Major barrel of whine today... Today is Sunday. I had a lazy morning and read the paper and did a few batches of wash. Then, around two, I left the house. I went to the ATM and got two twenty dollar bills because tomorrow is the last pre Christmas day to catch the garbage men and give them their Christmas tip. Then I went to Michael's for some note cards because I knew they had them for a dollar a pack. Walking back to the car I noticed that the minus five degree temperature and the gusting thirty mile winds kind of made my forehead hurt. I next went to Radio Shack and bought MP3's for the twins and the service agreement has the most attractive trade in feature. I bought a pink one and a red one. They are darling and I was so happy they still had them, but the twins will fight over the colors.
After that I drove to the hospital to visit my dad. I found a good parking space so that was nice and I did not have to walk in to the horrible wind to get in the hospital. Dad and I talked about his choices after he is dismissed tomorrow. His doc thinks he needs intermediate care so we hope he can get in the place closest to my house. He would prefer to go home and have me stay there with him a few days as the doc thinks he should not be alone. I wonder if it would be okay if I left him alone a few hours so I could go home and wash dishes everyday. After visiting a while and laughing over how badly the kitchen had goofed his dinner order, I left and went to Menard's to buy storm window film for my house as several storm windows seem to be missing or in that unreachable stack of windows and screens in the corner of the garage. They were closing Menard's so I had to rush but my cell phone only rang twice while I was there. I think I probably don't need to ever answer it again because I know for certain that whomever it is will just say, "Where are you?"
I first put the film up in my room and Lou commented that it seemed redundant since I had a storm window and he guesses we need new windows. But the process went well and quickly and the film did not get all stuck together. Then I covered one window in Fran's intermediate bedroom. She has purchased and closed on a new house. It is entirely repainted and carpeted and one bathroom is new and she apparently will be moving into it one item at a time for the next ten years or so. I told her I was a little tired and felt kind of woozy up on the step ladder so I would do the other window tomorrow.
Lou made me corned beef hash and two lacy eggs and they were perfect and delicious and I, of course, thanked him profusely a number of times, just to make sure he actually heard the thanks. I think maybe he did, but his usual unresponsive self did not reply to my remarks. As he carried his dishes over to the sink he did remark that the window over the sink was the one that really needed the storm window film. I of course took that to mean I had my priorities wrong in the course of action I took and I reassured him that I would cover it as soon as I got home tomorrow. While I was out, he was going to put in the new toilet, but there was a discolored patch of grout and he wanted to see if it would dry out, so the new toilet is in the living room and the old toilet is in the kitchen.
Then I took a Lunesta and fell asleep. It is three thirty am and I got up to do the dishes that had accumulated all day while I was gone. The twins left four pop cans and six plastic glasses among that lot. I wonder if I take any more Lunesta it will be an overdose, but I would like to sleep a little more.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Salesman of the Year
It is such a struggle some days, isn't it? Sometimes you just don't want to wake up. Sometimes you walk around like Katherine Hepburn, just lightly shaking your head from side to side, which isn't the palsy of old age. It is unadulterated disbelief.
Yesterday, a very cold Friday in January, after dark, someone knocks at the door. It is the source of most of Johnny Carson's comedy material, the siding salesman. I walk down the stairs, past the hysterically barking dog and the two granddaughters, both talking to me at once, about different subjects, with the phone in my hand, finishing a call to my dad, and answer the door. I turn off the phone, quiet the dogs and the girls, and engage in some trivial conversation with the salesman. I mention that (can't you see?) we just got the house sided but we are slowly replacing all the windows, although this is not a good time, financially. He explains that it is a free estimate, good for one year and the guy will call us on the phone before he shows up. Sure, I shouldn't talk to these guys, but our beautiful siding job did result from a "cold call", and I am interested in what this guy is peddling.
Next day, 10a.m., doorbell rings. The estimate guy is here, no phone call, and he will need egress to the house, can't just look outside. Louie answers and says well, then, lets not bother cuz it is not convenient for you to troop through the house right now, and they engage in further small talk about which windows and why it is not a good time financially, etc. Salesmen are salesmen cuz they like to talk I guess, and the guy tends to go on and on. Gives Louie his card, etc., then as he rattles on, Louie says, " I just cooked my Oatmeal and it is getting cold, so..." The guy says, "I just drove all the way out here from Oak Park, so I REALLY care about your bowl of Oatmeal."
Really clinched it, huh? Sure, we won't be calling Galway Construction when we need new windows, and , by the way, my cousin works for Feldco.
Yesterday, a very cold Friday in January, after dark, someone knocks at the door. It is the source of most of Johnny Carson's comedy material, the siding salesman. I walk down the stairs, past the hysterically barking dog and the two granddaughters, both talking to me at once, about different subjects, with the phone in my hand, finishing a call to my dad, and answer the door. I turn off the phone, quiet the dogs and the girls, and engage in some trivial conversation with the salesman. I mention that (can't you see?) we just got the house sided but we are slowly replacing all the windows, although this is not a good time, financially. He explains that it is a free estimate, good for one year and the guy will call us on the phone before he shows up. Sure, I shouldn't talk to these guys, but our beautiful siding job did result from a "cold call", and I am interested in what this guy is peddling.
Next day, 10a.m., doorbell rings. The estimate guy is here, no phone call, and he will need egress to the house, can't just look outside. Louie answers and says well, then, lets not bother cuz it is not convenient for you to troop through the house right now, and they engage in further small talk about which windows and why it is not a good time financially, etc. Salesmen are salesmen cuz they like to talk I guess, and the guy tends to go on and on. Gives Louie his card, etc., then as he rattles on, Louie says, " I just cooked my Oatmeal and it is getting cold, so..." The guy says, "I just drove all the way out here from Oak Park, so I REALLY care about your bowl of Oatmeal."
