I know a young lady, 24, who has two kids. I met her at college, she seems like a nice kid, (Kid, where did the time go?), drug and alcohol free, she was living with her mother and stepfather, trying to hold a job down and go to school. I helped her find an apartment last week, low income housing, as she was having trouble getting along in a small house with two kids where she really wasn't wanted.
I go to lunch with her between classes, we study together over french fries and coffee. Yesterday I received a frantic call from her. "What are you doing", she asked. "I'm sitting here doing some homework and being lazy", I tell her. Something about her voice set of alarms in my head, so I said, "You Ok?" She said she had an argument with her mother, her step dad just pushed her and all her stuff was now sitting in the front yard, could I come and help her pick up her stuff, could I let her and her two kids stay with me until she could get in her apartment?
She can move into the apartment on December 1st, a few days away. Ok, I agreed to come over and stuff my car with her stuff and let her stay here. We loaded her car to the roof, loaded my car to the roof, drove it all here and put it in the shed, then headed back for another load, this time we found a friend with a pick up truck. We loaded his truck to the gills, stuff on the front seat, boxes unpacked and shoved into any available corner of his truck, and did likewise with my car. It's the next day and we have two cars in the driveway stuffed to the roof, still to be moved into the shed. Her kids were on the way back from Iowa, on a visit with their Father and his family. They arrived at 4am this morning. We had to drive to the Walmart parking lot to meet them as they would have NEVER found this place in the daylight, never mind the dark of night.
Two very tired, confused and worried children piled out of their carseats and into my car, questions tumbling out of their little 4 and 6 year old mouths. They are very well behaved, I put them on the couch and they went right to sleep.
What about living on the street in third grade? That is the young mother's story, she missed third grade because she was following her mother around from drug house to drug house, wearing her mothers cloths, until her father found her and took her to his house. She stayed away from the mother until she grew up, just last year came to live with her, well, that didn't work out, so for the next few days I have a surrogate daughter and two surrogate grandkids. Should be fun!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Quitting is not an option
I'm taking an algebra class at the local college. It's been a really, REALLY hard hill to climb, but I'm getting it. I discovered today that I'm confused in class NOT because I'm dumb but because the instructer goes, 1) too fast and 2) jumps all over the map before anyone can figure out what she's doing. Today I was (for the first time in my LIFE) ahead of the teacher. I jumped ahead in the book and pre-learned stuff she hadn't covered yet. I got it, my homework was a breeze, I GET it.
In class today, she covered the above-mentioned lesson. Even though I knew the material, she had me lost in no time. I sat back to observe, why was I lost? What happened to my hard-earned knowledge? She was writing and demonstrating problem 'A'. A student asked a question about problem "A' and she scrapped problem 'A' and started a whole new one. Same concept, different numbers. I looked around, the students were frantically writing out the new problem, and by the time they got it written down, she was DONE doing it and moving on. Another student asked her to slow down, could she explain the new problem step by step.
Are you ready? She scrapped THAT one and wrote out a THIRD one to demonstrate. Again, the students frantically wrote the equation down and by the time they got it on paper and looked back up to the TV to watch her do the problem, she was done again.
The student next to me tossed her pen down and sat back, looking at me in exasperation. She slipped a note over to me; 'I'm so lost!' the note said. I slipped an answer back to her.
'Get a problem out of your book that provides an answer, then play with the thing until you figure out how the book arrived at that answer, you'll learn alot' was my note. The poor kid closed her book and walked out.
It has taken me three months to get over my fear of the evil numbers that chased me in my dreams, and realize I CAN DO THIS. Will I ace the next test? Probably not, but I won't fail it either. I was going to quit the class, take the zero and figure the book out on my own. I took a week and a half off, just skipped class, but I didn't quit.
To my great sister, I thank her for the tall, refreshing glass of confidence she gives me when I need it!!
In class today, she covered the above-mentioned lesson. Even though I knew the material, she had me lost in no time. I sat back to observe, why was I lost? What happened to my hard-earned knowledge? She was writing and demonstrating problem 'A'. A student asked a question about problem "A' and she scrapped problem 'A' and started a whole new one. Same concept, different numbers. I looked around, the students were frantically writing out the new problem, and by the time they got it written down, she was DONE doing it and moving on. Another student asked her to slow down, could she explain the new problem step by step.
Are you ready? She scrapped THAT one and wrote out a THIRD one to demonstrate. Again, the students frantically wrote the equation down and by the time they got it on paper and looked back up to the TV to watch her do the problem, she was done again.
The student next to me tossed her pen down and sat back, looking at me in exasperation. She slipped a note over to me; 'I'm so lost!' the note said. I slipped an answer back to her.
'Get a problem out of your book that provides an answer, then play with the thing until you figure out how the book arrived at that answer, you'll learn alot' was my note. The poor kid closed her book and walked out.
It has taken me three months to get over my fear of the evil numbers that chased me in my dreams, and realize I CAN DO THIS. Will I ace the next test? Probably not, but I won't fail it either. I was going to quit the class, take the zero and figure the book out on my own. I took a week and a half off, just skipped class, but I didn't quit.
To my great sister, I thank her for the tall, refreshing glass of confidence she gives me when I need it!!
Saturday, November 21, 2009
A Visit to Hellen Kellers House
Today was an interesting day. I started the morning off with my usual cup of coffee and strong sense of boredom. I've been sort of 'shut down' for just about six weeks due to having a cast on my right arm. that changes on Monday, my arm will be free.
But back to today: Where was I? Oh, yes, Bored-Outta-My-Ever-Lovin'-Mind. I decided that I was going to go find a mall. Having come from a HUGE city (compared to my current tiny town), I was jones-ing big time for a mall, an Olive Garden, Panera Bread, anything OTHER than Sonic or McDonalds. Where to go, where to find a mall? Hmm, Nashville would work. NAH, been there, done that. I know, I'll go south, into Alabama. The city of Florence is not too far across the line, Yeah, I'll go there.
Being a big-bad tough truck driver for ever, I figured didn't need a map, so off I go. I accidentally got on the Florence bypass, (hey, at least Florence is big enough for a by-pass!) and found myself in a small town named Tuscumbia. NO, I wasn't lost, just temporarily misplaced. Or just riding around, or, well, ok, I wasn't sure which way Florence was at this point. I decided to take a right at the next light and it was there that my day's destiny was changed. The sign on the sidewalk read, 'Helen Keller birth place' and the arrow indicated 'this-o-way'.
Cool, I thought, as I obeyed the arrow instructions and turned that-o-way. I wandered through the old town of Tuscumbia (where ever that was in relation to Florence) following 'this-o-way' signs until I happened upon a bigger 'Here you are!" sign. The house sat back from the road, surrounded by huge, 200 year old trees and a perfectly manicured yard. I noticed that one of the shutters on a window was sagging slightly. Entering the house I found my self in a breezeway, typical of old homes, where two older women greeted me and took my 6 bucks for a tour.
They explained the life of Helen Keller, her teacher Annie Sullivan, and said that most of the furnishings and clothing I would see on the tour were original. The first room to the right as I walked through the breezeway was the parents room and some vintage cloths. To the left was the parlor. There was a fire place in there, a Victorian style sofa, Mr. Kellers desk and an old pump organ.
The organ was small, with beautiful guilded scrolling on it. The two foot pedals were covered with a cloth that was much like burlap and very ornate. The keys were smaller than today's piano or organ keys, and the key board itself was very short. I believe it was 61 keys. There were 4 'stop' knobs, two on each side of the keyboard, on the back board. In front of it was a small, round stool, on claw legs that were carved very nicely. The seat was covered with a buttoned velvet, tan in color. So what do I do? I open my big mouth and say:
"That looks like it would be fun to play!" Well, these tow old ladies lit up like lightning bugs mating in the spring, and clasping their hands under their chins, squeal in unison,
"Can you play it?" "Well," I started to stammer, " I guess I could figure out a song on it."
End of conversation, right? NOT! I continued my tour, walked around the grounds and headed for my car. From behind me I hear, "Oh, you come back, you promised to play the organ for us!"
Oh, boy, what did I get myself into, I wonder? I DID play one once, about a million years ago, so here goes nothing. They nearly dragged me into the house again, got the tiny padlock key out and unlocked the gate into the parlor. Next thing you know, I'm sitting on a 100 year old stool in front of a hundred year old organ.
Tentatively, I press one of the pedals, yup, it worked, I could feel pressure building as i pumped air into the antique. I played a few notes, it sounded wonderful. The sound was bold and rich.
"Aren't you supposed to pump both pedals," another tourist asked me. "Yes", I say and get both my feet moving. I played Amazing Grace on it. It took a lot of balance and strength to stay on the stool while I pedaled (like riding a bike) and played. With each push of my feet, my body wanted to lean back. I heard murmurs of appreciation behind me and requests to play more. I declined, the old instrument probably hadn't been played in years and I didn't want to be the one to break it.
I took advantage of being allowed into the off limits area and looked closely at some of the things in the room. Helen's braille book, a family photo album, the fine china set on the dining room table and the silver tea set from England. I was really honored, to get such a treat for a lousy 6 bucks and a 70 mile drive!
But back to today: Where was I? Oh, yes, Bored-Outta-My-Ever-Lovin'-Mind. I decided that I was going to go find a mall. Having come from a HUGE city (compared to my current tiny town), I was jones-ing big time for a mall, an Olive Garden, Panera Bread, anything OTHER than Sonic or McDonalds. Where to go, where to find a mall? Hmm, Nashville would work. NAH, been there, done that. I know, I'll go south, into Alabama. The city of Florence is not too far across the line, Yeah, I'll go there.
Being a big-bad tough truck driver for ever, I figured didn't need a map, so off I go. I accidentally got on the Florence bypass, (hey, at least Florence is big enough for a by-pass!) and found myself in a small town named Tuscumbia. NO, I wasn't lost, just temporarily misplaced. Or just riding around, or, well, ok, I wasn't sure which way Florence was at this point. I decided to take a right at the next light and it was there that my day's destiny was changed. The sign on the sidewalk read, 'Helen Keller birth place' and the arrow indicated 'this-o-way'.
Cool, I thought, as I obeyed the arrow instructions and turned that-o-way. I wandered through the old town of Tuscumbia (where ever that was in relation to Florence) following 'this-o-way' signs until I happened upon a bigger 'Here you are!" sign. The house sat back from the road, surrounded by huge, 200 year old trees and a perfectly manicured yard. I noticed that one of the shutters on a window was sagging slightly. Entering the house I found my self in a breezeway, typical of old homes, where two older women greeted me and took my 6 bucks for a tour.
They explained the life of Helen Keller, her teacher Annie Sullivan, and said that most of the furnishings and clothing I would see on the tour were original. The first room to the right as I walked through the breezeway was the parents room and some vintage cloths. To the left was the parlor. There was a fire place in there, a Victorian style sofa, Mr. Kellers desk and an old pump organ.
The organ was small, with beautiful guilded scrolling on it. The two foot pedals were covered with a cloth that was much like burlap and very ornate. The keys were smaller than today's piano or organ keys, and the key board itself was very short. I believe it was 61 keys. There were 4 'stop' knobs, two on each side of the keyboard, on the back board. In front of it was a small, round stool, on claw legs that were carved very nicely. The seat was covered with a buttoned velvet, tan in color. So what do I do? I open my big mouth and say:
"That looks like it would be fun to play!" Well, these tow old ladies lit up like lightning bugs mating in the spring, and clasping their hands under their chins, squeal in unison,
"Can you play it?" "Well," I started to stammer, " I guess I could figure out a song on it."
End of conversation, right? NOT! I continued my tour, walked around the grounds and headed for my car. From behind me I hear, "Oh, you come back, you promised to play the organ for us!"
Oh, boy, what did I get myself into, I wonder? I DID play one once, about a million years ago, so here goes nothing. They nearly dragged me into the house again, got the tiny padlock key out and unlocked the gate into the parlor. Next thing you know, I'm sitting on a 100 year old stool in front of a hundred year old organ.
Tentatively, I press one of the pedals, yup, it worked, I could feel pressure building as i pumped air into the antique. I played a few notes, it sounded wonderful. The sound was bold and rich.
"Aren't you supposed to pump both pedals," another tourist asked me. "Yes", I say and get both my feet moving. I played Amazing Grace on it. It took a lot of balance and strength to stay on the stool while I pedaled (like riding a bike) and played. With each push of my feet, my body wanted to lean back. I heard murmurs of appreciation behind me and requests to play more. I declined, the old instrument probably hadn't been played in years and I didn't want to be the one to break it.
I took advantage of being allowed into the off limits area and looked closely at some of the things in the room. Helen's braille book, a family photo album, the fine china set on the dining room table and the silver tea set from England. I was really honored, to get such a treat for a lousy 6 bucks and a 70 mile drive!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Frankenstien is young and handsome
Really, he is! I went to his office today, and, ooohh, boy, was he a looker! Young, buff, with dark wavey hair, dark eyes, and his smile, oh, a smile that would melt the wicked witch of the west.
And I got the honor of his full attention for a whole half hour. Oh, I felt SO lucky, to be in the presense of such a famous and handsome man! He chatted with me, small talk, showed such concern for my needs, I was truely smitten..
He smiled at me, I smiled back, then he said, "this won't hurt much." My heart skipped a beat, was he going to hug me or torture me? I started to worry. "What won't hurt", I asked, starting to wonder if this whole thing was a dream (nightmare?). He turned his back for a moment to pick something up, and to my horror, it was a, a, a PROBE thingy, with wires attatched, his warm smile started to look a little sinister..
"Wha, what are you going to do with that thing?" I asked. He answered with a professor-like disertation on how he was going to send shocks through my arm and hand, reiterated that it wouldn't hurt much, but I might feel a bit of discomfort. A BIT? Can I go now? Mr. Handsome-dark-haired-smiling-famous-guy put some sticky papers on my arm, hooked up some wires to it, and, smiling warmly at me, stuck the probes on my arm.
OUCH! Mr. Monster (as I thought of him by now) smiled warmly and had the nerve to say, "Good." He shocked me several more times, each time smiling and saying how good it was.
I'm thinking at this point, 'touch me with that thing again and we're gonna go at it and you ain't gonna like it, mister'!! He must have read my mind, because he declared once more that it was good, (what, are you god now, you did it and saw it was good??), and put the prong thingy down, pulled my sticker-thingy's off and put the wires away. Whew. Can I go now?
