here working on the front feeder, my sis-in-law and I were visiting - all.day.long.
Don't get me wrong, I love her! We've grown beyond the petty competitiveness of our youth and settled into a pretty nice friendship. I'm just saying that spending all day, on my day off before a VERY busy weekend, with anyone would have left me weary.
But, I digress.
We were all sitting around in the living room, talking about this and that, when her husband, Mr. Sensitive Guy, announces that he quit smoking and has started putting on a few pounds. I laughed and said that Beloved wouldn't know anything about that (my Beloved quit smoking twelve years ago and has gained a pound or two). Everyone laughed.
Then his wife said, "I told him if he doesn't knock it off I'll have to get rid of him."
I was really surprised that she said that. I mean, she's not exactly a size 4 - or 8 - or 14, if you get my meaning. She hasn't been a tiny size in years and we've had some pretty frank discussions about our weight.
But that's neither here nor there. It's what leaped out of my mouth next that made me wish for a roll of duct tape.
"Oh come one! He's lived with your fat butt for years..."
ahem
Everyone laughed, including my sis-in-law, but I cringed inside. That was a mean thing to say. I quickly tried to cover it with a comment about how diet and exercise become more important to the hubby when HE starts to gain weight. At least it did in our house (sort of...Beloved still brings home things we've agreed we shouldn't eat!).
While I've had to grin and bare some dirty comments from family members, I wish I could learn to keep my big mouth shut. So no one had to bare mine.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Catch Up
My Lia Sophia party went well! The person who I thought was here to "check me out" did so...under the watchful eye of my sis-in-law. Nice to know she had my back!
Spent all day yesterday operating the kitchen for a 50th wedding anniversary. It was time well spent, but man are my dogs killin' me now! I can only say, again, how thankful I am that I workout. I made so many trips up and down stairs, carrying huge coffee pots and trays of food that the old Annie would have had a heart attack and died right there. Of course, I also had a terrific team, who helped to make everything run very smoothly.
Last Sunday, my sis-in-law brought the Game Master and Master Smiley for a visit. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I almost cried when Game Master made a bee line for me and hugged me tight. I've missed these two so much that my heart hurts! A bonus to the visit was that our other nephew, Crazy Legs, came along too! He's a hoot and always keeps us laughing.
Me and the Game Master
Boy and Mister Smiley
Crazy Legs - he is so funny!
Cousins!
Everyone loves Legos
I would ask that you remember to pray for Game Master and Mister Smiley's mom, Soldier Mommy. I saw a photo of her on top of her army vehicle, machine gun in hand. Made.Me.Shiver.
Spent all day yesterday operating the kitchen for a 50th wedding anniversary. It was time well spent, but man are my dogs killin' me now! I can only say, again, how thankful I am that I workout. I made so many trips up and down stairs, carrying huge coffee pots and trays of food that the old Annie would have had a heart attack and died right there. Of course, I also had a terrific team, who helped to make everything run very smoothly.
Last Sunday, my sis-in-law brought the Game Master and Master Smiley for a visit. I'm not ashamed to tell you that I almost cried when Game Master made a bee line for me and hugged me tight. I've missed these two so much that my heart hurts! A bonus to the visit was that our other nephew, Crazy Legs, came along too! He's a hoot and always keeps us laughing.
I would ask that you remember to pray for Game Master and Mister Smiley's mom, Soldier Mommy. I saw a photo of her on top of her army vehicle, machine gun in hand. Made.Me.Shiver.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Fun with FIL
This morning, at the bleary eye-time of 4:30 am, I heard something. I always hear something. If there is something to be heard, I will hear it. I hate having "bat ears", as my husband has deemed them. (Yet, in that same token, I have trouble hearing if there is a lot of back ground noise...huh?)
Anyway, 4:30 and something is swish, scrape, scrubbing above my head.
FATHER-IN-LAW!
My brother-in-law (oldest brother of Beloved) is here for a visit. In the past, I have dreaded a visit from this bad boy. He's is just like his father, so you can imagine having TWO of them in the house is just a whole barrel of fun. Groan! Yet, I have to admit, that the last two visits have really been pretty nice. Not a lot of yelling and no arguing in my vicinity. Nice!