Really clinched it, huh? Sure, we won't be calling Galway Construction when we need new windows, and , by the way, my cousin works for Feldco.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Lying
 | lying If there is something wrong with a very expensive car, and it is not a safety issue, but the manufacturer recognizes the problem, and knows it is a manufacturing defect, and what caused it, and how to correct it, and the manufacturer has a policy about this problem, about how to defer inquiries and how to deal with the customer that is a series of actual, provable lies, and that when you do the research and find out the truth about the problem, and confront them with the facts, they continue to decry any knowledge thereof, and stoop to not answering your phone calls, hoping you will let the matter drop, THEN, why do we continue to buy cars from these people, and EXPECT them to fulfill the terms of the contract and produce a decent, safe product, as advertised? They have shown beyond any question of any doubt, that they are a bunch of lying, sneaky thieves, and we all know this, and accept this, and DON'T do anything about it but go out and buy another one of their cars. What is wrong with this whole concept? Why do we all, each of us, YOU, TOO, allow ourselves to be stupid about this and forgive ourselves for being made a monkey of, just cuz we want to drive down the road in something shiny and acceptable... I don't know. I wish I was back in the day when I was just glad to have a machine that moved and was licensable. Now it has to be pretty and on TV currently, and make it seem as if there is not actually a very stupid monkey driving it. When we all know better and GM is glad we know... |
pissed off The Spectrum of Bitterness Part One
I just think I need to make a declaration, in case anyone ever happens to feel a little guilty about paying attention, which probably will not happen anyway...
I have decided not to ask certain people, anymore, "How are things?" or, "So, how is the family?" or other things of that ilk. Cuz, even though I have always been interested in what is going on with you, and am always asking, NO ONE ever asks me anymore. (The use of the word "anymore" in a non standard way, is a peculiar Mid Western, American coloquiolism.)
And, you are all forgiven, blanketly. (Made-up word) cuz I know anyhing I would have to tell you in reply to such a question is so terrible and depressing, and so unbelievable, that you are all sick to the death of hearing it, year after year. And I want you ALL to know, that I understand completely how you feel, cuz I myself, believe it or not, have also had periods of time in my life when I lived in LaLa land. The difference here is that you, and you do know who you are, have been granted permanent residence, and are thoroughly enjoying life in LaLa land, where as I keep getting kicked out. So, I guess it all boils down to my just being bitter and resentful, which I am sure all of you, and you do know who you are, will find very comforting since that is what you already thought.. .
The Spectrum of Bitterness Part Two
- June 20, 2007, the spectrum of bitterness part two
- I have decided that I cannot do anything the simple way. I cannot be friendly to my neighbors because one of them gets annoyed at me and I become the pariah. I cannot tell ANY of my relatives how I feel, because they all think they have it tougher and more often. I can't just have a kid. I have to have a kid with neurological and mental problems. And then if I try again, I can't just have a pretty and smart daughter; I have to have a pretty and smart daughter who has to drop out and have a child before she enrolls in college and gets on the dean's list and makes a ton of money. And my daughter can't just buy a house, she has to buy a house with a guy who is sick in love with her but for some reason doesn't want to get married. And my grandaughter can't just break off the faucet and make a geyser in the bathroom; it has to be a boiling hot geyser and it has to be at midnight and the shutoff valve has to be too hard for my arthritic hands to turn. And I can't just have a little progressive, normal arthritis. I have to have all my knee cartilage disappear before I am forty. And I always bump into the coffee table and I always have an allergic reaction to the only drug I MUST have. And whenever my dear very elderly father tries to help me, it ends up costing me about $500 and I have to keep it a secret so his feelings are not hurt. My mom said I reminded her of the guy in Lil Abner that walked around with the little black cloud over his head. My brother says I should count what I do have instead of what I don't have. Yeah, Like count the gas bill for $400 dollars, and don't count the $400 dollars cuz I don't have it. I get it...
- I know, I know, you get it too, only you get it worse, and way more often...
Sunday, July 01, 2007
The Spectrum of Bitterness Part Three
Warning: Dirty Laundry being aired. Don't like that? Don't read this...
Today, ah, a beautiful, perfect day weather-wise. Tried to garden... "Someone" took my landscaping staples. "Someone" said the water from the hose was inhibiting their plans. So I went to empty the wagons of the rubble I had left to molder. As I returned from that chore, which I carried out just as soon as "someone" suggested to me that it needed to be done, I walked up the stairs to hear my husband in conversation with AT&T, attempting to get the phone service reconnected. (What Barbour parka? What Filson Cruiser? What motorcycle?) And he was explaining to the customer service representative how much I weighed.
Why am I here?
"Someone" once said that no one is useless. They can always be used as a bad example.
Another gorgeous day in my life, shot to hell.
Today, ah, a beautiful, perfect day weather-wise. Tried to garden... "Someone" took my landscaping staples. "Someone" said the water from the hose was inhibiting their plans. So I went to empty the wagons of the rubble I had left to molder. As I returned from that chore, which I carried out just as soon as "someone" suggested to me that it needed to be done, I walked up the stairs to hear my husband in conversation with AT&T, attempting to get the phone service reconnected. (What Barbour parka? What Filson Cruiser? What motorcycle?) And he was explaining to the customer service representative how much I weighed.