Oh, no, Dr. Frankenstien wasn't done with me yet. He pulled out a NEEDLE, it looked like a darning needle that might have come out of my knitting basket. "What are you going to do with THAT?" I asked, fear welling up like a tidal wave. I SWEAR I heard him chuckle, sinister creep that he was. "I'm going to poke you and listen to the sound waves". Yeah, sound waves that will surely come from my screams of agony! He poked me once on the palm of my hand, and seeming to enjoy my discomfort, proceeded to poke me 3 more times, drawing blood once. Now I was sure I hated him, he was ugly, mean and evil!
He got done poking and shocking me, gave me a kleenex to wipe up the blood and declared that there was no visable nerve damage to my hand. Oh, maybe there wasn't when I came in here but now my whole arm is jumping like a scared armidillo!
The purpose of this torture, um, I mean test, was to find out why I am having pain and weakness in my right hand. Darn right I have pain, after being shocked and poked with a 6 inch needle! At least he didn't put bolts in my neck.
And I got the honor of his full attention for a whole half hour. Oh, I felt SO lucky, to be in the presense of such a famous and handsome man! He chatted with me, small talk, showed such concern for my needs, I was truely smitten..
He smiled at me, I smiled back, then he said, "this won't hurt much." My heart skipped a beat, was he going to hug me or torture me? I started to worry. "What won't hurt", I asked, starting to wonder if this whole thing was a dream (nightmare?). He turned his back for a moment to pick something up, and to my horror, it was a, a, a PROBE thingy, with wires attatched, his warm smile started to look a little sinister..
"Wha, what are you going to do with that thing?" I asked. He answered with a professor-like disertation on how he was going to send shocks through my arm and hand, reiterated that it wouldn't hurt much, but I might feel a bit of discomfort. A BIT? Can I go now? Mr. Handsome-dark-haired-smiling-famous-guy put some sticky papers on my arm, hooked up some wires to it, and, smiling warmly at me, stuck the probes on my arm.
OUCH! Mr. Monster (as I thought of him by now) smiled warmly and had the nerve to say, "Good." He shocked me several more times, each time smiling and saying how good it was.
I'm thinking at this point, 'touch me with that thing again and we're gonna go at it and you ain't gonna like it, mister'!! He must have read my mind, because he declared once more that it was good, (what, are you god now, you did it and saw it was good??), and put the prong thingy down, pulled my sticker-thingy's off and put the wires away. Whew. Can I go now?
Oh, no, Dr. Frankenstien wasn't done with me yet. He pulled out a NEEDLE, it looked like a darning needle that might have come out of my knitting basket. "What are you going to do with THAT?" I asked, fear welling up like a tidal wave. I SWEAR I heard him chuckle, sinister creep that he was. "I'm going to poke you and listen to the sound waves". Yeah, sound waves that will surely come from my screams of agony! He poked me once on the palm of my hand, and seeming to enjoy my discomfort, proceeded to poke me 3 more times, drawing blood once. Now I was sure I hated him, he was ugly, mean and evil!
He got done poking and shocking me, gave me a kleenex to wipe up the blood and declared that there was no visable nerve damage to my hand. Oh, maybe there wasn't when I came in here but now my whole arm is jumping like a scared armidillo!
The purpose of this torture, um, I mean test, was to find out why I am having pain and weakness in my right hand. Darn right I have pain, after being shocked and poked with a 6 inch needle! At least he didn't put bolts in my neck.
Monday, August 17, 2009
DD's bed and bath (room)
I was rudely awakened around 4:30 this morning, not by the cat this time, but by a huge vice grip crushing my gut. After rolling around and trying to ignore it for a while, I decided maybe I better go visit the small room off my bedroom. It was there I found out why my gut was screaming. There was some kind of junk in it that needed to be removed.
I spent the next 4 or 5 hours removing junk, not really my idea of a fun time, but I guess I hadda do what I hadda do... and doooo, and dooo....
I think I lost about 5 pounds, but I digress. I am exhausted now, I slept all day, which is ok with me but my boss, or should I say now ex-boss, didn't believe me that I was too sick to come to work. Well I fixed her stupid butt, I called the girl that's filling in for me today and got her to fill in for me tomorrow, which, by the way, was supposed to be my last day.
The last time I was sick like this was in 2006, when I ate at a waffle house in Satsuma, Alabama, and got food poisoning. I wonder what I ate this time? Oh, I guess I'll survive, I have to, there's too much funny stuff out there in this crazy world to write about!
Meanwhile, the cat sits, looking at me, wondering when I'm going to get around to throwing his stuffed mouse for him. I see him planning a great revenge for my inactivity; He's probably going to try to wake me up in the middle of the night to play. Darned nocturnal fool....
I spent the next 4 or 5 hours removing junk, not really my idea of a fun time, but I guess I hadda do what I hadda do... and doooo, and dooo....
I think I lost about 5 pounds, but I digress. I am exhausted now, I slept all day, which is ok with me but my boss, or should I say now ex-boss, didn't believe me that I was too sick to come to work. Well I fixed her stupid butt, I called the girl that's filling in for me today and got her to fill in for me tomorrow, which, by the way, was supposed to be my last day.
The last time I was sick like this was in 2006, when I ate at a waffle house in Satsuma, Alabama, and got food poisoning. I wonder what I ate this time? Oh, I guess I'll survive, I have to, there's too much funny stuff out there in this crazy world to write about!
Meanwhile, the cat sits, looking at me, wondering when I'm going to get around to throwing his stuffed mouse for him. I see him planning a great revenge for my inactivity; He's probably going to try to wake me up in the middle of the night to play. Darned nocturnal fool....
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk, the evil one strikes
I hate my job, it's like going to 9th grade homeroom with no teacher, every stinking day. We hired a new girl, yes, girl! She's all of 21 or so, and acts like 15. She's been on the job for a few days and I got the Privilege (Huh?) of training her tonight. I also got the honor of working with another 20 or so year old kid. Now the second one, she does work, now and then, a bit scattered, but she will work. Well, when she's not hiding in the supply closet to call her boyfriend, who, go figure, doesn't have a job.
So 9th grader number one, the new one, likes to text, giggle, text some more, and then show off her received texts. One was a toilet with a huge tongue in it. EWWWYUK was my response. Well, it that one wasn't good enough for me, she showed me another one. A naked fat guy on all fours, the joke was, "Watch out for Swine Flu". "Ok, put the thing back in your pocket" was my evil response. To my surprise, the phone flashed back in the pocket as though I had a gun to her head. If only...... Nyuk, nyuk!
I put her on a job and dragged her back to it half a dozen times. The deli was really slow, we should have been able to get all the work done an hour early.. Yeah, right.
At 40 minutes before closing I called across the [class] room and said, with great old-person-authority, "WE HAVE 40 MINUTES AND THIS PLACE IS A MESS! LET'S GET DONE HERE!"
Again, to my great surprise, both girls jumped like I had put a hot poker up.. well, you know the story.. After a few minutes of hard work, the boyfriend and a friend came up and the work stopped again. I was sloshing in the sink, (girl number two's job), when I heard the guy-friend say, "I'm wearing your panties", giggle giggle. The evil one, (that'd be me) whirled around and said, "Hey, stop that kind of talk, you are in public!". Stupid guy number 2 said, "We're not in public". DUH, stupid, you're in a STORE! "This IS public and you stop that kind of talk!" I scolded.
More surprise, the stupid oaf apologized. "We have 20 minutes", I bark, beginning to love this.
The boyfriend and his dumb guy-friend moved off and the wheels of production started again. We got done just before closing time, but there was one more thing that needed to get done, I had mentioned it several times over the course of the long 5 hours I had been forced to put up with this class, but it didn't get done. Both girls headed for the time clock, but I stopped girl # 1 and MADE her go do the undone chore before I would allow her to punch out.
I'm so evil! Nyuk, nyuk, loving it all the way!
So 9th grader number one, the new one, likes to text, giggle, text some more, and then show off her received texts. One was a toilet with a huge tongue in it. EWWWYUK was my response. Well, it that one wasn't good enough for me, she showed me another one. A naked fat guy on all fours, the joke was, "Watch out for Swine Flu". "Ok, put the thing back in your pocket" was my evil response. To my surprise, the phone flashed back in the pocket as though I had a gun to her head. If only...... Nyuk, nyuk!
I put her on a job and dragged her back to it half a dozen times. The deli was really slow, we should have been able to get all the work done an hour early.. Yeah, right.
At 40 minutes before closing I called across the [class] room and said, with great old-person-authority, "WE HAVE 40 MINUTES AND THIS PLACE IS A MESS! LET'S GET DONE HERE!"
Again, to my great surprise, both girls jumped like I had put a hot poker up.. well, you know the story.. After a few minutes of hard work, the boyfriend and a friend came up and the work stopped again. I was sloshing in the sink, (girl number two's job), when I heard the guy-friend say, "I'm wearing your panties", giggle giggle. The evil one, (that'd be me) whirled around and said, "Hey, stop that kind of talk, you are in public!". Stupid guy number 2 said, "We're not in public". DUH, stupid, you're in a STORE! "This IS public and you stop that kind of talk!" I scolded.
More surprise, the stupid oaf apologized. "We have 20 minutes", I bark, beginning to love this.
The boyfriend and his dumb guy-friend moved off and the wheels of production started again. We got done just before closing time, but there was one more thing that needed to get done, I had mentioned it several times over the course of the long 5 hours I had been forced to put up with this class, but it didn't get done. Both girls headed for the time clock, but I stopped girl # 1 and MADE her go do the undone chore before I would allow her to punch out.
I'm so evil! Nyuk, nyuk, loving it all the way!
Friday, August 7, 2009
You've been replaced
Notice that I have a new picture on my blog. This is my beloved Kelita, a mini Pekingese. She was my trucker-buddy, she's seen more of the country, walked more miles in the desert and Rockies than most people have. She died in 2007. I miss her terribly.
The other night I had a dream that my Mother was alive again, (EEEEK)! She was at my sisters house this time, in a hospital bed, and all the sibs were there. In typical Mom-fashion, she was lambasting my youngest sib. My oldest sib scolded her, "If you don't straighten up you're going to a nursing home"! This served to agitate the Mom-figure even more, as she lay on the bed with the only working part of her running a mile a minute, her mouth.
I went to sit on her bed and try to calm her down, and she BIT me. So, (since in dreams you can do anything you want, or don't want...), I bit her back. I bit her cheek so hard I drew blood, which drew immediate regret from my stone-cold heart. The Mom-figure started to cry, "You bit me!", she exclaimed. "No kidding I bit you", I grouched, "and if you bite me again, I'll bite you back!"
Well, the mean ol' thing bit me again, on the wrist. To strangle her here and now or to not, what to do..... I got up off the bed and moved away from her. To every ones great surprise, she got off the bed, no, she JUMPED up, grabbed her cane and started chasing me. I ran into the kitchen to get away from her, only to find she could not only run as fast as I could, she could swing that cane like a samurai sword at me. I grabbed a broom to spar with her, all the while calling for someone, anyone, to come help me. At this point, I would have liked to see her tackled to the ground and hand-cuffed to a two ton concrete post.
As dreams would have it, (why, oh why?), nobody came to my rescue and I woke myself up screaming. When I awoke, my rescue-cat was laying on my chest wondering what all the excitement was. After turning on every available light in the house, I got myself back into reality, told the Mom-figure to go back where she came from and went back to bed.
Since she is there (I hope!) and I am here, I decided to replace her picture. Well, ok, the dog is dead too but the dog never came back and bit me after she died!
Sweet dreams, DD, only sweet dreams are allowed from here on out!!!
The other night I had a dream that my Mother was alive again, (EEEEK)! She was at my sisters house this time, in a hospital bed, and all the sibs were there. In typical Mom-fashion, she was lambasting my youngest sib. My oldest sib scolded her, "If you don't straighten up you're going to a nursing home"! This served to agitate the Mom-figure even more, as she lay on the bed with the only working part of her running a mile a minute, her mouth.
I went to sit on her bed and try to calm her down, and she BIT me. So, (since in dreams you can do anything you want, or don't want...), I bit her back. I bit her cheek so hard I drew blood, which drew immediate regret from my stone-cold heart. The Mom-figure started to cry, "You bit me!", she exclaimed. "No kidding I bit you", I grouched, "and if you bite me again, I'll bite you back!"
Well, the mean ol' thing bit me again, on the wrist. To strangle her here and now or to not, what to do..... I got up off the bed and moved away from her. To every ones great surprise, she got off the bed, no, she JUMPED up, grabbed her cane and started chasing me. I ran into the kitchen to get away from her, only to find she could not only run as fast as I could, she could swing that cane like a samurai sword at me. I grabbed a broom to spar with her, all the while calling for someone, anyone, to come help me. At this point, I would have liked to see her tackled to the ground and hand-cuffed to a two ton concrete post.
As dreams would have it, (why, oh why?), nobody came to my rescue and I woke myself up screaming. When I awoke, my rescue-cat was laying on my chest wondering what all the excitement was. After turning on every available light in the house, I got myself back into reality, told the Mom-figure to go back where she came from and went back to bed.
Since she is there (I hope!) and I am here, I decided to replace her picture. Well, ok, the dog is dead too but the dog never came back and bit me after she died!
Sweet dreams, DD, only sweet dreams are allowed from here on out!!!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Nature at it's best
I was driving home the other evening, after dark again, I'm getting used to this 'dark stuff' after almost a year of being pampered, safe and secure in my house with real lights and all..
Any-hoo, when I turn on my road I have a HUGE hill to go up and over to get to my house. The hill is about a mile up, and a mile back down. It's really, really dark on the hill, at night, of course. I think the boogey man might live up there, in perfect harmony with the armadillos, bob-cats, coyotes, turkey, buzzards (that puke on your car if you upset them), deer and the one and only little black bear anyone has seen around here.
So, I turned up my road and started up the hill, and my headlights caught sight of a large dog, no, a small deer! This little guy couldn't have been very old, it was all spindly-legged and tiny, with the brilliant spots only a recently new-born would have. This little bugger was standing in the middle of my lane, and upon my arrival, it started to run. Up the hill. On the road. There is nothing but woods on both sides of the road for two miles, plenty of opportunity for the poor bugger to dive off the road, but it stayed in front of my car, running for it's poor little life.
So I slowed down, followed it for a while, then 'Beep, Beep' I made my horn say. Oh, the poor critter started trying to run faster up the steep hill, his little hoofs slipping, I felt bad. I grabbed my camera to get a shot at it but all I got was glare off my windshield. Rats. Poor-little-scared-bugger ran a whole mile to the top of the hill, passing several spots that had easy access to the woods, until it finally stopped on the crest to hang it's head and pant. Now I was really feeling sorry for it.