The only flaw with this years visit is that he brought his friend, athletes foot.
FIL loathes athletes foot and I can't blame him. So when he complained about having to share a shower with Bad Boy, I told him to clean his shower (duh) and spray the floor down with bleach after Bad Boy uses it.
The interesting thing is,is that Bad Boy has been here for TWO WEEKS and I know FIL has showered during that time (every Thursday and Sunday whether he needs it or not). So why in the name of Terbinafine, did the man decide to clean his shower at 4:30?
I shouldn't be surprised.
This is the same man who "putts" from the living room to the hallway several times per day, beginning at 6:00am and ending around 10:00 - sometimes 11:00pm.
Bam!
Boom!
Slice!
I'm surprised he has any carpet left up there.
FIL is the very same man who will come down if Beloved hasn't left the house on time for work. Disregarding the fact that Beloved is on vacation and doesn't need to get up at 5:15.
FIL will get teary eyed over the death of a rhododendron and yet treat his family like lepers.
And then there was the time that he left town without telling me that the hot-wire wasn't working. I spent the next two days putting a calf back in the pasture.
FIL is the man who will go play golf, go shoot archery, go have coffee with the boys, but refuses to take his trash out.
Do you understand what I'm living with here?
At 4:30 I stood in the laundry room, staring at the ceiling, listening to a scrub brush go round and round. I considered all sorts of snappy one liners...but realized that FIL really doesn't care how I feel.
And that, perhaps more than anything else, steams me.
There isn't anything I can do about it. It's just part of the fun I have with FIL on a daily basis.
Anyway, 4:30 and something is swish, scrape, scrubbing above my head.
FATHER-IN-LAW!
My brother-in-law (oldest brother of Beloved) is here for a visit. In the past, I have dreaded a visit from this bad boy. He's is just like his father, so you can imagine having TWO of them in the house is just a whole barrel of fun. Groan! Yet, I have to admit, that the last two visits have really been pretty nice. Not a lot of yelling and no arguing in my vicinity. Nice!
The only flaw with this years visit is that he brought his friend, athletes foot.
FIL loathes athletes foot and I can't blame him. So when he complained about having to share a shower with Bad Boy, I told him to clean his shower (duh) and spray the floor down with bleach after Bad Boy uses it.
The interesting thing is,is that Bad Boy has been here for TWO WEEKS and I know FIL has showered during that time (every Thursday and Sunday whether he needs it or not). So why in the name of Terbinafine, did the man decide to clean his shower at 4:30?
I shouldn't be surprised.
This is the same man who "putts" from the living room to the hallway several times per day, beginning at 6:00am and ending around 10:00 - sometimes 11:00pm.
Bam!
Boom!
Slice!
I'm surprised he has any carpet left up there.
FIL is the very same man who will come down if Beloved hasn't left the house on time for work. Disregarding the fact that Beloved is on vacation and doesn't need to get up at 5:15.
FIL will get teary eyed over the death of a rhododendron and yet treat his family like lepers.
And then there was the time that he left town without telling me that the hot-wire wasn't working. I spent the next two days putting a calf back in the pasture.
FIL is the man who will go play golf, go shoot archery, go have coffee with the boys, but refuses to take his trash out.
Do you understand what I'm living with here?
At 4:30 I stood in the laundry room, staring at the ceiling, listening to a scrub brush go round and round. I considered all sorts of snappy one liners...but realized that FIL really doesn't care how I feel.
And that, perhaps more than anything else, steams me.
There isn't anything I can do about it. It's just part of the fun I have with FIL on a daily basis.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Southern Comfort - Part III
My brother’s and I grew up at the end of a cul-de-sac in a medium sized town. Our two-story, colonial style house was surrounded by woods, a large field, and Mormons. We spent our summers playing hide-and-seek, riding bikes, and engaging in pinecone wars. Good times folks.