Why am I here?
"Someone" once said that no one is useless. They can always be used as a bad example.
Another gorgeous day in my life, shot to hell.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Burdens
All of us walk around thinking about the burdens we carry, the things we must do, the things that others depend on us for. My usual focus is taking care of the house. It gets me so mad that the entire burden of keeping this home livable is on me. No one else cares if the Equal packet sits on the floor for days on end. And if I didn't pick it up and put it in the compactor or the recycling, dang, there it would still be sitting.
Suddenly, it occurs to me, well...maybe not suddenly, maybe it has been creeping up on me, the focus I have had is probably just a distraction. If we walked around thinking about what the real burden is, we would be so overwhelmed, we would probably be paralyzed.
We have a different kind of household, with children and grandchildren, and it is a constant struggle to try to be fair and to not pick favorites, to not show preference to the cutest, or the smartest, or the most needy, to not differentiate between my offspring and someone else's offspring, to not look at some of the residents as being someone else's burden. So far, this particular part of my life has been pretty successful. The kids and the grands pretty much feel as though they are on equal footing, except for an occasional occurrence when some of the grands realize they don't have an actual parent rooting for them. So it is a difficult situation for them also. And they share in the success.
Today, the youngest, five, Ben, was out on the lawn with a neighbor child. This neighbor boy, Cody, six, and a head taller, has caused a lot of problems for us, and we frankly do not like his style. We do not let Ben play with him without supervision. Grandpa was sitting outside watching them and came into the house for a minute. Mom, Fran, looks out the window and sees Ben beating the stuffing out of Cody. Ben was made to immediately come into the house.
As we were preparing to leave to run errands, we put Ben into the car with us, and the discussion that started when he entered the house continued. Fran tells him he will not be allowed to play with Cody anymore. Fran does not ever want him to play with Cody, but we try to work out compromises so Ben does not become an asocial hermit.
Fran comments on how Cody affects Ben's behavior and Ben tries to explain that they were playing, that Cody beat Ben and then Cody told Ben to beat on him. Fran actually slips into "Momese", a language she tries to avoid, and says, "If he told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?" So the discussion segues into the fact that in our family we do not think beating people up is a way to play. I say that Cody's family is different from ours, and that they think it is alright to play that rough, but in our family we try not to be that mean. (We CERTAINLY do not bring up the subject of Cousin Terry's broken hand...) Fran, Ben and I talk a little about how some families are different, and not every one's family thinks the same things are important. Then Ben says, "I think Cody's family should have a grandma living there. Then it would be alright because grandma's know everything." I make a vague "hmmm" noise, and Fran and I are speechless for a few short seconds, and I think, but in retrospect, am not too sure, that Fran said, "There!"
The discussion then went far afield to avoid pitfalls and discomfort. This is totally the type of thing that I cannot even think of. How much of an effect am I having on this child and what will it mean in his life? To just go on and keep up the same old routine is so necessary, but perhaps it will stay in my mind enough to make me a bit wiser and keep me from jumping the gun so much in the future.
I so much have the reputation of putting foot into mouth. Christmas day Louie was being SO nice. I couldn't understand it, and it is kind of pitiful that it was SO noticeable. I so much wanted to say, "You are being so nice. Do you have a brain tumor?" But I didn't say it! I just quietly enjoyed Louie's being so nice.
Maybe we are all growing up together.
Suddenly, it occurs to me, well...maybe not suddenly, maybe it has been creeping up on me, the focus I have had is probably just a distraction. If we walked around thinking about what the real burden is, we would be so overwhelmed, we would probably be paralyzed.
We have a different kind of household, with children and grandchildren, and it is a constant struggle to try to be fair and to not pick favorites, to not show preference to the cutest, or the smartest, or the most needy, to not differentiate between my offspring and someone else's offspring, to not look at some of the residents as being someone else's burden. So far, this particular part of my life has been pretty successful. The kids and the grands pretty much feel as though they are on equal footing, except for an occasional occurrence when some of the grands realize they don't have an actual parent rooting for them. So it is a difficult situation for them also. And they share in the success.
Today, the youngest, five, Ben, was out on the lawn with a neighbor child. This neighbor boy, Cody, six, and a head taller, has caused a lot of problems for us, and we frankly do not like his style. We do not let Ben play with him without supervision. Grandpa was sitting outside watching them and came into the house for a minute. Mom, Fran, looks out the window and sees Ben beating the stuffing out of Cody. Ben was made to immediately come into the house.
As we were preparing to leave to run errands, we put Ben into the car with us, and the discussion that started when he entered the house continued. Fran tells him he will not be allowed to play with Cody anymore. Fran does not ever want him to play with Cody, but we try to work out compromises so Ben does not become an asocial hermit.
Fran comments on how Cody affects Ben's behavior and Ben tries to explain that they were playing, that Cody beat Ben and then Cody told Ben to beat on him. Fran actually slips into "Momese", a language she tries to avoid, and says, "If he told you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?" So the discussion segues into the fact that in our family we do not think beating people up is a way to play. I say that Cody's family is different from ours, and that they think it is alright to play that rough, but in our family we try not to be that mean. (We CERTAINLY do not bring up the subject of Cousin Terry's broken hand...) Fran, Ben and I talk a little about how some families are different, and not every one's family thinks the same things are important. Then Ben says, "I think Cody's family should have a grandma living there. Then it would be alright because grandma's know everything." I make a vague "hmmm" noise, and Fran and I are speechless for a few short seconds, and I think, but in retrospect, am not too sure, that Fran said, "There!"