I stopped the car, got out with camera in hand, first I wanted a pic of it standing in my headlights, and second I wanted to usher it into the woods. Well, it got one look at big-ol-mean-I'm-gonna-eat-you-me and started running again, still on the road. The crest of the road ended and started to climb again, by now it had run about a mile. It got in the opposite lane and I pulled up beside it, to One; get a pic, and Two, chase it into the woods. Poor dumb thing turned towards my car and bumped off the front left fender, which panicked it even more, if that was possible!
It got back in front of me and ran like I was the devil himself, for another half a mile or so, until it found a driveway on the left to dive into. And he was gone. I hoped for two things: The run didn't kill him and he finds his dear deer mommy, I'm sure he was hungry after the marathon! And I bet he stays off the road from now on, too!
Any-hoo, when I turn on my road I have a HUGE hill to go up and over to get to my house. The hill is about a mile up, and a mile back down. It's really, really dark on the hill, at night, of course. I think the boogey man might live up there, in perfect harmony with the armadillos, bob-cats, coyotes, turkey, buzzards (that puke on your car if you upset them), deer and the one and only little black bear anyone has seen around here.
So, I turned up my road and started up the hill, and my headlights caught sight of a large dog, no, a small deer! This little guy couldn't have been very old, it was all spindly-legged and tiny, with the brilliant spots only a recently new-born would have. This little bugger was standing in the middle of my lane, and upon my arrival, it started to run. Up the hill. On the road. There is nothing but woods on both sides of the road for two miles, plenty of opportunity for the poor bugger to dive off the road, but it stayed in front of my car, running for it's poor little life.
So I slowed down, followed it for a while, then 'Beep, Beep' I made my horn say. Oh, the poor critter started trying to run faster up the steep hill, his little hoofs slipping, I felt bad. I grabbed my camera to get a shot at it but all I got was glare off my windshield. Rats. Poor-little-scared-bugger ran a whole mile to the top of the hill, passing several spots that had easy access to the woods, until it finally stopped on the crest to hang it's head and pant. Now I was really feeling sorry for it.
I stopped the car, got out with camera in hand, first I wanted a pic of it standing in my headlights, and second I wanted to usher it into the woods. Well, it got one look at big-ol-mean-I'm-gonna-eat-you-me and started running again, still on the road. The crest of the road ended and started to climb again, by now it had run about a mile. It got in the opposite lane and I pulled up beside it, to One; get a pic, and Two, chase it into the woods. Poor dumb thing turned towards my car and bumped off the front left fender, which panicked it even more, if that was possible!
It got back in front of me and ran like I was the devil himself, for another half a mile or so, until it found a driveway on the left to dive into. And he was gone. I hoped for two things: The run didn't kill him and he finds his dear deer mommy, I'm sure he was hungry after the marathon! And I bet he stays off the road from now on, too!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Baby on the shelf
Isn't she cute? I named her Alley. Aww, so cute, such a quiet baby, haven't heard her cry yet, she doesn't fuss when I hold her...
I found her laying on a shelf. I was appalled that someone would leave a nearly newborn baby laying on the edge of a shelf 3 feet from a hard floor, but, well, people do strange things. 'Specially in these-here parts.
When I first saw her lying on the shelf, I thought someone had given her black eyes, you know, popped her one. Turns out the 'black eye' affect was simply new-born veins that show on, well, new-borns.
After exclaiming loudly, "There's a BABY on this shelf!", the real owner came over and offered to let me hold her. The owner picked the poor baby up by ONE ARM. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. But the baby didn't fuss, she just hung there like a rag doll. I was becoming more and more confused by the second. Is the kid dead? Mentally challenged? Comatose? And, why in the world was it laying on the edge of a shelf???
Turns out it IS a rag doll. Oh, what a relief, the thing isn't a poor abused, neglected and abandoned real kid after all. Ok, I regathered my scattered thoughts and emotions enough to ask some questions about it. The owner makes these things, (so stinking REAL looking) and sells them, for upwards to 400 buckaroos. Cheaper than a real baby and a whole lot less trouble, I guess. "What's with the bruised eyes?" I asked. The owner explained that she buys plain looking-life-sized baby dolls and paints new-born veins into them, puts a little make-up on, glues some hair on and dresses them up. Stinking spooky things sell like hot-cakes.
Now, I am positively SPOOKED OUT by real-looking dolls, well, ok, fake-looking ones too. And the owner wants me to hold the thing. Trying not to make a face, (I failed at that attempt), I held my arms out to take it. She gently (gently after scooping it up by one arm?) placed it in my outstretched arms, as though it were really alive.
I sort of held it at arms length, feeling Owners questioning eyes on my, I'm sure wondering why I was acting like it was a python or something. I gave it back, explaining that it looked really nice, I was sorry, but it spooked me out. Yeah, well, she thinks I'm weird!
I tried to continue my work day and forget the whole thing but, honestly, I tried really hard to avoid that part of the deli until the thing went home! I think she might be a cousin to Chucky, or maybe one of those Children of the Corn. I don't know, I don't care, just keep it away from me!
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Murder in the Livingroom
I worked till dark today, first time I've driven in the dark in a long, long time. It seemed weird, to only see what my headlights would allow! I got home and discovered that I didn't leave a light on for myself, so I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find the right key and then the right hold, finally letting myself into my dark living room.
I fumbled around and found a light switch, bathing the living room in light. Ah, I can see now!
Ok, the cat is here, my furniture is still where I left it, all is well. I'm tired, can't wait to get into my jammies and flop in a chair, read a while and go to bed.
WAIT! What's that moving over on the floor by the cat, and speaking of cat, why is he acting so strange, what's he hiding over there? As my eyes travel across the room to the cat my sight stumbles across some red spots on the rug.
BLOOD? No way, this is a MALE cat, HE, the BOY cat doesn't have 'times of season'. Where is this blood coming from? OH! Another spot, and another, and another, GEEZ, what happened here while I was gone?
I look again at the cat, acting very 'cattish', hunkering over some kind of, of, Prize. I got up and navigated my way around the many, many blood spots on my rug, shooed the cat away to find a poor, pitiful, injured, alive and struggling mouse.
Ah, Mr. Mouse, YOU are the provider of the blood spots! I picked the poor critter up by the tail, feeling very sorry for him/her/it as he/she/it looked up at me as if to say, "Are you my rescuer"? Well, Mr. (Ms.?) Mouse, I do have a penchant for rescuing poor, pitiful little animals but you don't quite meet the criteria.
I took him/her/it outside and set it free, if you can call putting an injured 3 ounce animal out into the wild 'free', much to the cat's chagrin.
To make matters worse, in the cat's eyes, I had the nerve to clean up the blood and disinfect the area. That cat hates me!
Well, at least the cat is earning his keep!
I fumbled around and found a light switch, bathing the living room in light. Ah, I can see now!
Ok, the cat is here, my furniture is still where I left it, all is well. I'm tired, can't wait to get into my jammies and flop in a chair, read a while and go to bed.
WAIT! What's that moving over on the floor by the cat, and speaking of cat, why is he acting so strange, what's he hiding over there? As my eyes travel across the room to the cat my sight stumbles across some red spots on the rug.
BLOOD? No way, this is a MALE cat, HE, the BOY cat doesn't have 'times of season'. Where is this blood coming from? OH! Another spot, and another, and another, GEEZ, what happened here while I was gone?
I look again at the cat, acting very 'cattish', hunkering over some kind of, of, Prize. I got up and navigated my way around the many, many blood spots on my rug, shooed the cat away to find a poor, pitiful, injured, alive and struggling mouse.
Ah, Mr. Mouse, YOU are the provider of the blood spots! I picked the poor critter up by the tail, feeling very sorry for him/her/it as he/she/it looked up at me as if to say, "Are you my rescuer"? Well, Mr. (Ms.?) Mouse, I do have a penchant for rescuing poor, pitiful little animals but you don't quite meet the criteria.
I took him/her/it outside and set it free, if you can call putting an injured 3 ounce animal out into the wild 'free', much to the cat's chagrin.
To make matters worse, in the cat's eyes, I had the nerve to clean up the blood and disinfect the area. That cat hates me!
Well, at least the cat is earning his keep!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
350 pounds and growing
"I'll have the feelin' puhleeze", and " I'll have the 12 pack of Cheeikan" were the words I heard all day today. Well, that's not entirely true, in the morning I heard things like "I'll have two sausage and bacon Beeiscuts, puhleeze".
Most of these people weighed about 350 pounds, well, maybe some weighed about 300 but you git the jist.
Where on earth was I to hear that stuff all day? Oh, I was at the local grocery store deli. I got hired yesterday and started work today. Pay and hours aren't bad, busy atmosphere, the day mostly whizzed by. I was given an hour-long lunch break. In the morning I wondered just what would I do for a whole hour, but after working for 6 hours I was more than ready for an hour to chill out and get off my poor screaming feet.
The deli served breakfast and lunch, all fatty stuff, fried stuff, eggs, sausage patties, the greasiest bacon I've ever seen, and lunch was fried chicken, chicken filling, or, as the locals call it, 'feelin'. I had to quench the urge to say something like, "feelin? you ain't gettin' no feelin here, I don't feel people!" And "You really don't need to eat fried food, how about some green beans?"
But the customer is always right, go ahead, eat yourself to death. At least I have something to do now. And I'm getting paid for it! That's always a good perk.
Most of these people weighed about 350 pounds, well, maybe some weighed about 300 but you git the jist.
Where on earth was I to hear that stuff all day? Oh, I was at the local grocery store deli. I got hired yesterday and started work today. Pay and hours aren't bad, busy atmosphere, the day mostly whizzed by. I was given an hour-long lunch break. In the morning I wondered just what would I do for a whole hour, but after working for 6 hours I was more than ready for an hour to chill out and get off my poor screaming feet.
The deli served breakfast and lunch, all fatty stuff, fried stuff, eggs, sausage patties, the greasiest bacon I've ever seen, and lunch was fried chicken, chicken filling, or, as the locals call it, 'feelin'. I had to quench the urge to say something like, "feelin? you ain't gettin' no feelin here, I don't feel people!" And "You really don't need to eat fried food, how about some green beans?"
But the customer is always right, go ahead, eat yourself to death. At least I have something to do now. And I'm getting paid for it! That's always a good perk.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Alfred Hitchcock in real time
Remember the movie 'The Birds', where all these crazy black birds attack a town and wreak havoc? I don't remember what set Alfred's birds off but I know what set my yard birds off and I'll tell you.
The darned cat caught a little baby birdy. Ok, the cat does stuff like that, he's a cat, fer cryin' out loud. But he just happened to pick on the meanest bird-family in the yard. These little creatures, no more than a handful, are grey with white spots on the tops and undersides of their wings. You can only see the spots when they are in flight.
They have a very distinct vocabulary; Chirp, Chirp, trilllll, Chirp, trilllll, Chirp, and so on. And they're mean. Oh, I did say that, didn't I? I have seen them dive-bombing crows, and the crows run like hell, which is weird, since crows are at least 3 times bigger than these little buggers, and crows are WAY louder, 'CAW, CAW'! But for all their big-ness and loud calls, they still run like hell.
Well, guess who else runs like hell? I do. Back to the innocent little baby birdy. The cat has this little creature captured in his mouth under the porch and two of these little killer birds are having a FIT. Flitting all over the porch, sitting on the rails, chairs, Chirping and trilling.. I came out to see what all the racket was about and got dive-bombed by one of them.
I extracted the un-injured baby birdy out of the cat's mouth, banished him to the inside and released the innocent baby birdy onto the grass. Baby birdy flies away, problem solved, right?
WRONG!
Several hours, I say SEVERAL hours later, I went out the back door, opposite side of the house from the bird incident, to get my laundry off the line. "Chirp, Chirp, Trill", I find the talking bird on the edge of the roof. "Chirp, Chirp, Trill", I see the other one on a pole behind me. The cat walks across the lawn to lay at my feet, good little kitty, and on the way towards me one of the killer birds dive-bombed him. Straight out of the air, zoooooom, pecked at the cat's tail on the way by. Now don't tell me those birds remember!! ?? I started to wonder about me, I had my grubby little hands on cute little baby birdy too.
Sure enough, they set up, one on each side of me, and started calling back and forth, and, to my surprise, calling in back-up troops. Now I had 4, that's FOUR killer birds Chirping and trilling, surrounding me and making a plan of attack.
As I reached up to the cloths line to take an item down, two of them swooped down off the roof and buzzed between my arm and my head, screaming all the way.
I don't know what kind of birds they are, or how long they remember that the cat and I murdered their cute little baby birdy, but I think I'll stay in this evening. Man, I hope they forget!
The darned cat caught a little baby birdy. Ok, the cat does stuff like that, he's a cat, fer cryin' out loud. But he just happened to pick on the meanest bird-family in the yard. These little creatures, no more than a handful, are grey with white spots on the tops and undersides of their wings. You can only see the spots when they are in flight.
They have a very distinct vocabulary; Chirp, Chirp, trilllll, Chirp, trilllll, Chirp, and so on. And they're mean. Oh, I did say that, didn't I? I have seen them dive-bombing crows, and the crows run like hell, which is weird, since crows are at least 3 times bigger than these little buggers, and crows are WAY louder, 'CAW, CAW'! But for all their big-ness and loud calls, they still run like hell.
Well, guess who else runs like hell? I do. Back to the innocent little baby birdy. The cat has this little creature captured in his mouth under the porch and two of these little killer birds are having a FIT. Flitting all over the porch, sitting on the rails, chairs, Chirping and trilling.. I came out to see what all the racket was about and got dive-bombed by one of them.
I extracted the un-injured baby birdy out of the cat's mouth, banished him to the inside and released the innocent baby birdy onto the grass. Baby birdy flies away, problem solved, right?
WRONG!
Several hours, I say SEVERAL hours later, I went out the back door, opposite side of the house from the bird incident, to get my laundry off the line. "Chirp, Chirp, Trill", I find the talking bird on the edge of the roof. "Chirp, Chirp, Trill", I see the other one on a pole behind me. The cat walks across the lawn to lay at my feet, good little kitty, and on the way towards me one of the killer birds dive-bombed him. Straight out of the air, zoooooom, pecked at the cat's tail on the way by. Now don't tell me those birds remember!! ?? I started to wonder about me, I had my grubby little hands on cute little baby birdy too.