I recall with great clarity the time that the bad neighborhood kid relentlessly pelted GC with pinecones until he cried. Now, don’t get me wrong, it was okay for me to fight with and beat the snot out of GC, but no one else was allowed to. I punched bad neighborhood in the nose, making it bleed. I admit that I took great satisfaction in that.
My mother, however, was appalled that her daughter would resort to physical violence. Seriously? I grew up surrounded by boys! and I could hold my own against most of them. I had a mean right hook and a horrifyingly accurate pitching arm. I once clocked GC in the back of the head with a tap shoe that I threw at him as he was attempting to escape down our homes long hall way. I knocked him cold and gave him a concussion. Had she somehow forgotten who I was?
The minute my Father walked in the door, Mother let loose with a verbal flood that I’m sure was meant to make sure I caught hell from my father. After all, I was his only daughter and girls DO NOT behave in this manner.
My Father, took one look at me and laughed until his eyes watered. He slapped me on the back and cried, “Thata girl!” My Mother, who was disgusted with both of us, marched my eleven-year-old person up the street to apologize to bad neighborhood kid. It was not my greatest moment, but I remember every detail of this event and realize now that GC has always been important to me. More so than my parents, more than my two other brothers, he was my family.
********************************
“I have cancer,” he said.
Silence hung between us for a moment while I digested what he’d just said.
“What kind?” I asked. I hadn’t gotten too excited at this point, because frankly, GC is a drama queen.
“Skin cancer,” he choked.
You should know that my family, on my father’s side, is of French decent. Which would account for our dark hair and eyes, however, I am a white girl, while GC is of the darker persuasion. He spent the majority of the 80’s, 90’s and these last few years baking in the sun giving his skin that tanned, healthy look that the girls so love.
“Well, if you have to have cancer, that’s a good one to have,” I chirped.
GC told me how it was too late, how terrible it is, that he’s dying. I looked at him with narrow eyes. In my big sister voice, I told him to pull it together, get to the doctor and stop being so dramatic. I urged him to take care of business, something he isn’t good at. He has a child to care for and a family who loves him. He sat in the passenger seat and sniffled.
“It’ll be okay,” I promised. In my heart, I worry for him. I know him too well, and I know he avoids unpleasant things, hoping they’ll just go away. They never do, but it’s the way he rolls. I do not doubt that he may have skin cancer, but how bad is unclear. The past has taught me that this matter will get a lot worse before it gets better.
That night, I drove back to Brookings and had dinner with the Chaplain. We then drove the Rehab and I introduced Omi to the Chaplain. She was happy to meet him and when he asked permission to visit her, she said, “Oh! Would you?” My heart broke.
The next day my brother’s and I bid farewell to our Omi. We promised we’d return soon, and as we walked down the hall Baby looked at me and said, “She said goodbye to me like she doesn’t expect to see me again.” We were sobered by this truth.
If only we’d known how true that statement was.
Two weeks later, our Omi would go home to be with the Lord. Watching her die, I was filled with a mixture of sorrow and joy. As she passed into the arms of the Savior, I remember thinking what an empty void she would leave.
I couldn’t have known that in a matter of hours the drama, that this family seems to thrive on, would rear its ugly head and lash out at me with a new, and stronger vengeance.
I should have known.
I recall with great clarity the time that the bad neighborhood kid relentlessly pelted GC with pinecones until he cried. Now, don’t get me wrong, it was okay for me to fight with and beat the snot out of GC, but no one else was allowed to. I punched bad neighborhood in the nose, making it bleed. I admit that I took great satisfaction in that.
My mother, however, was appalled that her daughter would resort to physical violence. Seriously? I grew up surrounded by boys! and I could hold my own against most of them. I had a mean right hook and a horrifyingly accurate pitching arm. I once clocked GC in the back of the head with a tap shoe that I threw at him as he was attempting to escape down our homes long hall way. I knocked him cold and gave him a concussion. Had she somehow forgotten who I was?
The minute my Father walked in the door, Mother let loose with a verbal flood that I’m sure was meant to make sure I caught hell from my father. After all, I was his only daughter and girls DO NOT behave in this manner.