The discussion then went far afield to avoid pitfalls and discomfort. This is totally the type of thing that I cannot even think of. How much of an effect am I having on this child and what will it mean in his life? To just go on and keep up the same old routine is so necessary, but perhaps it will stay in my mind enough to make me a bit wiser and keep me from jumping the gun so much in the future.
I so much have the reputation of putting foot into mouth. Christmas day Louie was being SO nice. I couldn't understand it, and it is kind of pitiful that it was SO noticeable. I so much wanted to say, "You are being so nice. Do you have a brain tumor?" But I didn't say it! I just quietly enjoyed Louie's being so nice.
Maybe we are all growing up together.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Life and Living
I am having a really difficult time with getting my mind comfortable with the concepts of life and death. We went to the funeral of my husband's aunt, who was 88 and had a wonderful, colorful and very useful life. She had some of the worst things imaginable happen directly to her, but she left a very competent, and lovely daughter who is a credit to her in every respect, and she has three of the greatest grandkids you could imagine, one noteworthy accomplishment after another, and nice kids besides.
And Aunt Theresa, herself, was vibrant, adorable, and a very helpful friend to many people. So her death means she is just over. But I can't see that. We all think of her and refer to her all the time, and will always continue to do so. So everyone is crying when they say goodby. Why? Because they are going to miss seeing her in the flesh, when she is full of aches and confusion?
Of course, all I could think of is my mom, and how this birthday is most probably her last, and Mother's Day was probably her last. And I won't have a mother next mother's day. But she is so tired and uncomfortable, and bringing such confusion and pain to my dad. And every time I see her invaded and assaulted form, I want to cry because I remember that she was so beautiful. She was not so great on giving advice and stepping up to bring aid to those in need, but she did the best job she could of being the daughter and the sister and the wife and the mother, and the grandmother. And when she is gone, I will blubber like a baby, even though I know it is time for her to rest and have peace and quiet and not have to worry about going to the bathroom anymore.
I am totally comfortable now with the idea that we have to let her go. Two years ago that was what she wanted, and maybe we should not have put her through the last few years. And I admit it was totally selfish. But still I cannot imagine going over to their place and her not being there. And I feel bad that when I tell her stuff she has to do, and how it has to be, she is a little pissed off at me, and looks at me like she knows she just has to take it. And isn't it a fine how do you do that now she can't throw a lamp at me if I mouth off or defy her. And it is me sending her to her room.
I am really mixed up but I don't have to stop and try to figure it out, something which I always did ad nauseum. I am finally able to just do it and move forward. So many times in my life I should have done that for such a lot of really stupid occasions, and, now I can, and, man, this is making me so sad.
And Aunt Theresa, herself, was vibrant, adorable, and a very helpful friend to many people. So her death means she is just over. But I can't see that. We all think of her and refer to her all the time, and will always continue to do so. So everyone is crying when they say goodby. Why? Because they are going to miss seeing her in the flesh, when she is full of aches and confusion?
Of course, all I could think of is my mom, and how this birthday is most probably her last, and Mother's Day was probably her last. And I won't have a mother next mother's day. But she is so tired and uncomfortable, and bringing such confusion and pain to my dad. And every time I see her invaded and assaulted form, I want to cry because I remember that she was so beautiful. She was not so great on giving advice and stepping up to bring aid to those in need, but she did the best job she could of being the daughter and the sister and the wife and the mother, and the grandmother. And when she is gone, I will blubber like a baby, even though I know it is time for her to rest and have peace and quiet and not have to worry about going to the bathroom anymore.
I am totally comfortable now with the idea that we have to let her go. Two years ago that was what she wanted, and maybe we should not have put her through the last few years. And I admit it was totally selfish. But still I cannot imagine going over to their place and her not being there. And I feel bad that when I tell her stuff she has to do, and how it has to be, she is a little pissed off at me, and looks at me like she knows she just has to take it. And isn't it a fine how do you do that now she can't throw a lamp at me if I mouth off or defy her. And it is me sending her to her room.
I am really mixed up but I don't have to stop and try to figure it out, something which I always did ad nauseum. I am finally able to just do it and move forward. So many times in my life I should have done that for such a lot of really stupid occasions, and, now I can, and, man, this is making me so sad.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Moral Crisis
I recently had a bad experience with a car dealer. It is pitiful that at my age I do expect people to behave honestly and morally, especially when I have contracts with them involving large sums of money. I have already in my life been gulled and cheated, hornswoggled and lied to enough times that you would think it would sink in. But it hasn't and it won't.
Like the time the bricks began to fall of the front of my house and I gave a local contractor huge sums of money to fix it. He messed it up real bad, using the wrong color mortar among other things. I refused to give him the other half of his money until he fixed it. He said he would send someone out to fix it. I said, "Okay, as long as they don't show up with a volkswagen and a shovel." Guess what...the volkswagen was blue. And a few days later, to add the insult to the injury, one of the sub contractors came by and threatened my life.
So this car dealer just lied to me and lied to the regional office, and I am just about at the point where I am tired of pursuing the issue. Which is probably what they intend to happen. But I am always so dismayed when this happens. And now, being so much older, I do not mourn for the lack of morality in my personal dealings, but worry so about what the world will be like for the future. What will the truth even seem to be when my four year old grandson is an adult? If he learns what the truth is, what good will it do him to pursue it?