Sure enough, they set up, one on each side of me, and started calling back and forth, and, to my surprise, calling in back-up troops. Now I had 4, that's FOUR killer birds Chirping and trilling, surrounding me and making a plan of attack.
As I reached up to the cloths line to take an item down, two of them swooped down off the roof and buzzed between my arm and my head, screaming all the way.
I don't know what kind of birds they are, or how long they remember that the cat and I murdered their cute little baby birdy, but I think I'll stay in this evening. Man, I hope they forget!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Restaurants and Grief
This is the Maternal Figure, you know, the one who inspired most of my blogs. Well, ok, some of them were a little on the grouchy side, and this blog might get grouchy too, I'm not sure yet.
Read on!
I have been kind of out of sorts this weekend, I hate weekends anyway, nothing to do, things aren't open, can't make any phone calls, and it's been too hot to breath outside. So I've been stuck in the house, bored out of my mind.
But wait! Don't just sit around and feel sorry for yourself, DD, go DO something. Yeahhh, why didn't I think of that hours and hours ago? Oh, that's right, it was too hot outside to breath. But as nature will have it, (after all, it's not nice to fool mother nature anyway), it cools off in the evenings. Well, a little, anyway.
So I decide to get in my car and GO somewhere, Oh, how about the state park? Ah, yes, go see the river. So I gits out my bug spray, pour a thermos of homemade ice tea with a touch of rasberry flavor and goes out to start the car. Vroom, vroom, come on, AC, cool this buggy off!
The park was nice, they must have just mowed, everything was neat and tidy. And nearly devoid of any human presence. I found some people swimming in the river, and moved on. I took a road that looked like it would go forever in the woods, 'camping this-a-way' 'no dumping' and 'port-a-potties that-a-way' , the signs directed and announced. I saw some deer, shooting accusatory glances at me as they scuttled off the road. I parked in an empty lot near a play ground and walked to the river, wondering if I would be bitten by a poisonous snake or murdered by a woods-bum that might look a bit like Sasquatch.
Of course, I'm home typing this, so I survived the trip, (in case anyone was wondering). Well, I sort of survived the trip :(
I decided to stop at a little cafe in town, the one where the one-and-only hotel is. I ordered a delicious Chicken Scampi and sat back to enjoy the old guy who was playing blues and singing. I remembered that the last time I was in that restaurant and there was entertainment (better the last time, btw), I was with the Maternal Figure. She had the Catfish and ate like a hog. She shared her pecan pie with me. She sat right over there... Ok, I'm ok with that, just a nice memory. I chews my chicken, listens to the old guy croon, all is well.
A young woman, (ha ha, young, she was about my age!) came up to sing with the old crooner, all is well, she was good. She finished a song, I clapped, then she introduces her Mother, who was up from Florida on a visit. (Mama was small and frail, just about the same size as my Maternal Figure). "And Mama's favorite song is 'over the rainbow' and she's gonna sing with me, so a big hand for Mama!"
The old thing hobbled up to the mike and they sang together, arms around each other and looking at each other, smiling, singing, The old lady was really out of tune but it was clear the daughter was relishing every sour noted moment with her Mother.
I must be allergic to 'Over the rainbow' because for some strange reason I noticed that the room was getting blurry. Uh Oh, I realized I was going to do something embarrasing in a restaurant like CRY. I wolfed one more bite, found my waitress, paid the bill and sniffled my way out to the car. 'Geez', I was thinking, 'when is this grief crap going to be over?' Oh, what the hell, I'm in the car, I'll let the tears do thier thing. I told the car to take me home but it had other ideas, it took me to the cemetary. Ok, geez, I'll do the right thing and cry at her grave.
The picture you see before the Maternal Figure is my Pekingese, Kelita. She died in 'o6. I never thought I would grieve as hard as I did for Kelita. Maybe I was wrong..
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Playing Tag
Cricket and Lady, this is my '10th' pic in my documents. I rescued Cricket first, she's the paint on the left. Sweet, sweet horse, about 10 years old, good rider, really nice horse. When I brought her home she was starved to bone, no, really, she was skin and bones. I had never seen such a skinny horse until I met Lady, the one on the right.It turned out that Cricket and Lady were stable mates in their other life, they knew each other and were glad to be back together. After kissing and nickering to each other, Lady fell into the leadership role she obviously played before she came to me. She (Lady) is a pure Mustang, complete with the tattoo showing that she was rounded up from the wild somewhere out west.
Lady was also a sweet horse, I think she was a barrel racer or perhaps a roping horse in her other life, when I got on her for the first ride she went right to work, looking for something to go around or round up. Once I got her settled down into 'gentle riding horse' mode, she became a true pleasure to ride. It was hard to decide who to ride, they were both so willing and gentle.
I fed them as much grain and hay as they wanted and each put on the additional 100 or so pounds they needed to be normal looking again. I sold them to a young couple with small children. When they came to look at the horses the decision to buy was an easy one for them. Lady took to the young wife very well and the husband fell in love with Cricket. Job well done, the horses survived a year of so of starvation, learned to trust people again and now have a great home. That's my 10th picture and I'm sticking to it! Who's next?
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Back to school,
There is a movie called "Billy Madison", starring Adam Sandler. It is a silly movie about a rich, spoiled kid who's father owns a huge Hotel chain. Billy is (supposedly) an adult, out of school, but spends all his time drinking around the pool with his two loser buddies.
Daddy worked hard his whole life building the Hotel chain hoping to pass the business on to his son, but decides to give the chain to one of his employees as the son is nothing but a drunken loser that acts like a total goof and chases imaginary penguins around the mansion riding in a golf cart.
Billy gets a wake-up call when he discovers he's about to lose his inheritance, thus promising 'Daddy' he will go back to school, starting with first grade, all the way through to 12th. He promises to attend each grade for two weeks, passing each one without 'Daddy' paying off the teachers.
It's a silly movie with some toilet humor, some sexual content, (of course), and some off-color language. After some naughty school-boy behaviour, Billy settles down and graduates, his father throws a big party, Billy hooks up with his third grade teacher and gets control of the Motel Chain.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I'll just tell ya! I have been taking some practice ACT tests online, and found that I TANK in math. Ok, I worked on it, got a little better, but still have questions. What the heck are all those 'x's, r's and y's' anyway? And how the heck can I know how old susie is if she is 5 years older than joe and johnny is 6 years older that susie and the total age is 41, how the heck old is everyone? Yeah, a lot of work to do here.
So I decided to go to the grammar exam, make myself feel good with a passing grade. WRONG! Tank, flush and drain away. GEEZ. (Just read this and see what I know about grammer!)
So I goes over the exam and discovered that I know a bunch of the stuff, I didn't PAY ATTENTION to the details in the questions. Like if the words 'math, english and science' are all in a sentence, and they all are written in LOWER CASE letters, than that's IT. So, don't go and correct the dumb sentence by putting a capitol letter in front of one of them.
So after stomping around the yard muttering to my imaginary penguin, I decided to put my nose back in the game and PAY ATTENTION. Brains, anyone, brains? Send some my way please!
Daddy worked hard his whole life building the Hotel chain hoping to pass the business on to his son, but decides to give the chain to one of his employees as the son is nothing but a drunken loser that acts like a total goof and chases imaginary penguins around the mansion riding in a golf cart.
Billy gets a wake-up call when he discovers he's about to lose his inheritance, thus promising 'Daddy' he will go back to school, starting with first grade, all the way through to 12th. He promises to attend each grade for two weeks, passing each one without 'Daddy' paying off the teachers.
It's a silly movie with some toilet humor, some sexual content, (of course), and some off-color language. After some naughty school-boy behaviour, Billy settles down and graduates, his father throws a big party, Billy hooks up with his third grade teacher and gets control of the Motel Chain.
Why am I telling you all this? Well, I'll just tell ya! I have been taking some practice ACT tests online, and found that I TANK in math. Ok, I worked on it, got a little better, but still have questions. What the heck are all those 'x's, r's and y's' anyway? And how the heck can I know how old susie is if she is 5 years older than joe and johnny is 6 years older that susie and the total age is 41, how the heck old is everyone? Yeah, a lot of work to do here.
So I decided to go to the grammar exam, make myself feel good with a passing grade. WRONG! Tank, flush and drain away. GEEZ. (Just read this and see what I know about grammer!)
So I goes over the exam and discovered that I know a bunch of the stuff, I didn't PAY ATTENTION to the details in the questions. Like if the words 'math, english and science' are all in a sentence, and they all are written in LOWER CASE letters, than that's IT. So, don't go and correct the dumb sentence by putting a capitol letter in front of one of them.
So after stomping around the yard muttering to my imaginary penguin, I decided to put my nose back in the game and PAY ATTENTION. Brains, anyone, brains? Send some my way please!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
How big is the party gonna be?
Well, funeral day is here. I went to have my 'private viewing' yesterday. guess it's some kind of southern thing, or maybe I just don't know because I haven't had the pleasure of gazing on a dead body in, oh, about 3 decades or so.
So I goes to the funeral home, the guy offers me a look-see. His query, 'do you want some private time with yore Mama" sounded more like, "Here, I'll show you where she is 'cause I know you wanna go gawk at her". He sat back in one of the chairs, looking like the man he was trying to be, 'it's ok, suhweety, I'll hold you when (not if, WHEN) you collapse cause it's so hard to lose your Mama".
"How does she look?" What a question. She looks dead. How's she supposed to look? I just wonder why they made her so hard and cold. So mean old me says, "a bit much on the makeup, lipstick? I requested no lipstick". "Oh, honey", (don't call me honey when I'm having a bad day); "Oh honey, her lips were discoloured. and her skin needed a little touching up". Ok, why did you make her smile/grimace? "Oh, honey, her mouth was hangin open, you didn't want that, did you"? Ok, ok, leave it alone, she's gone, it's just a shell, I'll never look at her grimace again, forget it.
"I washed her pretty hair, blah blah" the guy was rambling on. Know what I wanted to ask? I wanted to ask how did he suck the brain out, did he use an old Egyptian method?
Geez, I'm so weird. I didn't ask.
So Kid # 1 isn't here, work work work. (guess it could have been me stuck in California on a load and someone else doing this crap, Oh, I'm not that lucky)!
Kid #2 decided to have a temper fit, not answer his phone, not return my call. Instead he called Kid #4 and ranted about how he wants that money and I refused to allow him and his wife to stay at my house for the funeral. What a jerk, (bless his heart), I never told him he couldn't stay here, it was never even discussed. Supposedly he's not coming but I bet he sneaks in at planting time. Did I say What a Jerk? Yeah, I think so, but I'll say it again. Sheesh.
Kid #4 decided not to come, too much tension between Jerk, oops, my fingers slipped; Kid #2 and myself. Oh, and the guy he had to see to get travel rights closed 8 minutes before he got there. He still could have made the trip but he's got his own thing with anger and confusion. He wants pics of the funeral. Icky, but ok.
So that leaves Kid #3, me, mahself and I, bless mah heart, an Uncle, Aunt and one cousin. And half the neighbor hood, hospice, nursing home staff, maybe a few crows and, if we're lucky, an armadillo or two. Cat has to stay home, poor creature, he's been a mess. How do cats know, anyway? Oh, and maybe a raindrop or two might show up, who knows?
So, goodbye, Mom, see ya on the other side.
So I goes to the funeral home, the guy offers me a look-see. His query, 'do you want some private time with yore Mama" sounded more like, "Here, I'll show you where she is 'cause I know you wanna go gawk at her". He sat back in one of the chairs, looking like the man he was trying to be, 'it's ok, suhweety, I'll hold you when (not if, WHEN) you collapse cause it's so hard to lose your Mama".
"How does she look?" What a question. She looks dead. How's she supposed to look? I just wonder why they made her so hard and cold. So mean old me says, "a bit much on the makeup, lipstick? I requested no lipstick". "Oh, honey", (don't call me honey when I'm having a bad day); "Oh honey, her lips were discoloured. and her skin needed a little touching up". Ok, why did you make her smile/grimace? "Oh, honey, her mouth was hangin open, you didn't want that, did you"? Ok, ok, leave it alone, she's gone, it's just a shell, I'll never look at her grimace again, forget it.
"I washed her pretty hair, blah blah" the guy was rambling on. Know what I wanted to ask? I wanted to ask how did he suck the brain out, did he use an old Egyptian method?
Geez, I'm so weird. I didn't ask.
So Kid # 1 isn't here, work work work. (guess it could have been me stuck in California on a load and someone else doing this crap, Oh, I'm not that lucky)!
Kid #2 decided to have a temper fit, not answer his phone, not return my call. Instead he called Kid #4 and ranted about how he wants that money and I refused to allow him and his wife to stay at my house for the funeral. What a jerk, (bless his heart), I never told him he couldn't stay here, it was never even discussed. Supposedly he's not coming but I bet he sneaks in at planting time. Did I say What a Jerk? Yeah, I think so, but I'll say it again. Sheesh.
Kid #4 decided not to come, too much tension between Jerk, oops, my fingers slipped; Kid #2 and myself. Oh, and the guy he had to see to get travel rights closed 8 minutes before he got there. He still could have made the trip but he's got his own thing with anger and confusion. He wants pics of the funeral. Icky, but ok.
So that leaves Kid #3, me, mahself and I, bless mah heart, an Uncle, Aunt and one cousin. And half the neighbor hood, hospice, nursing home staff, maybe a few crows and, if we're lucky, an armadillo or two. Cat has to stay home, poor creature, he's been a mess. How do cats know, anyway? Oh, and maybe a raindrop or two might show up, who knows?
So, goodbye, Mom, see ya on the other side.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Another day at the nursing home
Well, yesterday marked the end of one phase and the beginning of a new one. Sort of, kind of I guess..
Ok, well, the funeral stuff is all arranged, I wish it was tomorrow and not the day AFTER tomorrow. Just want to get it done.
Yeah! I can sleep now with both ears closed, not wonder if tonight will be the night-of-the-fatal-phone-call. So why am I awake? SHEESH!
I took the wheel chair back this morning, guess I'm not ready to use it myself and I was tired of looking at it anyway. I'm glad the nursing home thing is over. Yesterday an old man caught my attention, calling to me and holding his hand out. Dumb dumb here reached out towards him and he lunged for me and grabbed my wrists, pulling me in towards me. Aw geez, old man, don't make me slug you, he had a grip that was strong enough to almost drop me to my knees. (And I'm not going to my knees for any old dirt bag, let me tell you!)