My Father, took one look at me and laughed until his eyes watered. He slapped me on the back and cried, “Thata girl!” My Mother, who was disgusted with both of us, marched my eleven-year-old person up the street to apologize to bad neighborhood kid. It was not my greatest moment, but I remember every detail of this event and realize now that GC has always been important to me. More so than my parents, more than my two other brothers, he was my family.
********************************
“I have cancer,” he said.
Silence hung between us for a moment while I digested what he’d just said.
“What kind?” I asked. I hadn’t gotten too excited at this point, because frankly, GC is a drama queen.
“Skin cancer,” he choked.
You should know that my family, on my father’s side, is of French decent. Which would account for our dark hair and eyes, however, I am a white girl, while GC is of the darker persuasion. He spent the majority of the 80’s, 90’s and these last few years baking in the sun giving his skin that tanned, healthy look that the girls so love.
“Well, if you have to have cancer, that’s a good one to have,” I chirped.
GC told me how it was too late, how terrible it is, that he’s dying. I looked at him with narrow eyes. In my big sister voice, I told him to pull it together, get to the doctor and stop being so dramatic. I urged him to take care of business, something he isn’t good at. He has a child to care for and a family who loves him. He sat in the passenger seat and sniffled.
“It’ll be okay,” I promised. In my heart, I worry for him. I know him too well, and I know he avoids unpleasant things, hoping they’ll just go away. They never do, but it’s the way he rolls. I do not doubt that he may have skin cancer, but how bad is unclear. The past has taught me that this matter will get a lot worse before it gets better.
That night, I drove back to Brookings and had dinner with the Chaplain. We then drove the Rehab and I introduced Omi to the Chaplain. She was happy to meet him and when he asked permission to visit her, she said, “Oh! Would you?” My heart broke.
The next day my brother’s and I bid farewell to our Omi. We promised we’d return soon, and as we walked down the hall Baby looked at me and said, “She said goodbye to me like she doesn’t expect to see me again.” We were sobered by this truth.
If only we’d known how true that statement was.
Two weeks later, our Omi would go home to be with the Lord. Watching her die, I was filled with a mixture of sorrow and joy. As she passed into the arms of the Savior, I remember thinking what an empty void she would leave.
I couldn’t have known that in a matter of hours the drama, that this family seems to thrive on, would rear its ugly head and lash out at me with a new, and stronger vengeance.
I should have known.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Southern Comfort - Part II
Drip
Drip
Drip
A light rain was falling Saturday morning when I crawled out of my tent. The forecast had called for rain so we were not surprised. I spied Baby across the grass and nodded to him. None of us are morning people, so the fewer the words, the better.
After showering in a really clean facility (I highly recommend Indian Creek Campground in Gold Beach, OR), we went to breakfast. GC wanted to abandon our camp and stay in a hotel for the duration of our stay. Since I had paid for the campsite, I figured we should stick it out. I munched my eggs Benedict, trying to block the very loud waitress who apparently knows everyone in town.
GC pointed to the window and said, "Still want to camp?"
It was raining sideways.
Nope, I no longer have the desire to rough it!
The restaurant was crowded and loud, something none of us like, but the food was good. GC informed us that he was going to convince our mother to talk to our Omi.
Side history: ya'll know my Mother doesn't speak to me. She also doesn't speak to my Omi. It's just crazy that way. Can you say, "Dysfunctional?".
I snicker and tell GC, "Good luck with that," and continue eating my breakfast, watching the rain form a river down the middle of the street. Baby goes outside to smoke, having inhaled his bacon, eggs, and coffee.
At the campsite we find our tents have water in them, even though we tarpped them well. We pack up in the downpour and I am tempted to snap a few pictures, but can tell by the look on my brothers faces that they don't find this the least bit amusing.
Stopping at the crappiest, cheapest motel in town, GC goes in and doesn't return. What is this? The Bates Motel? I run inside, water still cascading down my face and find him preparing to pay for the room. He is broke, I know he is, or at least he shouldn't be spending money he doesn't have on a room. I flip out my card as the man with a shiny dome and a few missing teeth asks, "How many?"
"Three," I reply and GC rolls his eyes at me.