And all these people that talk about looking to the Lord for guidance and the right answers, and they turn around and lie to me out of the other side of their mouth. What is the moral benchmark nowadays? Where is our touchstone? Do we have to make it up as we go along as so many of the younger generation seem to be doing? What is a crook? What is a lie? What is a moral guideline? When our children learn from their own parents to be irresponsible and unaccountable, what will they have in their conscience to guide their children?
People guilty of the most miserable of moral transgression walk around garnering respect among us every day. And people that did nothing are called on the carpet by liars with positions of trust and made to pay in ways they can not afford, morally, physically, financially. It is all so bogus, such a house of cards.
This crap about Iran and Iraq and the oil. A letter was going around on the internet saying what we would do when we pulled out of Iraq and stopped selling our Alaska oil to the Japanese. It was supposed to be sarcastic and a sort of ironic parody. But it was so grounded in how illogical it is that the obvious and most practical solutions to these huge problems are considered ridiculous, and that is all because of politics and political lobbyists. Which, if you have not noticed, is my answer for every problem you can think of.
I always thought that I was wrong in not pursuing my goals of being a diagnostic social worker in the school system or a respected writer But I guess I should have been a political lobbyist. But then I wouldn't be writing this, would I?
Like the time the bricks began to fall of the front of my house and I gave a local contractor huge sums of money to fix it. He messed it up real bad, using the wrong color mortar among other things. I refused to give him the other half of his money until he fixed it. He said he would send someone out to fix it. I said, "Okay, as long as they don't show up with a volkswagen and a shovel." Guess what...the volkswagen was blue. And a few days later, to add the insult to the injury, one of the sub contractors came by and threatened my life.
So this car dealer just lied to me and lied to the regional office, and I am just about at the point where I am tired of pursuing the issue. Which is probably what they intend to happen. But I am always so dismayed when this happens. And now, being so much older, I do not mourn for the lack of morality in my personal dealings, but worry so about what the world will be like for the future. What will the truth even seem to be when my four year old grandson is an adult? If he learns what the truth is, what good will it do him to pursue it?
And all these people that talk about looking to the Lord for guidance and the right answers, and they turn around and lie to me out of the other side of their mouth. What is the moral benchmark nowadays? Where is our touchstone? Do we have to make it up as we go along as so many of the younger generation seem to be doing? What is a crook? What is a lie? What is a moral guideline? When our children learn from their own parents to be irresponsible and unaccountable, what will they have in their conscience to guide their children?
People guilty of the most miserable of moral transgression walk around garnering respect among us every day. And people that did nothing are called on the carpet by liars with positions of trust and made to pay in ways they can not afford, morally, physically, financially. It is all so bogus, such a house of cards.
This crap about Iran and Iraq and the oil. A letter was going around on the internet saying what we would do when we pulled out of Iraq and stopped selling our Alaska oil to the Japanese. It was supposed to be sarcastic and a sort of ironic parody. But it was so grounded in how illogical it is that the obvious and most practical solutions to these huge problems are considered ridiculous, and that is all because of politics and political lobbyists. Which, if you have not noticed, is my answer for every problem you can think of.
I always thought that I was wrong in not pursuing my goals of being a diagnostic social worker in the school system or a respected writer But I guess I should have been a political lobbyist. But then I wouldn't be writing this, would I?
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Old News
I realize, upon reviewing my blog, that I have not even touched on stuff that was so important it was making me crazy. I guess simply writing it down helps me resolve stuff.
Billy is still continuing at Bradley cousnseling and he has had an appointment and blood tests and stuff with Dr. Sarma at Rosalind Franklin University. He has diagnosed Billy with ADHD. I suppose that, as it was with Lisa, the symptoms do not show unless he is stressed in one way or another. I don't see it, but it is fine with me since it will give him extra services at school. I tried him on Concerta last fall with no apparent effect, but whatever. I am so glad that Lisa is carrying the ball on this one. I was talking to her on the phone two nights ago and, in the background, he was sobbing like a one year old. As soon as he realized his mom was talking to me it stopped just like turning off a radio. It is amazing the way he can produce the tears on demand and even make him self vomit from it. I sometimes get a bit scared when watching Law and Order and they start talking about behavior disordered kids. But, what do I know?
The last we heard about Bill's dad, the case was still being continued and he had not been sentenced. Bob's mom said, "His life is in that woman's hands." I don't think they have a very good understanding of the nature of his crime. Since Billy and Lisa moved out, we don't speak to them much.
Lisa has a nice little house about four miles from here. Her boyfriend is there almost always, so the twins are hardly ever there. Nor do they ask to be. They will not be there when Jody is there. He must think he died and went to heaven. He has no income and she drives him everywhere and is feeding him with the food stamps that should be buying food for the twins. Whatever. It is nothing short of a miracle that she got this housing when she did. We were unaware that she was on this list which is called Low Rent Housing. I think our town has to have a certain number of units for government reasons and the town probably has few candidates. It was a bolt from the blue at exactly the right time. I was SO worried about feeling guilty for putting them out, but I feel so much relief, the relief is the only thing I feel guilty about. And, not very much...
Cassie has been nagging me about getting Baptized and I promised her I would call the church about it. I have been putting this off for a long time. So yesterday I told her that I actually headed toward the phone to make the call and something distracted me. But I was getting closer to actually doing it. So today I actually took the phone and the phonebook and sat down to have the conversation, and, lo and behold, the church is not listed. Why would that be? It has been a long time since the handyman was murdered there, so why would they be secretive about their number? I hope it is not a sign from above about taking this step. Kind of weird.