I pried myself loose, I didn't care if I had to walk away with out anything past my wrists, let the old geezer have my hands, but LET ME GO! Dirty old slob, that'll learn me to reach out to some old fart that looks weak. I said something to the nurse, she said no woman there dares get too close to him unless they know he's sleeping. Good grief. Bless his heart...
I went out to the patio as I waited for Maternal Figure to become an angel or what-ever, and I heard one of the nurses talking, no, gossiping about another. "She shore is fond of being late for work, bless her heart," one said. Another said, "Yay-ya, and she shore is puttin' on, Bless her heart". (Gaining weight, is what 'puttin' on' means). Bless their hearts...
Ok, I couldn't stand it anymore, what's up with this gossip followed by 'bless her heart' anyway?
The ladies giggled and snickered. Come to find out, an insult or gossip followed by 'bless her heart' makes the bad talk ok. After all, asking for some kind of blessing is a good thing, right?
Yeah, but, (I can't leave stuff alone, had to push the parameter), I heard someone say my Mother is SO sweet, bless her heart..... So do you say Bless her heart no matter what or is my Mother really not such a sweet thing after all? They giggled, and said, "Oh, bless your heart".
So I guess bless your/her/his heart is just an ending, like a period. "That guy's a jerk. Period". Or, said in southern-ese, "That guy's a jerk, bless his heart".
So, Y'all have a goodun, C'mon back now, ya hear? Bless your heart.
Ok, well, the funeral stuff is all arranged, I wish it was tomorrow and not the day AFTER tomorrow. Just want to get it done.
Yeah! I can sleep now with both ears closed, not wonder if tonight will be the night-of-the-fatal-phone-call. So why am I awake? SHEESH!
I took the wheel chair back this morning, guess I'm not ready to use it myself and I was tired of looking at it anyway. I'm glad the nursing home thing is over. Yesterday an old man caught my attention, calling to me and holding his hand out. Dumb dumb here reached out towards him and he lunged for me and grabbed my wrists, pulling me in towards me. Aw geez, old man, don't make me slug you, he had a grip that was strong enough to almost drop me to my knees. (And I'm not going to my knees for any old dirt bag, let me tell you!)
I pried myself loose, I didn't care if I had to walk away with out anything past my wrists, let the old geezer have my hands, but LET ME GO! Dirty old slob, that'll learn me to reach out to some old fart that looks weak. I said something to the nurse, she said no woman there dares get too close to him unless they know he's sleeping. Good grief. Bless his heart...
I went out to the patio as I waited for Maternal Figure to become an angel or what-ever, and I heard one of the nurses talking, no, gossiping about another. "She shore is fond of being late for work, bless her heart," one said. Another said, "Yay-ya, and she shore is puttin' on, Bless her heart". (Gaining weight, is what 'puttin' on' means). Bless their hearts...
Ok, I couldn't stand it anymore, what's up with this gossip followed by 'bless her heart' anyway?
The ladies giggled and snickered. Come to find out, an insult or gossip followed by 'bless her heart' makes the bad talk ok. After all, asking for some kind of blessing is a good thing, right?
Yeah, but, (I can't leave stuff alone, had to push the parameter), I heard someone say my Mother is SO sweet, bless her heart..... So do you say Bless her heart no matter what or is my Mother really not such a sweet thing after all? They giggled, and said, "Oh, bless your heart".
So I guess bless your/her/his heart is just an ending, like a period. "That guy's a jerk. Period". Or, said in southern-ese, "That guy's a jerk, bless his heart".
So, Y'all have a goodun, C'mon back now, ya hear? Bless your heart.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
By this, I know you love me
It's been a long hard 36 hours. About 36 hours ago, I received a call from the nursing home telling me to come in, she's dying.
I hopped out of the tub, swished a towel over my dripping bod and threw some cloths on, and drove to the nursing home with several thoughts running through my head as fast as my car was running down the road.
It's over, she'll finally find rest:
It's over, I'll finally find rest:
I hope I can get my hair combed out after it gets dry:
I wonder if she'll be alive when I get there...
She was alive when I got there, in great distress. Hospice was there, along with most of the night crew of the nursing home. Ah, a party in Mom's room! She'll appreciate the attention, or will she?
The 'death rattle' was very loud and distressing to all of us. A handful of sad eyes watched me come, the party parted like the red sea so I could get to her side. They gave me her vitals, pretty darned good reading for a dying person, and showed me her leg, all black from lack of oxygen. Ok, it'll be over soon.
As the hours dragged by, the nurses and hospice noted that only one leg had turned black and cold, "I've never seen anything like it, one leg bad, one leg good, usually oxygen deprivation is bilateral", they told me. Yeah, well, Mom has to be different.
Nursing staff stopped in after hours, one lady on the way home from watching her grandson play a ball game, the administrator stayed long past her 'going home' time, actually she stayed till 3am. Hmm, these people really like 'Miss LaDonna'! Everyone had tears, oh, Miss LaDonna was their best resident, never complained, the sickest one in the home, blah-blah...
I started reviewing, in my mind, the past. Life with her as a child, as an adult and mostly life over the past 9 months since she came here. I looked around at the mountain of stuff we had brought her that she never used. Oh, how much stuff I have to pack up and take home. Throw it out? Give it away? Take it to a yard sale? I was beginning to see what I would be doing for the next several weeks after I buried her. Oh, yeah, give my brother back his radio and electric blanket. Hoorah, that much is figured out!
I remembered my sister, helping her move stuff around when she was here at the house, helping her pack for her new life at the nursing home. One sentence FS said to her rides along in my mind, "Hold on Mom, you're moving at lightning speed, I can't keep up", were FS's words to Mom as orders were snapped out one on top of the other.
I thought of the electric keyboard in her room, here at the house. Mom wanted it moved around in her room, to make it easier to play. She never touched it. Then she wanted it moved to the living room, so she could play it out there. Oh, and put this stand here and bring that over here, put this in that drawer, get me a power cord.... run, run, back and forth, from her room to the living room, move stuff around, finally wear her out and get peace as she finally put her busy head on the pillow and took a break.
She never used that stuff, eventually asking to have it moved back into her room. This time it was older brother running at 'lightning speed' trying to keep up with her instructions and please her.
Rearranging the house several times, asking for meals that never got eaten, requesting items from a store that was almost 40 miles away, (sometimes stuff that ended up being food for the pet rat), bring me this, go get that, turn the TV up, down, change the channel, that was her main activity here.
What the heck is up with this woman, anyway? Then I remembered going to visit her on the way back from California in my truck. I got permission(from her landlady) to park a Peterbuilt at her house. How was the visit? Well, pretty good, short, only 7 hours, (all I could take, to be honest), but during the visit she decided I needed to go grocery shopping for her. What? "Don't you get your groceries delivered", I asked. Well, yeah, but she wanted ME to go for her. I reminded her that all I had was a big truck. So what, go anyway, was the end result.
So I go to the store, in a 379 Peterbuilt with a 72 inch bunk. That's the truck with the big square nose, L-O-N-G nose, with a Condo Sleeper, big, big. I dragged 7 bags of groceries out and was piling them in the truck, fully aware that I was getting stares of astonishment from other shoppers. This was a small town, big trucks aren't a regular sight there!
So here she lies, in the bed, should have been dead a week ago, and surely shouldn't be alive with one dead leg, shut-down kidneys and no real food for the last few weeks. Blood pressure 118-over-48. 48, geez, that's low! But she's still alive, getting turned, re-arranged, diaper checked, morphine given, and lots of kisses, touches, and 'I love You's" from the staff.
Why? My answer? By moving stuff around over and over, buying stuff that won't be used, and all this fussing over her at the nursing home, by all that, she knows she is loved. What are her last un-spoken words to the world?
"Do this for me and I'll know you love me".
I hopped out of the tub, swished a towel over my dripping bod and threw some cloths on, and drove to the nursing home with several thoughts running through my head as fast as my car was running down the road.
It's over, she'll finally find rest:
It's over, I'll finally find rest:
I hope I can get my hair combed out after it gets dry:
I wonder if she'll be alive when I get there...
She was alive when I got there, in great distress. Hospice was there, along with most of the night crew of the nursing home. Ah, a party in Mom's room! She'll appreciate the attention, or will she?
The 'death rattle' was very loud and distressing to all of us. A handful of sad eyes watched me come, the party parted like the red sea so I could get to her side. They gave me her vitals, pretty darned good reading for a dying person, and showed me her leg, all black from lack of oxygen. Ok, it'll be over soon.
As the hours dragged by, the nurses and hospice noted that only one leg had turned black and cold, "I've never seen anything like it, one leg bad, one leg good, usually oxygen deprivation is bilateral", they told me. Yeah, well, Mom has to be different.
Nursing staff stopped in after hours, one lady on the way home from watching her grandson play a ball game, the administrator stayed long past her 'going home' time, actually she stayed till 3am. Hmm, these people really like 'Miss LaDonna'! Everyone had tears, oh, Miss LaDonna was their best resident, never complained, the sickest one in the home, blah-blah...
I started reviewing, in my mind, the past. Life with her as a child, as an adult and mostly life over the past 9 months since she came here. I looked around at the mountain of stuff we had brought her that she never used. Oh, how much stuff I have to pack up and take home. Throw it out? Give it away? Take it to a yard sale? I was beginning to see what I would be doing for the next several weeks after I buried her. Oh, yeah, give my brother back his radio and electric blanket. Hoorah, that much is figured out!
I remembered my sister, helping her move stuff around when she was here at the house, helping her pack for her new life at the nursing home. One sentence FS said to her rides along in my mind, "Hold on Mom, you're moving at lightning speed, I can't keep up", were FS's words to Mom as orders were snapped out one on top of the other.
I thought of the electric keyboard in her room, here at the house. Mom wanted it moved around in her room, to make it easier to play. She never touched it. Then she wanted it moved to the living room, so she could play it out there. Oh, and put this stand here and bring that over here, put this in that drawer, get me a power cord.... run, run, back and forth, from her room to the living room, move stuff around, finally wear her out and get peace as she finally put her busy head on the pillow and took a break.
She never used that stuff, eventually asking to have it moved back into her room. This time it was older brother running at 'lightning speed' trying to keep up with her instructions and please her.
Rearranging the house several times, asking for meals that never got eaten, requesting items from a store that was almost 40 miles away, (sometimes stuff that ended up being food for the pet rat), bring me this, go get that, turn the TV up, down, change the channel, that was her main activity here.
What the heck is up with this woman, anyway? Then I remembered going to visit her on the way back from California in my truck. I got permission(from her landlady) to park a Peterbuilt at her house. How was the visit? Well, pretty good, short, only 7 hours, (all I could take, to be honest), but during the visit she decided I needed to go grocery shopping for her. What? "Don't you get your groceries delivered", I asked. Well, yeah, but she wanted ME to go for her. I reminded her that all I had was a big truck. So what, go anyway, was the end result.
So I go to the store, in a 379 Peterbuilt with a 72 inch bunk. That's the truck with the big square nose, L-O-N-G nose, with a Condo Sleeper, big, big. I dragged 7 bags of groceries out and was piling them in the truck, fully aware that I was getting stares of astonishment from other shoppers. This was a small town, big trucks aren't a regular sight there!
So here she lies, in the bed, should have been dead a week ago, and surely shouldn't be alive with one dead leg, shut-down kidneys and no real food for the last few weeks. Blood pressure 118-over-48. 48, geez, that's low! But she's still alive, getting turned, re-arranged, diaper checked, morphine given, and lots of kisses, touches, and 'I love You's" from the staff.
Why? My answer? By moving stuff around over and over, buying stuff that won't be used, and all this fussing over her at the nursing home, by all that, she knows she is loved. What are her last un-spoken words to the world?
"Do this for me and I'll know you love me".
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
On Vacation
I took the day off today. I spent a few hours this morning re-addressing some old, OLD stuff. Old like about 35 years ago old. Ticks me right the heck off when stuff creeps up on me and drop kicks me to the floor, but I've learned to roll with it, things get better MUCH faster if I roll with the punch.
So I rolled with the punch, had a good sniffling, hitching and snotty cry and decided to take the day off. I'm glad I did, for several reasons.
One: She slept all day anyway.
Two: She eats for other people if she gets hungry enough, and
Three: I'm not the all-powerful-saviour-of-the-world/family anyhoo!
What did I do on my day off? I went to visit a friend, bought myself a big fat box of Frosted Flakes and came home to pig out. I mowed the lawn, weeded my flower bed and now? I'm drinking wine like a person who deserves the best. (thought I was gonna say 'wine-o, huh?)
I think I'll take a long hot bath, get in my jammies, (yeah, so what it's only 3:30 in the afternoon, it's 5 O'Clock somewhere!) and watch movies. I hear the cheese and crackers calling me, and my wine glass is almost empty.
Have a great day, everyone.
So I rolled with the punch, had a good sniffling, hitching and snotty cry and decided to take the day off. I'm glad I did, for several reasons.
One: She slept all day anyway.
Two: She eats for other people if she gets hungry enough, and
Three: I'm not the all-powerful-saviour-of-the-world/family anyhoo!
What did I do on my day off? I went to visit a friend, bought myself a big fat box of Frosted Flakes and came home to pig out. I mowed the lawn, weeded my flower bed and now? I'm drinking wine like a person who deserves the best. (thought I was gonna say 'wine-o, huh?)
I think I'll take a long hot bath, get in my jammies, (yeah, so what it's only 3:30 in the afternoon, it's 5 O'Clock somewhere!) and watch movies. I hear the cheese and crackers calling me, and my wine glass is almost empty.
Have a great day, everyone.
Dummer Ants
It's been an up-and-down week, watching poor ol' maternal figure cry out in pain as the nurses shuffle her around to change her bedding, mess with her butt sore and try unsuccessfully to keep her on her side. She can cough better on her side, not to mention keeping off the horrible looking hole in her back side.
The poor thing is in a diaper and goes potty from a laying down position on a bed pan. I feel more sorry for her loss of dignity than I could ever feel sorrow for her pain and impending loss of life.... But she has a way of making it all better. Sort of like kissing a boo-boo better when I was 5 years old.
The other day I had a spoon of some kind of nursing home slop they call lunch and she was trying to grab for the spoon. Instead, she latched onto my index finger and pulled, pulled harder, and pulled yet again as a puzzled look crept onto her face. "You're pulling my finger, Mom" I told her. "Oops!" she said as the puzzled look was replaced by a small grin. Her eyes can't see, haven't seen a thing sans hallucinations for years, but that doesn't mean those eyes can't twinkle with mischief! "I might regret that" was her answer. Silly woman, I chuckled with her.
