Melancholy Thoughts on Good Friday

On Good Friday, I stayed with my aunt (my dad’s oldest sister), who has Alzheimer’s, while my cousin went to church. My cousin, Shirley, has lived with and taken care of her mother for over eight years now and cherishes every second of their time together, even though her beloved mother no longer recognizes her or anyone else.

As I waited for Shirley to get home from church, I thought about the rest of my dad’s family. His four brothers and four sisters were all kind and decent people who enjoyed each other’s company. They were funny as hell and liked a good party, so I have lots of warm memories of holidays and reunions. But now only one brother and three sisters are left, and two of them have serious health issues.

The one to whom I am closest is my only remaining uncle (and his wife and kids), and I don’t know how I’ll handle it when he dies. That’s because I always wished that he had been my father. He is so many things that my dad was not. I love this man dearly and hope he has many more healthy years.

Thinking about my dad’s family makes me sad. It also makes me realize that I haven’t seen my aunt and uncle for a few months. So, given how quickly time slips past me, I’m going to visit them this week. Now I feel better!

Melancholy Thoughts on Good Friday

I Love (and Hate) Our Security System

I am an extreme night owl, one who has to force herself to go to bed at 4:00 or 5:00 a.m., because I have so much more energy at night than during the day. (Must have been a bat in a previous life!) Last night, I was getting stuff done and didn’t go to bed ‘til 5:20. I was hoping nobody would call this morning until at least 11:00, even though our dog, Maddie, probably wouldn’t have let me sleep that long.

Well, just before 10:00, the house alarm went off. I can’t tell you what that does to me, especially when I’m alone. (My husband will be home this afternoon.) Mind you, having my husband home isn’t much help, since he just tells me “It’s nothing” when the alarm goes off and falls back asleep. My hero. He actually tells me that if I’m convinced someone’s in the house, I should go and check it out myself. And I do.

Thankfully, it was light outside, which makes false alarm episodes, of which there aren’t many, more bearable somehow. Maybe I figure that facing down an intruder without makeup in daylight is enough to make him retreat! Anyway, probably because I was startled out of a sound sleep, I didn’t feel very brave.

I ran to the alarm panel on the bedroom wall to see where the breach had been. Of course, I had to run back to the night stand to get my glasses. The panel lights indicated the problem spot was the front staircase. So I told Wonder Dog to wake up and come with me, since I had to leave the imagined safety of our bedroom to check the house. (This is a big house, and I set up a few crazy things in the bedroom area to protect myself on the few occasions when my husband’s away.) Anyway, that lazy dog had to be ordered off our bed. Some watch dog.

The alarm company called and asked if everything was okay and stayed on the phone while I checked the house. Once outside the bedroom, I could see that nothing seemed disturbed, and the front door was locked. I checked the other doors and all the rooms on the first floor and then dragged a reluctant Maddie down to the basement with me. If anybody was down there, she’d have followed the scent right to him.

So far, so good . . . until, that is, I said something to the alarm company person and found that the phone line was dead. After a few seconds of near panic, I realized that it’s probably the alarm system that’s been screwing with the phone lines the past few months. Damn – yet another repair person to bother me at an inconvenient time.

But now I had a new reason to panic. The alarm company would surely have called the police when the phone went dead. I used my cell phone to call the alarm folks, who offered to call off the sheriff (we don’t have our own police department). All I could think about was deputies seeing the house in its current state. (The dishes were done, but the kitchen was a cluttered mess, including bird food the parrots had flung onto the floor. And that, combined with my naked face, would’ve been humiliating. ) Now I was really traumatized! Fortunately, the alarm company reached the cops before they sent someone out.

Thankfully, it was, indeed, a false alarm. But now I’ve changed the agenda for today. I’m tidying up this place. I mean, you never know, right? I’ll be really tired, having gotten only three hours of sleep Thursday night and less than five last night. But at least I know my heart’s okay – I didn’t have “the big one” this morning!

I Love (and Hate) Our Security System

My EMail to Bart Stupak

On 3/20/10, I went to Bart Stupak’s website and angrily sent the following email, which I admit could’ve been better written:

“So rather than allow a woman to abort an unwanted fetus, you prefer to see an unwanted baby born addicted and then neglected and abused? How does that make any sense at all?

Nobody likes abortion, but it must remain an option. I don't see right-wing control freaks stepping up and adopting those at-risk babies from the mothers who didn't want them to begin with and don't love them once they're born. How many have you brought home?

How many people, who are already alive and suffering, will die if you and others like you defeat health care reform? And how is that not on your conscience? Do you think that sits well with your God? How dare you sentence so many people to suffering and premature death?