Fran was on dean's list last semester and is doing well this semester. The Steven thing goes back and forth. Should she make a decision when she feels like she cannot make a diecision? Meanwhile, school is getting a little old for her. This is her second year. The first one went so fast. I hope she is able to continue, but it will get so complicated next year with clinical practice and Ben. For some reason, probably cuz I know she can handle it, this is not a source of worry for me.
My career in laying tile is moving slowly along. I am getting less messy about it, but not actually "better". I need a deadline. We have two new doors installed and that project needs a little financial boost. No furniture in the living room since I gave my couches to Lisa when she moved out. Little bit of a problem with Louie on that subject. Will probably need psychiatric intervention to get passed it.
So Spring is on the way and my folks seem to be doing very well. My tulips and daffodils are showing already. I am interested in seeing the results of Lindenhurst's big daffodil anniversary project. I certainly did my part. Every time I feel this hopeful and good, some horrible disaster pops up. I cannot help but have a tiny apprehensive feeling. Sunshine helps that.
Billy is still continuing at Bradley cousnseling and he has had an appointment and blood tests and stuff with Dr. Sarma at Rosalind Franklin University. He has diagnosed Billy with ADHD. I suppose that, as it was with Lisa, the symptoms do not show unless he is stressed in one way or another. I don't see it, but it is fine with me since it will give him extra services at school. I tried him on Concerta last fall with no apparent effect, but whatever. I am so glad that Lisa is carrying the ball on this one. I was talking to her on the phone two nights ago and, in the background, he was sobbing like a one year old. As soon as he realized his mom was talking to me it stopped just like turning off a radio. It is amazing the way he can produce the tears on demand and even make him self vomit from it. I sometimes get a bit scared when watching Law and Order and they start talking about behavior disordered kids. But, what do I know?
The last we heard about Bill's dad, the case was still being continued and he had not been sentenced. Bob's mom said, "His life is in that woman's hands." I don't think they have a very good understanding of the nature of his crime. Since Billy and Lisa moved out, we don't speak to them much.
Lisa has a nice little house about four miles from here. Her boyfriend is there almost always, so the twins are hardly ever there. Nor do they ask to be. They will not be there when Jody is there. He must think he died and went to heaven. He has no income and she drives him everywhere and is feeding him with the food stamps that should be buying food for the twins. Whatever. It is nothing short of a miracle that she got this housing when she did. We were unaware that she was on this list which is called Low Rent Housing. I think our town has to have a certain number of units for government reasons and the town probably has few candidates. It was a bolt from the blue at exactly the right time. I was SO worried about feeling guilty for putting them out, but I feel so much relief, the relief is the only thing I feel guilty about. And, not very much...
Cassie has been nagging me about getting Baptized and I promised her I would call the church about it. I have been putting this off for a long time. So yesterday I told her that I actually headed toward the phone to make the call and something distracted me. But I was getting closer to actually doing it. So today I actually took the phone and the phonebook and sat down to have the conversation, and, lo and behold, the church is not listed. Why would that be? It has been a long time since the handyman was murdered there, so why would they be secretive about their number? I hope it is not a sign from above about taking this step. Kind of weird.
Fran was on dean's list last semester and is doing well this semester. The Steven thing goes back and forth. Should she make a decision when she feels like she cannot make a diecision? Meanwhile, school is getting a little old for her. This is her second year. The first one went so fast. I hope she is able to continue, but it will get so complicated next year with clinical practice and Ben. For some reason, probably cuz I know she can handle it, this is not a source of worry for me.
My career in laying tile is moving slowly along. I am getting less messy about it, but not actually "better". I need a deadline. We have two new doors installed and that project needs a little financial boost. No furniture in the living room since I gave my couches to Lisa when she moved out. Little bit of a problem with Louie on that subject. Will probably need psychiatric intervention to get passed it.
So Spring is on the way and my folks seem to be doing very well. My tulips and daffodils are showing already. I am interested in seeing the results of Lindenhurst's big daffodil anniversary project. I certainly did my part. Every time I feel this hopeful and good, some horrible disaster pops up. I cannot help but have a tiny apprehensive feeling. Sunshine helps that.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Truth in Small Doses
So far 2006 has been a real scream. I spent a long time in Florida. I came home with a whole new perspective on irony, devotion, loyalty, love, duty and probably a bunch of other stuff.
In one respect, I have lost patience for so much stuff. I think it is just that I have broadened my personal definition of bull, and I just don't want to deal with it or the people that purvey it. Two little girls in Chicago have recently been killed by stray bullets. This is very very tragic of course. I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child at so early an age. Well, maybe I can. But, on the very page where a person is editorializing about the tragedy, (and, by the way, spending more time emphasizing the tragedy is actually the lack of gun control, and not the loss of the young lives...) in the adjoining column, is a story about three children that were killed in a house fire which involved too few smoke alarms and someone that was a cigarette smoker. Those two elements seem much easier to legislate about and control, personally or otherwise. The editorial did not touch on that at all.
Maybe my views on this are colored by the fact that my father was a police officer for many years, until he retired. But I just do not get why people think that laws are going to influence whether or not criminals will carry or use guns. Criminal::no respect for law. DUH...
Here are a few basic truths that I think I will have to write the Tribune about...
Almost any one reading this knows my references, so you know you HAVE to believe this is actual fact based on my colorful and long life experience:
Tailgating is WRONG unless you are having a picnic in a parking lot.
Hydrogen fuel makes more sense, scientifically and practically, than HYBRID cars. Send that money to a lobbyist.