She tries so hard to chat, but her mouth simply doesn't obey her brain-commands sometimes, she was mumbling something about ant poison. Remembering a Murder Mystery we watched on TV a hundred years ago when she was still here at the house? Not sure... But I got the jist, we're talking about ant poison now, ok, I can follow that line.
I launch into a story about how I put ant poison on the ant hills in my yard but instead of dying, the ants simply move 2 feet over and start a new hill. In all her wisdom, (for surely old people have much wisdom to share); "Maybe you need dummer ants" she mumbles. I snicker, giggle, she smiles.
I popped in to see her the other day, she grabs for me in a panic, "WHERE'S THE DOG!?" The dog? The dog is with Ron. "Ok", she says, then; "WHERE'S THE CAT, WHERE IS THE CAT????" Her hand was flailing around, looking for my hand, or maybe the cat.
"The cat is home, on the porch", I tell her. "Oh", she settles down again. Next question from her was; "Are you going to Las Cruces today"? Las Cruces? I don't think so! I tell her no, she asks why and I explain that Las Cruces is a long, long way. She asked where I was going if not Las Cruces, I tell her I'm going home. "HOME?? That's an awful long drive, isn't it"? she asks
Aww, geez, she thinks she's back in New Mexico. I explained that home was close, about 25 miles, "Just up the road, Mom, real close". I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried to process that information. I saw her face relax as she separated the un-known from the known. 'Oh, yeah, I'm in Tennessee' was the read on her face. Poor thing...
I talked her into going outside for lunch yesterday, the nurses lifted her into a geri-chair and wheeled her outside. It was really nice out, about 70 degrees with a fantastic breeze. The breeze was trying to blow in some rain but only managed to blow in a TON of humidity. This made her cough uncontrollably and she was rushed back inside for her oxygen. Oh, I felt bad, but I'm glad she got to go outside. I think if she had her druthers, she'd die outside as opposed to inside....
The nurses shuffled her back into bed, amid her cries of pain. (She reminds me of my liquid cat, just hanging there in their arms). When they got her back on the bed they said "There, that wasn't so bad, right?" Mom said she had her doubts, that they might drop her. Then she said, "But I bounce, bounce like a ball". I guess she should know, she's been dropped here, once by me, once by my brother. Yes, she bounces like a ball, but more than physically, she bounces back to 'happy' even in the face of death. What can I learn from her?
The poor thing is in a diaper and goes potty from a laying down position on a bed pan. I feel more sorry for her loss of dignity than I could ever feel sorrow for her pain and impending loss of life.... But she has a way of making it all better. Sort of like kissing a boo-boo better when I was 5 years old.
The other day I had a spoon of some kind of nursing home slop they call lunch and she was trying to grab for the spoon. Instead, she latched onto my index finger and pulled, pulled harder, and pulled yet again as a puzzled look crept onto her face. "You're pulling my finger, Mom" I told her. "Oops!" she said as the puzzled look was replaced by a small grin. Her eyes can't see, haven't seen a thing sans hallucinations for years, but that doesn't mean those eyes can't twinkle with mischief! "I might regret that" was her answer. Silly woman, I chuckled with her.
She tries so hard to chat, but her mouth simply doesn't obey her brain-commands sometimes, she was mumbling something about ant poison. Remembering a Murder Mystery we watched on TV a hundred years ago when she was still here at the house? Not sure... But I got the jist, we're talking about ant poison now, ok, I can follow that line.
I launch into a story about how I put ant poison on the ant hills in my yard but instead of dying, the ants simply move 2 feet over and start a new hill. In all her wisdom, (for surely old people have much wisdom to share); "Maybe you need dummer ants" she mumbles. I snicker, giggle, she smiles.
I popped in to see her the other day, she grabs for me in a panic, "WHERE'S THE DOG!?" The dog? The dog is with Ron. "Ok", she says, then; "WHERE'S THE CAT, WHERE IS THE CAT????" Her hand was flailing around, looking for my hand, or maybe the cat.
"The cat is home, on the porch", I tell her. "Oh", she settles down again. Next question from her was; "Are you going to Las Cruces today"? Las Cruces? I don't think so! I tell her no, she asks why and I explain that Las Cruces is a long, long way. She asked where I was going if not Las Cruces, I tell her I'm going home. "HOME?? That's an awful long drive, isn't it"? she asks
Aww, geez, she thinks she's back in New Mexico. I explained that home was close, about 25 miles, "Just up the road, Mom, real close". I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried to process that information. I saw her face relax as she separated the un-known from the known. 'Oh, yeah, I'm in Tennessee' was the read on her face. Poor thing...
I talked her into going outside for lunch yesterday, the nurses lifted her into a geri-chair and wheeled her outside. It was really nice out, about 70 degrees with a fantastic breeze. The breeze was trying to blow in some rain but only managed to blow in a TON of humidity. This made her cough uncontrollably and she was rushed back inside for her oxygen. Oh, I felt bad, but I'm glad she got to go outside. I think if she had her druthers, she'd die outside as opposed to inside....
The nurses shuffled her back into bed, amid her cries of pain. (She reminds me of my liquid cat, just hanging there in their arms). When they got her back on the bed they said "There, that wasn't so bad, right?" Mom said she had her doubts, that they might drop her. Then she said, "But I bounce, bounce like a ball". I guess she should know, she's been dropped here, once by me, once by my brother. Yes, she bounces like a ball, but more than physically, she bounces back to 'happy' even in the face of death. What can I learn from her?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Dogs, People and God
I went to see the Maternal Figure this morning, seems she had another mini-stroke. She is so weak that when she sat up in bed she listed over like the leaning tower of Pisa on soft ground.
She is so weak that she can't cough, can't hold her coffee cup or spoon, can't open a soda bottle, let alone get it to her lips and tip it up...
I had a dog, a mini- Pekingnese, Kelita was her name. I knew when she was 6 weeks old that her life would be short. She had seziures, allergies and a whole host of secondary problems caused by the medicines she was on. The vet told me that every day past age 6 would be a blessing. I was blessed for almost a year after age 6. At that time, I had to do the most awful thing, kiss her goodbye and let the vet give her the fatal shot.
Starting with the day I brought her home, I became her god, the one and only that provided her food, warmth, care, love and dicipline, and, ultimately, I provided her with a time of death. Why did I 'take my dog out' of this life? Because she was suffering unbelievable misery and was slowly dying a horrible day-by-day death and I, as her god, chose to end her misery. I bought her her favorite n0-no food, a big fat hotdog, took her to her favorite park and gave the best day I could have before the final visit to the vet.
Up until that day, she was my god-example. She loved me unconditionally, adored me even if I was having a grouchy day, and always, ALWAYS forgave me no strings attached.
So who is this guy in the sky with a lightning bolt coming out of the end of his finger, the guy with the long white beard and infinite wisdom anyway? You know, the guy who loves us so much he let his son die a horrible death to save us from our sins: The guy who loves us unconditionally, the guy who provides even the birds and the foxes, the guy who will makes the very stones cry out in worship of him if we don't get around to it once in a while? AND forgive us for forgetting him once in a while.
My {sinful} question is this: If this big guy that brought-us-into-this-world-and-can-take-us-out loves us half as much as I loved my dog, then why are people allowed to writhe in pain, gasp for breath, puke up every meal and live in complete misery until they drown in their own phlegm? My question is this: Why doesn't this all-knowing-all-loving god just take her home or where ever dead people go?
The church people say suffering comes from sin. Well I submit that the Maternal Figure hasn't exactly done the right thing every time but I vehemently deny that she acted in some kind of sin knowingly. This woman has scratched and struggled her whole life, and sin came TO her, not FROM her.
So why is she 'allowed' to lay in such pain, have her dignity thrown in the toilet and struggle for every breath? If she were my dog, she would be out of her misery by now. Go ahead, think I'm evil and hateful, I don't care. Watching a proud, independent woman suffer like this has added 10 years to my life and in my wee little know-nothing wisdom, it's not fair, what she's going through! God, if you're listening or reading, what the heck are you doing????
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Why am I so Mad??
Well, I''ll just tell ya, yep, that's what I''l do! Seems FS and DD's brother came sneaking up here to visit our Mother. What's the big deal about that? After all, I can't keep him from his 'Mama', he is her son, after all... Isn't it nice that a son drives 650 miles to see his Mother?
Of course it is. VERY sweet, in fact. So why am I so Mad about it?
This hot, seething anger goes back a little ways, so I'll begin back there:
He was coming up here and staying a month at a time to 'help' me take care of her when she was living with me. Time away from his loving wife, home, all that. Sweet, really nice of the guy, of course. How many people drop their lives to take care of a person who dropped us so many years ago?
Oh yeah, I did just that, didn't I? Quit two jobs and threw my career to the wind to take care of her. So who's sweeter, him or me? After all, he didn't quit a job for her.. But that's not the point.
What is the point, why am I so Mad about a son dropping and running to see his 'Mama'?
I'm so Mad because for every trip he made up here, Mom coughed up around 600 buckaroos for him, travel expenses, cigarettes, food, ok, I was sorta ok with that, it was her money and her choice.
So, how helpful was he? He did bust his butt to build her a wheel chair ramp. A neighbor and I helped him, it was never completed but it was functional.. that was nice too...
AND he made a mess in the house, sent me to the store for his special foods, "I want THIS brand, not what you bought" and "I have to have THIS kind of cereal" and of course a carton of cigarettes every 4th or 5th day.. Oh, and don't forget, "I'm stuck in this house with Mom while you run to the store every few days, that's not fair"..... I offered him (yet) MORE money to go to the park, eat out, go to the store, get out of the house. I guess complaining was more fun than going out for a free restaurant meal gas money included... Yeah, I was Miffed, but not Mad, not yet anyway.
What made me mad was the bottle of whisky, the huge coffee can full of pain pills, the beautiful day and night sleep they afforded him, and the fact that his bucket of pills weren't enough, he had to slip his nasty hands into our Mother's pain pills too, then lie about it. NOW I was getting
MAD.
I gave him money and sent him home, never let him come back again. He's Mad at me for that. Oh well, bud, sucks to be you. His wife got on the phone with me to remind me that I can't keep him away from his 'Mama" and that he was depressed. I should have told her what I was thinking, but I was too nice. Always too nice..... I should have told her that she's married to a pill-popping lazy mooch and if he got a job maybe he wouldn't be so "Deprayussed". (Maybe the world should be Depraved but I digress..
So I calls him and tells him Mom isn't doing so well and maybe he should think about coming to see her soon. Answer? "I don't have any Moneeeeyyyyy, You need to send me Moneeeeyyyy".
Eye Roll here, well, maybe Eye Roll along with a heavy Sigh.. Ok, I tell him I'll take a day or two and figure out a way to provide him with a {all expense paid vacation} way to get here.
I called my other brother who lives a few hours south of moocher, oops, above mentioned brother, (must be a typo in the end of my fingers..) and other brother says he will pick up mooc, I mean above mentioned brother and let him ride along next weekend.
Since I don't have travel dates yet, I didn't call poor pitiful {yes, I'm Mad} brother and let him know he's the proud winner of an all expense paid weekend get-away to Tennessee.
Seems Moocher, let-my-wife-support-me-and clean-up-after-me lazy pill popping brother suddenly must have won the lottery, because, GUESS WHAT? He's here in Tennessee.
Problem? He snuck up here and never let me off the hook of finding his all expense paid way up here.
So, words that come to mind... Sneak, Liar, Mooch, Trouble Maker, and Money Grubber. Pill Popper, Cry Baby, I'm not Mad because he came to see the Maternal Figure as she lies dying in the bed, I'm Mad because of all of the above-mentioned. And you know what? If he upsets Mom like he did on the phone, I'm gonna be more than Mad, I'm going to zoom right up to PISSED OFF. Guess I should leave the gun home, huh?
Of course it is. VERY sweet, in fact. So why am I so Mad about it?
This hot, seething anger goes back a little ways, so I'll begin back there:
He was coming up here and staying a month at a time to 'help' me take care of her when she was living with me. Time away from his loving wife, home, all that. Sweet, really nice of the guy, of course. How many people drop their lives to take care of a person who dropped us so many years ago?
Oh yeah, I did just that, didn't I? Quit two jobs and threw my career to the wind to take care of her. So who's sweeter, him or me? After all, he didn't quit a job for her.. But that's not the point.
What is the point, why am I so Mad about a son dropping and running to see his 'Mama'?
I'm so Mad because for every trip he made up here, Mom coughed up around 600 buckaroos for him, travel expenses, cigarettes, food, ok, I was sorta ok with that, it was her money and her choice.
So, how helpful was he? He did bust his butt to build her a wheel chair ramp. A neighbor and I helped him, it was never completed but it was functional.. that was nice too...
AND he made a mess in the house, sent me to the store for his special foods, "I want THIS brand, not what you bought" and "I have to have THIS kind of cereal" and of course a carton of cigarettes every 4th or 5th day.. Oh, and don't forget, "I'm stuck in this house with Mom while you run to the store every few days, that's not fair"..... I offered him (yet) MORE money to go to the park, eat out, go to the store, get out of the house. I guess complaining was more fun than going out for a free restaurant meal gas money included... Yeah, I was Miffed, but not Mad, not yet anyway.
What made me mad was the bottle of whisky, the huge coffee can full of pain pills, the beautiful day and night sleep they afforded him, and the fact that his bucket of pills weren't enough, he had to slip his nasty hands into our Mother's pain pills too, then lie about it. NOW I was getting
MAD.
I gave him money and sent him home, never let him come back again. He's Mad at me for that. Oh well, bud, sucks to be you. His wife got on the phone with me to remind me that I can't keep him away from his 'Mama" and that he was depressed. I should have told her what I was thinking, but I was too nice. Always too nice..... I should have told her that she's married to a pill-popping lazy mooch and if he got a job maybe he wouldn't be so "Deprayussed". (Maybe the world should be Depraved but I digress..
So I calls him and tells him Mom isn't doing so well and maybe he should think about coming to see her soon. Answer? "I don't have any Moneeeeyyyyy, You need to send me Moneeeeyyyy".
Eye Roll here, well, maybe Eye Roll along with a heavy Sigh.. Ok, I tell him I'll take a day or two and figure out a way to provide him with a {all expense paid vacation} way to get here.