Outside I learn that he was getting a room for ONE, not three. He was trying to con the toothless motel troll. Unbelievable.
We spend the better part of the morning with Omi. When we arrive she is sitting in her wheelchair, dressed (including hose), and smiling. She looks so much better than the night before. She takes us on a tour of the rehab center and introduces us around.
She excitedly introduces us to "Angela" who in reality use to be "Angelo". There is no mistaking him/her, and I can't help but chuckle at the look on Baby's face when he notices that Omi's favorite nurse is a he/she. Funny stuff. The three of us discussed it later and decided that Omi has no idea that Angela use to be someone completely different.
As we prepare to leave, she was so tired having been up since six am, she tries to give us money. Baby ducks out the door the minute he realizes what's going on. GC tries to sooth her and tell her to put her wallet away. I look at her, put my hands over hers and tell her that her money isn't any good here.
She's mad.
She glares at us and I see that feisty German I've known all my life. It makes my heart sing.
Then she begins to dig through her drawer and she pulls out a string of shiny beads. As she hands them to me I ask her if she's been down to Mardi Gras. She very honestly tells me she won them at Bingo. I chastise her for her wicked gambling ways and she smiles at me.
I wore those beads all weekend long.
Later, at the seediest bar I've ever been in, we discuss the dinner invitation that a friend of my family has extended to us. I had phoned this gentleman after learning of Omi's cancer diagnosis. He works in hospice and having known him for years, I knew he'd keep a close eye on our sweetheart.
GC was not convinced. Baby didn't want to go; he doesn't like meeting new people.
No problem.
But GC is in a mood. He drills me about this man, demanding details, as he downs his second Bloody Mary. GC eyes me and says, "I'm uncomfortable with this".
It's then that we finally get to the heart of the matter and I learn what's really bothering him.
He thinks that the Chaplain and I are going to gang bang him and force him to confess Christ over dinner.
I had promised myself that no matter what happened during the weekend that I wouldn't lose my temper. I wouldn't be judgemental. I wouldn't take any ones head off.
Breathing...
I leaned forward and looked deep into GC's eyes, that are exact color of mine, and said, "You really think that? First of all, GC, I don't hire other people to do my dirty work. If anyone is going to beat you up with the Bible, it will be me! And second, I hate to tell you this, but this isn't about YOU! This is about having eyes and ears down here because people are not telling us stuff. Remember? No one told us she had cancer, no one called us to tell us she wasn't eating, and no one told us that she refused the biopsy! I need to know what's going on and if my friend is willing to keep on eye on her, than that's what's going to happen!"
Baby sips his drink and stares at the television.
Silence...
GC informs me that I do beat him up with the Bible.
Massive eye roll.
I laughed and said that isn't true. I haven't said word one to either of them for years because it isn't their thing.
Baby nods and keeps watching the television.
More silence...
GC smiles and tells me I just don't understand what has been going on in his life. He's dramatic and sighs. I look at my brothers and wonder how they get out of bed each day. I realize that the booze is their security blanket and I wonder how three people, who are so completely different, could have come from the same family.
Weird. Then I realize they probably think the same thing about me.
Back at the hotel, having downed a fair amount of liquor, GC is in a mood. He rants and raves about the crummy hotel. He makes us change rooms because the one we are in is such a dump. GC discovers after we change rooms that the second one isn't much better. Baby smokes. I look at GC and shake my head.
"Dude! It's a crappy hotel in a crappy town. What did you expect? I don't know why you are so angry. Just let it go."
His face is red and I'm waiting for the verbal barrage that is heading my way. He says quietly, "We need to talk".
I wasn't blessed with sisters. I grew up surrounded by brothers, one older and two younger. GC is the closest I've ever gotten to a sister with more drama than a daytime soap opera.
GC doesn't want Baby to hear our conversation, so we climb into the van. I turn and look at him. He stares out the window.
Finally he says, "I have cancer".
Drip
Drip
A light rain was falling Saturday morning when I crawled out of my tent. The forecast had called for rain so we were not surprised. I spied Baby across the grass and nodded to him. None of us are morning people, so the fewer the words, the better.