Gun control will NEVER have any affect on criminals and their choice of weapons. Guess what? It is already illegal to CARRY an unregistered weapon. Hey, do ya think criminals are registering those guns?
Well, I truly do not know why it is so important to expound on these few subjects right now. But I think it has something to do with worrying about recurring cancers and beautiful lives coming to an ending place. Distorts my perspective I guess.
I am so glad to be back here.
In one respect, I have lost patience for so much stuff. I think it is just that I have broadened my personal definition of bull, and I just don't want to deal with it or the people that purvey it. Two little girls in Chicago have recently been killed by stray bullets. This is very very tragic of course. I cannot imagine the pain of losing a child at so early an age. Well, maybe I can. But, on the very page where a person is editorializing about the tragedy, (and, by the way, spending more time emphasizing the tragedy is actually the lack of gun control, and not the loss of the young lives...) in the adjoining column, is a story about three children that were killed in a house fire which involved too few smoke alarms and someone that was a cigarette smoker. Those two elements seem much easier to legislate about and control, personally or otherwise. The editorial did not touch on that at all.
Maybe my views on this are colored by the fact that my father was a police officer for many years, until he retired. But I just do not get why people think that laws are going to influence whether or not criminals will carry or use guns. Criminal::no respect for law. DUH...
Here are a few basic truths that I think I will have to write the Tribune about...
Almost any one reading this knows my references, so you know you HAVE to believe this is actual fact based on my colorful and long life experience:
Tailgating is WRONG unless you are having a picnic in a parking lot.
Hydrogen fuel makes more sense, scientifically and practically, than HYBRID cars. Send that money to a lobbyist.
Gun control will NEVER have any affect on criminals and their choice of weapons. Guess what? It is already illegal to CARRY an unregistered weapon. Hey, do ya think criminals are registering those guns?
Well, I truly do not know why it is so important to expound on these few subjects right now. But I think it has something to do with worrying about recurring cancers and beautiful lives coming to an ending place. Distorts my perspective I guess.
I am so glad to be back here.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
An Attempt
This is Cassie and Ben. They are so beautiful.
I am going to try to copy a link here. It is for a commercial. BestCommercial.asf (2.6MB) I don't know if it is usable cuz I haven't paid too much attention to the rules for this place.
I had a really weepy day, and this commercial made me pretty much weepier. Fran sent me a photo of Ben that is just too cute. And it cheered me up to see it, but it, of course, also made me weep. I thought that part of my life would be over when I reached this age, considering PMS and all that goes with it is supposedly behind me. Anyway, I have to spend a few minutes real soon figuring out how to post photos(did it!)and I want to change the template so the ads are alongside instead of at the bottom. I know how to do that, but it is always so late when I get here, I have no energy left to concentrate.
Tomorrow I go to Bradley Counseling Center with Bill. I hope the weepies are over when I get there. I hope the counselor takes the lead as I will not know where to start. I suppose, if I have to, I can just start by saying the school wants the medical diagnosis. I will of course share the outcome as I will need to vent.
This whole Christmas thing is getting me down. I am still so in love with my tree that I sit and stare at it. Today I thought it was an interesting display of so many different takes on the face of Santa Claus. But the actual Christmas event, present wise, is going to be such a drag. The whole Billy thing is just affecting my outlook and moods way too much. He gets to go to Shop With a cop Thursday, and they let him, supervised by the cop, and with a list from home, spend $100 and the twins are too old to go. And today, his paternal grandparents sent him a $75 gift card from Wal-Mart. The twins dad sends them nothing. And we got them a great gift they will love, but we can't keep up with what Billy is getting. And the irony is that every Christmas in memory, he has said, "Is that all there is?" when the gifts were opened. He needs nothing, and appreciates nothing and I got him this huge RC truck cuz I got Ben one on the tenth which was Ben's fourth birthday, and I try to keep stuff fair. So, I just hope the twins don't feel like a couple of left out bums. I know they are older and should just be grateful and not selfish, but with a mom and a dad that get them nothing, I am pretty sure the inequalities will hurt. I do not look forward to the actual 25th of this month.
The card that came from Billy's grandparents said, "We don't know if we will see you before Christmas since your dad is away again." He was to go to court the Monday after Thanksgiving and I said to Bill Sr. Let us know what happens. And of course, we did not hear. And I decided not to ask what happened since they act so oddly about it. So I am guessing that the message in the card means he was sentenced, and I will have no clue about how long or what to say to Billy. So we will just let this hang and Billy will not wonder at all why he doesn't see his dad for the next few years. Okay.
More later on this jolly holiday season...
I am going to try to copy a link here. It is for a commercial. BestCommercial.asf (2.6MB) I don't know if it is usable cuz I haven't paid too much attention to the rules for this place.
I had a really weepy day, and this commercial made me pretty much weepier. Fran sent me a photo of Ben that is just too cute. And it cheered me up to see it, but it, of course, also made me weep. I thought that part of my life would be over when I reached this age, considering PMS and all that goes with it is supposedly behind me. Anyway, I have to spend a few minutes real soon figuring out how to post photos(did it!)and I want to change the template so the ads are alongside instead of at the bottom. I know how to do that, but it is always so late when I get here, I have no energy left to concentrate.
Tomorrow I go to Bradley Counseling Center with Bill. I hope the weepies are over when I get there. I hope the counselor takes the lead as I will not know where to start. I suppose, if I have to, I can just start by saying the school wants the medical diagnosis. I will of course share the outcome as I will need to vent.