I called my other brother who lives a few hours south of moocher, oops, above mentioned brother, (must be a typo in the end of my fingers..) and other brother says he will pick up mooc, I mean above mentioned brother and let him ride along next weekend.
Since I don't have travel dates yet, I didn't call poor pitiful {yes, I'm Mad} brother and let him know he's the proud winner of an all expense paid weekend get-away to Tennessee.
Seems Moocher, let-my-wife-support-me-and clean-up-after-me lazy pill popping brother suddenly must have won the lottery, because, GUESS WHAT? He's here in Tennessee.
Problem? He snuck up here and never let me off the hook of finding his all expense paid way up here.
So, words that come to mind... Sneak, Liar, Mooch, Trouble Maker, and Money Grubber. Pill Popper, Cry Baby, I'm not Mad because he came to see the Maternal Figure as she lies dying in the bed, I'm Mad because of all of the above-mentioned. And you know what? If he upsets Mom like he did on the phone, I'm gonna be more than Mad, I'm going to zoom right up to PISSED OFF. Guess I should leave the gun home, huh?
Monday, May 4, 2009
Confused?? !!!
Life can be confusing... take my new job for example. Too many hands in the vegetable patch. I have a boss/owner. I have a farm manager, old fella, he is, all of about 25. I have a Chicken manager, young thing, pretty girl, tom-boyish type, all of 22.
I like her, hard worker, talker, she is, stories upon stories. "I've been to Hawaii" and "My niece and nephew are the best things since sliced bread", "Wanna hear my life's story? Great, my dad, my mother, my grandma, blah, blah". Great girl, I like her.
I'll start the story with her. She's worked there for a year, got promoted (if you can call it that) to supervisor over the chickens. Now, she KNOWS her job, does it well, and works her tail off. Explains what she wants her underlings to do in very clear terms, gets tough on the ones that want to goof off, yeah, I like her. I wonder if she's related to me? She's about as bossy as I am! Yup, I like her a lot. She got a day off, after working every day for two weeks straight. She got a ride to her sisters house, which is something like 80 miles from her car and her house. Mr. Farm Manager called her three, count-em, THREE times on her day off, doubted her honesty about where she was and what she was doing, made her cry three, count-em, THREE times that day. Why did he do that? He wanted her to come in NOW on her day off. Creep.
Speaking of three, I'll move on to my three, count-em THREE supervisors I had to deal with on Saturday. Mr. Farm Manager told me to work with supervisor One. Ok, One-guy is cool, gave me things to do, explained clearly what he wanted, we worked well together for about 1/2 and hour, until Mr. Hot-Shot Farm Manager came along, asked me what I was doing. Upon hearing my answer, his reply was that I wasn't to do things the way Mr. One told me, I was to do things HIS (Hot Shot's) way. OOOKAAAY. One went away dejected.
THEN supervisor Two comes along, asks me what I'm doing, I explain and get, "I'm running this operation, don't listen to anyone but me".
Great. Who's in charge here anyway? I looked around at the dozen or so people trying to get the job done, and I saw Organized Chaos. It took us about 12 hours to get 6 hours of work done. I've only been on the job one week and I'm flat-out exhausted.
I HATE, HATE, HATE to quit a job. Especially after one week. I think I'm going to end up doing just what I hate. These people are gonna kill me, either from stress or exhaustion.
I came home and checked my plants, the ones I planted in those new topsy turvy things, I feel like those plants, wondering which way is up..
AND my cat hates me for leaving him every day. SHEESH!!!!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Cats, trees and panic
It's been an eventful day, the cat woke up at his usual ungodly hour, about 5:15. Seeing I was wasting a good day snoozing, he decided to wake me up, like he does every morning.
I feel a paw tap my forehead, he nuzzles my hair, 'mrrrrow'? he asks.
'Go 'way', I mumble to him. OH! She spoke to me! 'Mrrrrrowwww', he nuzzles and says with all the love he can muster. 'Go 'way', I mumble again. He bites my neck, ever so gently, purrr, purrrr, mrowwww, '"OK! Outside? Let's go outside", I tell him.
Goody goody gumdrops, she's up! HEY, it's dark out here, Hey, hey, you're on the wrong side of the door!! He looks back at me as I shut the door and head for the bed. I'm NOT getting up to play 'chase the string' at this hour today!!
I flopped on the bed and slept peacefully for another 2 hours. Mmmm, coffee, I feel so rested. I wonder out on the porch, still in my jammies to drink my coffee and enjoy a wonderfully warm morning. ( I live in 1850 so I can sit on the porch in my jammies).
As I settled in my rocking chair and prepare my ears to hear the birds singing I hear this desparate, frightened "Rowwwllll???" "Meoww?!!" Translated: "Help me, Help me, I'm hurt/dying/beatup/run over by a car/being eaten by a giant rabbit"!!!!!!
"C'mere Smoke" I call. Desperate MEOWW comes back from across the road. Aw, geez, what am I going to find, blood, guts, broken limbs, bones hanging out, gory images running through my mind as I wonder out into the road calling my dear dying cat. (Oh, yeah, I'm still in my jammies and barefoot).
As I stood on the double yellow line in the middle of the road, a new and equally frightening thought runs through my head; The men in the white coats and a huge butterfly net are going to come along and the last thing I'll hear is "Got Her"!
Ok, cat's going to have to die alone or wait for me to get dressed. "Smoke", I call, "I'll be right back". A panicked "Don't leave me!" howl follows me across the yard as I head back to the house. Good grief, how ugly is this going to be when I get back and find a furry bloody mess?
I rushed in, threw some cloths and shoes on and came back out, starting across the road, still calling for my dear kitty, his panicked screams still rushing out of the woods. I don't see him, should I go in? What if there's a dinosaur over there eating him alive? What if I become desert?
"Smokey", I called, my eyes traveling over the weeds, trying to see in the jungle where the crying was... Oh, look UP, what's that in the tree? It sounds really big, should I run for my life?
"Mrowwwww?" the cat asks as I back up. Oh, that's HIM coming down, dumb cat, got himself treed!!!! He found the ground and ran full speed for me, was that really my cat? Wasn't sure, he looked bigger, oh, he's puffed out! I don't know what treed him or why he had his fur standing straight up but at least he was alive and in one piece. Never a dull moment with that cat! Gotta love him!
I feel a paw tap my forehead, he nuzzles my hair, 'mrrrrow'? he asks.
'Go 'way', I mumble to him. OH! She spoke to me! 'Mrrrrrowwww', he nuzzles and says with all the love he can muster. 'Go 'way', I mumble again. He bites my neck, ever so gently, purrr, purrrr, mrowwww, '"OK! Outside? Let's go outside", I tell him.
Goody goody gumdrops, she's up! HEY, it's dark out here, Hey, hey, you're on the wrong side of the door!! He looks back at me as I shut the door and head for the bed. I'm NOT getting up to play 'chase the string' at this hour today!!
I flopped on the bed and slept peacefully for another 2 hours. Mmmm, coffee, I feel so rested. I wonder out on the porch, still in my jammies to drink my coffee and enjoy a wonderfully warm morning. ( I live in 1850 so I can sit on the porch in my jammies).
As I settled in my rocking chair and prepare my ears to hear the birds singing I hear this desparate, frightened "Rowwwllll???" "Meoww?!!" Translated: "Help me, Help me, I'm hurt/dying/beatup/run over by a car/being eaten by a giant rabbit"!!!!!!
"C'mere Smoke" I call. Desperate MEOWW comes back from across the road. Aw, geez, what am I going to find, blood, guts, broken limbs, bones hanging out, gory images running through my mind as I wonder out into the road calling my dear dying cat. (Oh, yeah, I'm still in my jammies and barefoot).
As I stood on the double yellow line in the middle of the road, a new and equally frightening thought runs through my head; The men in the white coats and a huge butterfly net are going to come along and the last thing I'll hear is "Got Her"!
Ok, cat's going to have to die alone or wait for me to get dressed. "Smoke", I call, "I'll be right back". A panicked "Don't leave me!" howl follows me across the yard as I head back to the house. Good grief, how ugly is this going to be when I get back and find a furry bloody mess?
I rushed in, threw some cloths and shoes on and came back out, starting across the road, still calling for my dear kitty, his panicked screams still rushing out of the woods. I don't see him, should I go in? What if there's a dinosaur over there eating him alive? What if I become desert?
"Smokey", I called, my eyes traveling over the weeds, trying to see in the jungle where the crying was... Oh, look UP, what's that in the tree? It sounds really big, should I run for my life?
"Mrowwwww?" the cat asks as I back up. Oh, that's HIM coming down, dumb cat, got himself treed!!!! He found the ground and ran full speed for me, was that really my cat? Wasn't sure, he looked bigger, oh, he's puffed out! I don't know what treed him or why he had his fur standing straight up but at least he was alive and in one piece. Never a dull moment with that cat! Gotta love him!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Gas is good
I guess this story starts at a panera bread, where I sat with a friend eating broccoli and cheese soup washed down with 1/2 an ham and cheese sandwich. MMM, mmm, good, except now my mouth feels funny, some kind of lump.... Oh, CRAP, I broke a tooth.
Must have been that crunchy soup.. oh, maybe the crunch was my tooth part going down..
Hey, calcium for the day, right? I spent the rest of the weekend trying not to slice and dice, and consequently, eat my tongue on the sharp edge of what remained of my tooth.
Fast forward about 850 miles, (I broke the tooth on an away trip for Easter), sitting on the edge of Mom's bed in the nursing home. Telling her I broke a tooth and have an appointment the next morning so I might not make it in to see the the next day.
Response?
"Bring me some more books on tape." "The food is horrible here, I haven't eaten in days, bring me food." "Bring me batteries for my radio"
MOM, I'll be feeling like CRAP tomorrow, I might not make it!! Answer? "Take a nap in the car before you come here, and don't forget my books on tape..... Bring me some hot soup, too".
OHHHH! Yeah, dummy, THIS IS WHY SHE IS IN A NURSING HOME!!! The woman has no heart for other's needs. I don't think she ever has... Ok, maybe that's harsh. But being awakened at 3am to change the channel on the tv makes a person a little rough around the edges. Grrrr.
So I went to the dentist this morning, quaking in my brave truck-driver boots. (please don't hurt me, Mr. Dentist, please, please??)
Mr. Dentist was so nice, he told his assistant to give me some gas. (Is that why they all wear masks? Oh, wrong kind of gas..)
The mask goes on and I hear the assistant say something like "better you breathing this stuff than me." What The F*** Does That Mean??? I don't care, I'm scared, I'm scared and I'm scared. I have a terrible allergy to pain, needles and the little drilling sound in my mouth that translates like a oil rig digging 7 miles deep. So go ahead, gas me, if I die, I won't have to get my tooth fixed.
I started to relax, and my mind went to Kirsty Alley in the movie "Look Who's Talking". She is laying on the birthing table (I'm laying on the torture table), she's in pain, (I'm in pain), she wants the pain to stop, ( well, DUH!) and they give her something for pain. (Me too, don't forget about meeeee!)
Her eyes get dreamy, her body relaxes, "Ah, " Kirsty and I say together, "that's so much better".
I thought for a moment I would be able to sleep through the whole thing, 3 and 1/2 hours of drilling, grinding, more shots, shivering cold from the gas, open wide, a little pressure, turn right..... The words are far away. Is the buzzing I hear in my head or around my head? I don't know... I think I dozed, not sure. Now I'm home, had my extended nap, I haven't found my face yet but I'm sure it's there....
Mom left a message for me to bring her batteries. Sorry Mom, you have batteries in your drawer there, I'm in my pajama's and staying that way.
Must have been that crunchy soup.. oh, maybe the crunch was my tooth part going down..
Hey, calcium for the day, right? I spent the rest of the weekend trying not to slice and dice, and consequently, eat my tongue on the sharp edge of what remained of my tooth.
Fast forward about 850 miles, (I broke the tooth on an away trip for Easter), sitting on the edge of Mom's bed in the nursing home. Telling her I broke a tooth and have an appointment the next morning so I might not make it in to see the the next day.
Response?
"Bring me some more books on tape." "The food is horrible here, I haven't eaten in days, bring me food." "Bring me batteries for my radio"
MOM, I'll be feeling like CRAP tomorrow, I might not make it!! Answer? "Take a nap in the car before you come here, and don't forget my books on tape..... Bring me some hot soup, too".
OHHHH! Yeah, dummy, THIS IS WHY SHE IS IN A NURSING HOME!!! The woman has no heart for other's needs. I don't think she ever has... Ok, maybe that's harsh. But being awakened at 3am to change the channel on the tv makes a person a little rough around the edges. Grrrr.
So I went to the dentist this morning, quaking in my brave truck-driver boots. (please don't hurt me, Mr. Dentist, please, please??)
Mr. Dentist was so nice, he told his assistant to give me some gas. (Is that why they all wear masks? Oh, wrong kind of gas..)
The mask goes on and I hear the assistant say something like "better you breathing this stuff than me." What The F*** Does That Mean??? I don't care, I'm scared, I'm scared and I'm scared. I have a terrible allergy to pain, needles and the little drilling sound in my mouth that translates like a oil rig digging 7 miles deep. So go ahead, gas me, if I die, I won't have to get my tooth fixed.
I started to relax, and my mind went to Kirsty Alley in the movie "Look Who's Talking". She is laying on the birthing table (I'm laying on the torture table), she's in pain, (I'm in pain), she wants the pain to stop, ( well, DUH!) and they give her something for pain. (Me too, don't forget about meeeee!)
Her eyes get dreamy, her body relaxes, "Ah, " Kirsty and I say together, "that's so much better".
I thought for a moment I would be able to sleep through the whole thing, 3 and 1/2 hours of drilling, grinding, more shots, shivering cold from the gas, open wide, a little pressure, turn right..... The words are far away. Is the buzzing I hear in my head or around my head? I don't know... I think I dozed, not sure. Now I'm home, had my extended nap, I haven't found my face yet but I'm sure it's there....
Mom left a message for me to bring her batteries. Sorry Mom, you have batteries in your drawer there, I'm in my pajama's and staying that way.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
HOT MAMA
Well, I went to see Mom today at the nursing home. She wasn't in her room but a quick check on my watch told me it was smoke hour so I bee-lined it to the smoke room, and, lo, there she was, head to head with her new friend Vi. Wait.... did I say new friend? I though Mom didn't make friends?! Let alone become friendly enough to be leaning towards her new friend (WHAT?) and gossiping.
Now, wait, dear reader, this is not a fiction story, this is the Gawd-Awful Truth!