After showering in a really clean facility (I highly recommend Indian Creek Campground in Gold Beach, OR), we went to breakfast. GC wanted to abandon our camp and stay in a hotel for the duration of our stay. Since I had paid for the campsite, I figured we should stick it out. I munched my eggs Benedict, trying to block the very loud waitress who apparently knows everyone in town.
GC pointed to the window and said, "Still want to camp?"
It was raining sideways.
Nope, I no longer have the desire to rough it!
The restaurant was crowded and loud, something none of us like, but the food was good. GC informed us that he was going to convince our mother to talk to our Omi.
Side history: ya'll know my Mother doesn't speak to me. She also doesn't speak to my Omi. It's just crazy that way. Can you say, "Dysfunctional?".
I snicker and tell GC, "Good luck with that," and continue eating my breakfast, watching the rain form a river down the middle of the street. Baby goes outside to smoke, having inhaled his bacon, eggs, and coffee.
At the campsite we find our tents have water in them, even though we tarpped them well. We pack up in the downpour and I am tempted to snap a few pictures, but can tell by the look on my brothers faces that they don't find this the least bit amusing.
Stopping at the crappiest, cheapest motel in town, GC goes in and doesn't return. What is this? The Bates Motel? I run inside, water still cascading down my face and find him preparing to pay for the room. He is broke, I know he is, or at least he shouldn't be spending money he doesn't have on a room. I flip out my card as the man with a shiny dome and a few missing teeth asks, "How many?"
"Three," I reply and GC rolls his eyes at me.
Outside I learn that he was getting a room for ONE, not three. He was trying to con the toothless motel troll. Unbelievable.
We spend the better part of the morning with Omi. When we arrive she is sitting in her wheelchair, dressed (including hose), and smiling. She looks so much better than the night before. She takes us on a tour of the rehab center and introduces us around.
She excitedly introduces us to "Angela" who in reality use to be "Angelo". There is no mistaking him/her, and I can't help but chuckle at the look on Baby's face when he notices that Omi's favorite nurse is a he/she. Funny stuff. The three of us discussed it later and decided that Omi has no idea that Angela use to be someone completely different.
As we prepare to leave, she was so tired having been up since six am, she tries to give us money. Baby ducks out the door the minute he realizes what's going on. GC tries to sooth her and tell her to put her wallet away. I look at her, put my hands over hers and tell her that her money isn't any good here.
She's mad.
She glares at us and I see that feisty German I've known all my life. It makes my heart sing.
Then she begins to dig through her drawer and she pulls out a string of shiny beads. As she hands them to me I ask her if she's been down to Mardi Gras. She very honestly tells me she won them at Bingo. I chastise her for her wicked gambling ways and she smiles at me.
I wore those beads all weekend long.
Later, at the seediest bar I've ever been in, we discuss the dinner invitation that a friend of my family has extended to us. I had phoned this gentleman after learning of Omi's cancer diagnosis. He works in hospice and having known him for years, I knew he'd keep a close eye on our sweetheart.
GC was not convinced. Baby didn't want to go; he doesn't like meeting new people.
No problem.
But GC is in a mood. He drills me about this man, demanding details, as he downs his second Bloody Mary. GC eyes me and says, "I'm uncomfortable with this".
It's then that we finally get to the heart of the matter and I learn what's really bothering him.
He thinks that the Chaplain and I are going to gang bang him and force him to confess Christ over dinner.
I had promised myself that no matter what happened during the weekend that I wouldn't lose my temper. I wouldn't be judgemental. I wouldn't take any ones head off.
Breathing...
I leaned forward and looked deep into GC's eyes, that are exact color of mine, and said, "You really think that? First of all, GC, I don't hire other people to do my dirty work. If anyone is going to beat you up with the Bible, it will be me! And second, I hate to tell you this, but this isn't about YOU! This is about having eyes and ears down here because people are not telling us stuff. Remember? No one told us she had cancer, no one called us to tell us she wasn't eating, and no one told us that she refused the biopsy! I need to know what's going on and if my friend is willing to keep on eye on her, than that's what's going to happen!"
Baby sips his drink and stares at the television.