I'm not in your district, thank God. But I'll do everything I can to help those who will prevent you from being re-elected. You will pay for deciding when poor people should die."

My EMail to Bart Stupak

The Sweetest Little Guy

We’re lucky to have wonderful neighbors who have two darling kids, a boy who’ll be four soon and a two-year-old girl. Well, the little guy was in the yard today, observing our dog, who was pulling at her lead, wanting to play with him. So I went outside, let the dog loose and struck up a conversation. He asks a million questions. Today, one of them was, “If you sat on our deck steps forever, what would happen?” I told him I’d turn green with mold, so he started asking about the mold. His questions remind me of the ones my son used to ask . . . constantly.

Anyway, he asked me if there were any toys in our house, and I told him that some of my son’s trucks were in the basement for when kids visit. Naturally, he wanted to see them, so I took him down to our basement, where he fell in love with one of the Tonka front end loaders. He asked if he could maybe take it home for a few days. I told him he could.

Well, he was thrilled when he got the truck back on their deck and couldn't wait to play with it. Then this little boy, who hasn’t been very affectionate in front of me, blew me a kiss and said, “If I had a net, I’d put it over the railing and catch you and take you in my house, to play with me forever.” Now he owns my heart!

The Sweetest Little Guy

My Ex-Husband's Funeral

On Sunday, we attended my ex-husband’s memorial service. He died after a long and brave battle with cancer. We’d been divorced for many years, and he remarried, but we remained friends, and it killed me to see him suffer and die so young.

The service was difficult, to say the least. My son struggled over whether to give a eulogy. He wasn’t sure he could get through it, and he didn’t want to break down in front of friends and coworkers. But he did it.

He gave a beautiful eulogy, which was incredibly moving. At the end, he said, “I will always love him and will always keep trying to make him proud of me.” And as I listened to his words, I imagined his dad smiling with pride, as he heard his boy speak so lovingly in front of all those people. I am so proud of him. I don’t think I could’ve done half as well.

My Ex-Husband's Funeral

Gotta Laugh About Aging!

Birthdays don’t bother me, and I don’t feel much older than I did 10 years ago, except for an occasional muscle ache. But significant changes started happening somewhere around 40. I can remember using a new hair conditioner and checking the label to see if I had to leave it in for a few minutes or could rinse it right out. Well, I thought I was having a stroke or something – I couldn’t read it! No matter how much I squinted, I couldn’t make out those little letters. Although I’d always thought I could will these things away, I soon realized that my reading vision was shot. That was only the beginning.

It’s just too bad I hadn’t figured it out earlier. Like when I went to Nordstrom’s cosmetic counter to return my Lancome mascara, because it must’ve been dried out when I bought it, since there was obviously none on my lashes. The saleswoman looked at me with a mix of incredulity and disdain, but she gave me a new one, which also appeared to be dried out. When I finally decided to look at my mascara with a magnifying mirror, I almost died. I looked like Tammy Faye Bakker! How long had I walked around like that?

It’s the same thing with those little hairs that show up around the chin and lip area. I could feel them, but I didn’t see them. So nobody else could, either, right? Oh, my God! And now I’m having trouble with my eyebrows. Every now and then, a wiry pubic hair with a mind of its own pops up in a brow. Someone said to use eyebrow wax. To hell with that – I just pull the little bastards out. When will this stop?!

Gotta Laugh About Aging!

Bunco, Anyone?

Almost two years ago, I was persuaded to join a bunco group. I knew only one woman there that night and didn’t even know what bunco was - thought it was a card game. But it’s actually a dice game, an old lady’s dice game, according to my son. (Our ages range from the mid-30s to early 60s, which is probably typical.) It’s mindless fun, if you’ve got the right people in the group. You laugh a lot, some of that due to the martinis and margaritas! And a couple of our players are Martha Stewart types, so it’s worth going for the food alone when they host. (When it’s my turn, it’s “Bunco by Costco”.)

Our little group started with 12 or 13 women, but we usually have only six to eight. We had six last night. And on my 30-minute drive home, I remembered how reluctant I was to join the group initially. I’m not much of a “joiner”. I don’t go to meetings of my volunteer organizations, and I don’t join clubs or anything else that requires regular attendance. But this is different.

It occurs to me that I look forward to bunco, because these women have enriched my life. We’ve bonded, even if for only three or four hours a month. We have such a good time that we’ve actually stopped playing the game, because it gets in the way of the conversations! Who would’ve guessed that this would become so meaningful for me? It’s what often happens when I venture outside my comfort zone.

Bunco, Anyone?