"Hi Mom" I sing as I come in, feeling my way through the blue air in the six by six room. There are 4 people in the room, all puffing away and, wait for it, wait, wait for it....
Gossiping. NO, really! 'Did you hear about the old lady that went out on a stretcher today?' was one thing I [think] I heard as I peered through the smoke.
"Oh, is that you, thing one, I mean thing three?" (truth is she said our names but I digress)
"It's me, Mom" I answer. "Oh, Vi and I were just talking about you!". I'm thinking for the gazillianth time, what did they do with my real mother and I respond, "I hope it was all good!"
New-Friend-Vi responds "It was all good!" snerk, giggle, puff, slobber, "can you put my ciggarette out?" askes one of the human chimneys, DC. I dutifully put his cig out in the ashtray while Mom says "Mr. Thurmon pushes my wheel chair sometimes, don't you Mr. Thurmon? Is he in here?"
"Uh, yeah, he's sitting in the corner, Mom," I say. Mom says, sort of primping-like, "He pushes my wheel chair sometimes" again.
I look at the nurse standing guard at the door, questioning with my eyes, 'what did you do with my mother? I shrug, she shrugs.
"Mr. Thurmon, do you push Mom's wheel chair for her?" I ask the old guy. He has a four claw cane sitting beside him, never heard him say much although he did sing 'In the Garden' with me on Friday..
"Yuh" he says. I look at Mom, she's still primping. She actually LIKES it that Mr. Thurmon pushes her wheel chair! Oh, wait, there's more. Wait for it.....
"DC pushes my chair too sometimes," says this little old lady I don't really know with a smile on her face.
"I guess these men like pushing a good looking lady's chair down the hall, huh, Mom?" No answer, just more primping.
"Here, put my cig out and lets go back to the room". I guess the flirt moment was over. She calls out over her shoulder to her New-Friend-Vi, "See you in an hour, Vi!"
Maybe I'll wake up soon, maybe I don't want to.... The other day she said she hated womens sports. "Why?" asks the dumb daughter in ALL innocence. Answer? Because she doesn't like all that stuff flopping around (under their shirts) when they run. WTF? (Who are you, lady, cause you're not my prim and proper mother, you know, the one who scolds ME for having a POTTY mouth??!!)
Oh, I am so dumb, I ask her if she likes Men's sports. OMG, I got an answer. "Oh, yes, they have more interesting stuff flopping around."
Ok. Whatever. At least it was a happy visit!
Now, wait, dear reader, this is not a fiction story, this is the Gawd-Awful Truth!
"Hi Mom" I sing as I come in, feeling my way through the blue air in the six by six room. There are 4 people in the room, all puffing away and, wait for it, wait, wait for it....
Gossiping. NO, really! 'Did you hear about the old lady that went out on a stretcher today?' was one thing I [think] I heard as I peered through the smoke.
"Oh, is that you, thing one, I mean thing three?" (truth is she said our names but I digress)
"It's me, Mom" I answer. "Oh, Vi and I were just talking about you!". I'm thinking for the gazillianth time, what did they do with my real mother and I respond, "I hope it was all good!"
New-Friend-Vi responds "It was all good!" snerk, giggle, puff, slobber, "can you put my ciggarette out?" askes one of the human chimneys, DC. I dutifully put his cig out in the ashtray while Mom says "Mr. Thurmon pushes my wheel chair sometimes, don't you Mr. Thurmon? Is he in here?"
"Uh, yeah, he's sitting in the corner, Mom," I say. Mom says, sort of primping-like, "He pushes my wheel chair sometimes" again.
I look at the nurse standing guard at the door, questioning with my eyes, 'what did you do with my mother? I shrug, she shrugs.
"Mr. Thurmon, do you push Mom's wheel chair for her?" I ask the old guy. He has a four claw cane sitting beside him, never heard him say much although he did sing 'In the Garden' with me on Friday..
"Yuh" he says. I look at Mom, she's still primping. She actually LIKES it that Mr. Thurmon pushes her wheel chair! Oh, wait, there's more. Wait for it.....
"DC pushes my chair too sometimes," says this little old lady I don't really know with a smile on her face.
"I guess these men like pushing a good looking lady's chair down the hall, huh, Mom?" No answer, just more primping.
"Here, put my cig out and lets go back to the room". I guess the flirt moment was over. She calls out over her shoulder to her New-Friend-Vi, "See you in an hour, Vi!"
Maybe I'll wake up soon, maybe I don't want to.... The other day she said she hated womens sports. "Why?" asks the dumb daughter in ALL innocence. Answer? Because she doesn't like all that stuff flopping around (under their shirts) when they run. WTF? (Who are you, lady, cause you're not my prim and proper mother, you know, the one who scolds ME for having a POTTY mouth??!!)
Oh, I am so dumb, I ask her if she likes Men's sports. OMG, I got an answer. "Oh, yes, they have more interesting stuff flopping around."
Ok. Whatever. At least it was a happy visit!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Instant slow motion
I got up this morning with a list of things I needed to do for the maternal figure. Gather some short sleeve shirts, some tapes, writing paper, sweat shirts. The cloths needed to be washed so like the dutiful daughter (pre-teen eye roll here) I am, I started the wash.
I love doing the wash, no, really, I love doing the wash. I use a wringer washer dated sometime in the '40's and it still works like a charm. I'm dated sometime in the '50's and I wish I worked that well! But I digress:
Got the first load washed, wrung, rinsed and wrung again, stuffed a basket of cloths under my arm and grabbed a bucket of cloths pins. I'm such a good daughter. (pre-teen eye roll here).
The weather channel told me it was 54 degrees out there. That's 32 degrees above freezing.
So, I'm wondering how I managed to go skiing on the back steps that defied the thermometer and remained icy....
It happened so fast! Well, the knowledge that I was on a slippery slope happened fast. Once it was in my head that I was going to get from the top of the porch to the ground at lightning speed, time went instantly into slow-mo.
The whole deal was pretty slick. No, not slippery slick, well, yeah, slippery slick. Let me try again.
The whole deal was pretty cool! Hmm, Well, DUH, things can be icy only if it's cool. Let me try again.
I pulled this fall off pretty well. Hmm, well, no, gravity pulled me down.......
ANYWAY! My heal slipped on the top step and from there my heal slipped of each step until my foot hit the ground. So, Mr. Gravity, you pulled me down the steps but I stayed upright all the way down! But, the ground must not have had the same weather information the steps had, because the ground was NOT slippery. The ground seemed to be acting as though it really was 54 degrees out, so as a result, my foot STOPPED moving as soon as it hit the {warm} HUH? ground.
That's when gravity won the battle with me. But fear not, I won the war on this fall, I jumped up, looked around to make sure I wasn't SEEN by anyone and then looked to see how bad the laundry and cloths pins fared.
The laundry basket was sitting innocently, full, not dirty, as though I put it down gently. HUH! The cloths pins didn't do so well. As I was S-L-O-W-L-Y sliding bump, bump, bump down the stairs (at lightning speed), I found enough time to notice that my cloths pins were jumping out of the bucket like rats jumping off a sinking ship.
So I survived a 4 and a half foot drop that had 4 boards in the way that could have... oh I don't want to think of how those stair/boards could have hurt me, and came out of it with a few bruises, a bucket of scattered cloths pins and a bunch of wounded pride.
I love doing the wash, no, really, I love doing the wash. I use a wringer washer dated sometime in the '40's and it still works like a charm. I'm dated sometime in the '50's and I wish I worked that well! But I digress:
Got the first load washed, wrung, rinsed and wrung again, stuffed a basket of cloths under my arm and grabbed a bucket of cloths pins. I'm such a good daughter. (pre-teen eye roll here).
The weather channel told me it was 54 degrees out there. That's 32 degrees above freezing.
So, I'm wondering how I managed to go skiing on the back steps that defied the thermometer and remained icy....
It happened so fast! Well, the knowledge that I was on a slippery slope happened fast. Once it was in my head that I was going to get from the top of the porch to the ground at lightning speed, time went instantly into slow-mo.
The whole deal was pretty slick. No, not slippery slick, well, yeah, slippery slick. Let me try again.
The whole deal was pretty cool! Hmm, Well, DUH, things can be icy only if it's cool. Let me try again.
I pulled this fall off pretty well. Hmm, well, no, gravity pulled me down.......
ANYWAY! My heal slipped on the top step and from there my heal slipped of each step until my foot hit the ground. So, Mr. Gravity, you pulled me down the steps but I stayed upright all the way down! But, the ground must not have had the same weather information the steps had, because the ground was NOT slippery. The ground seemed to be acting as though it really was 54 degrees out, so as a result, my foot STOPPED moving as soon as it hit the {warm} HUH? ground.
That's when gravity won the battle with me. But fear not, I won the war on this fall, I jumped up, looked around to make sure I wasn't SEEN by anyone and then looked to see how bad the laundry and cloths pins fared.
The laundry basket was sitting innocently, full, not dirty, as though I put it down gently. HUH! The cloths pins didn't do so well. As I was S-L-O-W-L-Y sliding bump, bump, bump down the stairs (at lightning speed), I found enough time to notice that my cloths pins were jumping out of the bucket like rats jumping off a sinking ship.
So I survived a 4 and a half foot drop that had 4 boards in the way that could have... oh I don't want to think of how those stair/boards could have hurt me, and came out of it with a few bruises, a bucket of scattered cloths pins and a bunch of wounded pride.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Rafting on Family Rapids
Riding a raft sounds like a lot of fun until you find yourself on someone elses raft. Friday I found myself riding the rapids that only a certain maternally biologically connected person can produce.
Seems I'm the most UN trustworthy person in the whole wide world. I'm a thief and a liar. For these great titles (great if you are Baby Face Nelson) I have boxed up and stored my entire way of life for the past eight months. I greatly feared finding myself out in some unmanageable storm for dropping everything and making a marathon run to New Mexico. I did it anyway.
Why? I've been asked that question by everyone from Hospice to my neighbor to myself.
Why? Only answer I can come up with is that I wanted desperately to fix something I thought was broken. A relationship. Well, after I get done beating myself up for trying to fix the world....... (How old am I? How many times have I tried to fix other people? When will I learn?) I woke up to a friday from hell.
Woke up is the key word here... I had to take about 3 and a half days off just to get my temper/sadness/hurt under control. Ok. I'm better, right? Nooooooo. Well, yeah, oh, HELL and DAMNATION, I will survive this but I ain't liking it a single bit right now.
So. I picked two really pretty flowers that bloomed in my yard and after steeling myself got in the car and drove back to the nursing home. Feeling.... well, feeling guilty as Baby Face Nelson should have felt. You see, FS got a call from little ol lonely lady this morning and FS had to cry alone. What a shit I felt like, I felt like I dumped the whole world in FS's lap and went to a party without a care in the world.
With a pounding heart and emotions like lava flowing down the mountain into the sea I took my flowers and entered lonely lil' ol' lady's room with a bright "Hi there!"
Alec Trebbec waited patiently to find out the answer to his bonus question: Bing, bing, bing bing... the music goes. Answer, "What is a woman happy to see a family member'?
Correct! You win the round! "OH! Is that you?" Yeah, yeah, it's me, are you mean or nice today? Are you a good witch or a bad witch? I'm such a coward and if I only had a brain....
She was a good witch today, loved the flowers, "Take me outside for a cig." "Get this, do that, bring this from home, take that home with you". Hmmm. all is well on the front lines.
Sort of.
She has a teddy hanging on the door, it's a big, blue, fuzzy, soft bunny. I took it down so she could feel it. To my great surprise, she hugged it, kissed it and hugged it again. Now she's a typical lil' ol' lady in a nursing home joining the ranks of women holding baby dolls and teddy's. I don't get it, she's my mother. Never did mushy stuff. Hey Nurse, Whadya do with my mother?
I asked the nurse to give her the big, blue, fuzzy, soft bunny to her when they get done using it for an easter decoration on her door. They said they would.
All is well on Tuesday. Wonder what Wednesday, or Friday will bring? Life on the edge. Never a dull moment!
Seems I'm the most UN trustworthy person in the whole wide world. I'm a thief and a liar. For these great titles (great if you are Baby Face Nelson) I have boxed up and stored my entire way of life for the past eight months. I greatly feared finding myself out in some unmanageable storm for dropping everything and making a marathon run to New Mexico. I did it anyway.
Why? I've been asked that question by everyone from Hospice to my neighbor to myself.
Why? Only answer I can come up with is that I wanted desperately to fix something I thought was broken. A relationship. Well, after I get done beating myself up for trying to fix the world....... (How old am I? How many times have I tried to fix other people? When will I learn?) I woke up to a friday from hell.
Woke up is the key word here... I had to take about 3 and a half days off just to get my temper/sadness/hurt under control. Ok. I'm better, right? Nooooooo. Well, yeah, oh, HELL and DAMNATION, I will survive this but I ain't liking it a single bit right now.
So. I picked two really pretty flowers that bloomed in my yard and after steeling myself got in the car and drove back to the nursing home. Feeling.... well, feeling guilty as Baby Face Nelson should have felt. You see, FS got a call from little ol lonely lady this morning and FS had to cry alone. What a shit I felt like, I felt like I dumped the whole world in FS's lap and went to a party without a care in the world.
With a pounding heart and emotions like lava flowing down the mountain into the sea I took my flowers and entered lonely lil' ol' lady's room with a bright "Hi there!"
Alec Trebbec waited patiently to find out the answer to his bonus question: Bing, bing, bing bing... the music goes. Answer, "What is a woman happy to see a family member'?
Correct! You win the round! "OH! Is that you?" Yeah, yeah, it's me, are you mean or nice today? Are you a good witch or a bad witch? I'm such a coward and if I only had a brain....
She was a good witch today, loved the flowers, "Take me outside for a cig." "Get this, do that, bring this from home, take that home with you". Hmmm. all is well on the front lines.
Sort of.
She has a teddy hanging on the door, it's a big, blue, fuzzy, soft bunny. I took it down so she could feel it. To my great surprise, she hugged it, kissed it and hugged it again. Now she's a typical lil' ol' lady in a nursing home joining the ranks of women holding baby dolls and teddy's. I don't get it, she's my mother. Never did mushy stuff. Hey Nurse, Whadya do with my mother?
I asked the nurse to give her the big, blue, fuzzy, soft bunny to her when they get done using it for an easter decoration on her door. They said they would.
All is well on Tuesday. Wonder what Wednesday, or Friday will bring? Life on the edge. Never a dull moment!
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