Silence...
GC informs me that I do beat him up with the Bible.
Massive eye roll.
I laughed and said that isn't true. I haven't said word one to either of them for years because it isn't their thing.
Baby nods and keeps watching the television.
More silence...
GC smiles and tells me I just don't understand what has been going on in his life. He's dramatic and sighs. I look at my brothers and wonder how they get out of bed each day. I realize that the booze is their security blanket and I wonder how three people, who are so completely different, could have come from the same family.
Weird. Then I realize they probably think the same thing about me.
Back at the hotel, having downed a fair amount of liquor, GC is in a mood. He rants and raves about the crummy hotel. He makes us change rooms because the one we are in is such a dump. GC discovers after we change rooms that the second one isn't much better. Baby smokes. I look at GC and shake my head.
"Dude! It's a crappy hotel in a crappy town. What did you expect? I don't know why you are so angry. Just let it go."
His face is red and I'm waiting for the verbal barrage that is heading my way. He says quietly, "We need to talk".
I wasn't blessed with sisters. I grew up surrounded by brothers, one older and two younger. GC is the closest I've ever gotten to a sister with more drama than a daytime soap opera.
GC doesn't want Baby to hear our conversation, so we climb into the van. I turn and look at him. He stares out the window.
Finally he says, "I have cancer".
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Southern Comfort - Part One
I traveled with my two younger brothers, Golden Child and Baby, to see our Omi. The last time the three of us were in the same car, I don't think I had a drivers license. We three are different people. We do different things. We live different lives.
Golden Child is the peacemaker. He wants everyone to get along. He wants everything to be fun and peaceful...as long as everyone does it his way. He is also full of crap. I watched him this weekend chat up everyone from waitresses to rehab aides, then turn and snicker about them behind their backs. What a guy.
Baby is the big, silent type. He says little, preferring to watch the world from a distance and not get involved. New people and new situations make him uncomfortable. He's not afraid to tell you that. Trust me.
We took my car because it's the newest and most reliable. Plus, I knew I'd never be stuck for a ride or scared to death because someone was driving under the influence. I'm just funny that way. The drive down was uneventful (except for my speeding ticket!). We stopped as often as needed so Baby could smoke and we could all stretch our legs.
I left my self-righteous, judgemental, big sister act, at home. I was determined that there would be no friction between us. I was going to simply roll with the punches.
After checking in at the camp ground, yes camp ground, and setting up our tent we drove to the rehab center where our Omi has been staying for several months. She was moved from the assisted living facility that she has come to love and she is NOT happy about it. Can you blame her?
I walked in and posed at the foot of her bed. GC followed and finally Baby stuck his head around the door frame.
She started to cry.
Then GC started to cry.
Then I was crying.
Baby's eyes watered and turned red and he sniffled.
Omi looked terrible. A nurse brought in half of a ham sandwich and asked her to try to take a few bites. It was then that we learned she hadn't been eating. Oi. GC fed her every bit of that sandwich, forcing sips of water between. He's pushy that way.
We stayed for a little over an hour, presenting her with roses and a picture frame with photo's of our families inserted. She cried some more. We promised we'd be back in the morning and hoped that she would sleep well.
Heading back to the camp ground, my brothers commented on how she looked, how the place smelled, how horrible it was. They were shocked. They had no idea what to expect, but I did. I've been in those places before and seen the desolate elderly, propped up in wheelchairs, staring into to nowhere. Those places always have a certain smell, there isn't much you can do about it.
I pointed out that it was clean and well staffed.
They didn't' believe me, so I let it go.
The fire was built, the beer cans opened and I poured salsa into a bowl. They didn't offer me a beer, which was fine because I'm not much of a drinker. We sat around the campfire, munching our hot dogs and talking about the past.
Two pints of Southern Comfort appeared - it was going to be a long night.
But two things happened that I hadn't expected. Baby's tongue loosened up and he talked. Really and truly talked. He talked about his marriage of thirteen years, he talked about his daughter, he described his job. Pride rang in his voice and I listened. I asked questions. I laughed in all the right places. It was the first time in years that the two of us have had a real conversation. Thank you Southern Comfort.
The other thing that happened was Golden Child stopped being so negative. He laughed a little easier and didn't take a single shot at Baby or me.
As I crawled into my sleeping bag I thought about these two men who are my little brothers. They are haunted by demons who give them little rest, but they are both nice men. We share very few things in common, except for a stubborn streak a mile wide and genetics. Yet, here we were, sleeping on the hard ground, waiting for the morning so we could visit with our beloved Omi.
They find comfort in alcohol, I found mine a long time ago in Jesus.
As the silence settled around us, Baby called out from his tent, "G'night Johnboy, G'night Mary Ellen."
I smiled and closed my eyes. Nothing had truly changed.
Up next: Rain showers, a seedy bar, and a revelation.
Golden Child is the peacemaker. He wants everyone to get along. He wants everything to be fun and peaceful...as long as everyone does it his way. He is also full of crap. I watched him this weekend chat up everyone from waitresses to rehab aides, then turn and snicker about them behind their backs. What a guy.
Baby is the big, silent type. He says little, preferring to watch the world from a distance and not get involved. New people and new situations make him uncomfortable. He's not afraid to tell you that. Trust me.
We took my car because it's the newest and most reliable. Plus, I knew I'd never be stuck for a ride or scared to death because someone was driving under the influence. I'm just funny that way. The drive down was uneventful (except for my speeding ticket!). We stopped as often as needed so Baby could smoke and we could all stretch our legs.
I left my self-righteous, judgemental, big sister act, at home. I was determined that there would be no friction between us. I was going to simply roll with the punches.
After checking in at the camp ground, yes camp ground, and setting up our tent we drove to the rehab center where our Omi has been staying for several months. She was moved from the assisted living facility that she has come to love and she is NOT happy about it. Can you blame her?
I walked in and posed at the foot of her bed. GC followed and finally Baby stuck his head around the door frame.
She started to cry.
Then GC started to cry.
Then I was crying.
Baby's eyes watered and turned red and he sniffled.
Omi looked terrible. A nurse brought in half of a ham sandwich and asked her to try to take a few bites. It was then that we learned she hadn't been eating. Oi. GC fed her every bit of that sandwich, forcing sips of water between. He's pushy that way.
We stayed for a little over an hour, presenting her with roses and a picture frame with photo's of our families inserted. She cried some more. We promised we'd be back in the morning and hoped that she would sleep well.
Heading back to the camp ground, my brothers commented on how she looked, how the place smelled, how horrible it was. They were shocked. They had no idea what to expect, but I did. I've been in those places before and seen the desolate elderly, propped up in wheelchairs, staring into to nowhere. Those places always have a certain smell, there isn't much you can do about it.
I pointed out that it was clean and well staffed.
They didn't' believe me, so I let it go.
The fire was built, the beer cans opened and I poured salsa into a bowl. They didn't offer me a beer, which was fine because I'm not much of a drinker. We sat around the campfire, munching our hot dogs and talking about the past.
Two pints of Southern Comfort appeared - it was going to be a long night.
But two things happened that I hadn't expected. Baby's tongue loosened up and he talked. Really and truly talked. He talked about his marriage of thirteen years, he talked about his daughter, he described his job. Pride rang in his voice and I listened. I asked questions. I laughed in all the right places. It was the first time in years that the two of us have had a real conversation. Thank you Southern Comfort.
The other thing that happened was Golden Child stopped being so negative. He laughed a little easier and didn't take a single shot at Baby or me.
As I crawled into my sleeping bag I thought about these two men who are my little brothers. They are haunted by demons who give them little rest, but they are both nice men. We share very few things in common, except for a stubborn streak a mile wide and genetics. Yet, here we were, sleeping on the hard ground, waiting for the morning so we could visit with our beloved Omi.
They find comfort in alcohol, I found mine a long time ago in Jesus.
As the silence settled around us, Baby called out from his tent, "G'night Johnboy, G'night Mary Ellen."
I smiled and closed my eyes. Nothing had truly changed.
Up next: Rain showers, a seedy bar, and a revelation.
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