This whole Christmas thing is getting me down. I am still so in love with my tree that I sit and stare at it. Today I thought it was an interesting display of so many different takes on the face of Santa Claus. But the actual Christmas event, present wise, is going to be such a drag. The whole Billy thing is just affecting my outlook and moods way too much. He gets to go to Shop With a cop Thursday, and they let him, supervised by the cop, and with a list from home, spend $100 and the twins are too old to go. And today, his paternal grandparents sent him a $75 gift card from Wal-Mart. The twins dad sends them nothing. And we got them a great gift they will love, but we can't keep up with what Billy is getting. And the irony is that every Christmas in memory, he has said, "Is that all there is?" when the gifts were opened. He needs nothing, and appreciates nothing and I got him this huge RC truck cuz I got Ben one on the tenth which was Ben's fourth birthday, and I try to keep stuff fair. So, I just hope the twins don't feel like a couple of left out bums. I know they are older and should just be grateful and not selfish, but with a mom and a dad that get them nothing, I am pretty sure the inequalities will hurt. I do not look forward to the actual 25th of this month.
The card that came from Billy's grandparents said, "We don't know if we will see you before Christmas since your dad is away again." He was to go to court the Monday after Thanksgiving and I said to Bill Sr. Let us know what happens. And of course, we did not hear. And I decided not to ask what happened since they act so oddly about it. So I am guessing that the message in the card means he was sentenced, and I will have no clue about how long or what to say to Billy. So we will just let this hang and Billy will not wonder at all why he doesn't see his dad for the next few years. Okay.
More later on this jolly holiday season...
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Obligation
It has been a while since I wrote here. My responsibilities to my public are beginning to overwhelm me. (facetiousness...)
Since I upped my Wellbutrin dose, it is a little more difficult to be creative, but in truth I am usually not very creative here, am I? And I find myself, on other forums, going on and on. So I will try to be a little more responsible about keeping my blog up to date.
We actually need to move Lisa to her own place. There is no question about whether she needs to live on her own. Her attitude toward this family is unacceptable, to say nothing of the physical and emotional toll she exacts. The question is whether it will be good for Bill, or not. And Bill has to go live with her. He adores her so. The way he acted out last summer, when she was not living here, was too bizarre. All we can do is make sure the social services are in place to help them out. Having talked to a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and two social workers about this, I will be able to live with my decision to let him go with her. And I am so looking forward to a little peace and order in my life. The New Year is so far offering many promises.
I am receiving feedback about my worship blog, and I hope it will lead to interesting discussion. The pastor of the bible based non-denominational church my grandkids have been attending has folded his tent and moved on. His adulterous relationship with one of the ladies of the congregation received a little too much publicity. I am so annoyed that this is another case where people stood up to tell others the right way to live your life, and even go so far as to compare my "Wrong" way to their "Right" way, when they are fully incapable of identifying their own sins. And it is not just the adultery. In the Catholic Church, if you bring scandal to the Church, or commit it in the Church's name, it is in itself a grievous sin. This guy having the respect and the ear of all these little kids really frosts me. One day it is, "Oh, I know Cliff, and he is a great guy." The next day, "What a complete jerk." Just one more reason why I so strongly feel that the deal between you and God has to be the deal you cut yourself.
So, dear Louie, the spouse with the computer operated heart and the frozen shoulder, just finished spending forty minutes in the garage looking for the tow chain. One of his pals got his pickup stuck in the mud the other day, and then the mud froze. I cautioned him about getting too involved with the helping in this project, but I better spend a few minutes going over the insurance policies again. Meanwhile, I fell sideways over the snowy frozen construction project that is my front stoop.
I have been thinking for three years about putting up a larger Christmas tree cuz we have that huge peaked space in the parlor. So this year I did it. It is nine feet and turned out so well. I have not devoted so much energy and concentration on a project in a long time. I feel so pleased with the success of it, I sit at dinner and gape at it. I have to figure out how to put photos on here. Can't be too hard. Anyway, I wish I could rustle up that enthusiasm for my tile project, but I have made a little progress, and the last batch went very well. But the blocks of time still pose a problem. Yesterday was supposed to be empty and I was all fired up to tile but one phone call led to another and then an orthodontic emergency developed and the day was shot. Moving the boxes of tile around is the worst part. Fran said there is too much junk in this house. Yes.
Okay, not too much going on and no amusing anecdotes, just trying here to get back into the blogging. Let me hear from you.
Since I upped my Wellbutrin dose, it is a little more difficult to be creative, but in truth I am usually not very creative here, am I? And I find myself, on other forums, going on and on. So I will try to be a little more responsible about keeping my blog up to date.
We actually need to move Lisa to her own place. There is no question about whether she needs to live on her own. Her attitude toward this family is unacceptable, to say nothing of the physical and emotional toll she exacts. The question is whether it will be good for Bill, or not. And Bill has to go live with her. He adores her so. The way he acted out last summer, when she was not living here, was too bizarre. All we can do is make sure the social services are in place to help them out. Having talked to a psychiatrist, a psychologist, and two social workers about this, I will be able to live with my decision to let him go with her. And I am so looking forward to a little peace and order in my life. The New Year is so far offering many promises.
I am receiving feedback about my worship blog, and I hope it will lead to interesting discussion. The pastor of the bible based non-denominational church my grandkids have been attending has folded his tent and moved on. His adulterous relationship with one of the ladies of the congregation received a little too much publicity. I am so annoyed that this is another case where people stood up to tell others the right way to live your life, and even go so far as to compare my "Wrong" way to their "Right" way, when they are fully incapable of identifying their own sins. And it is not just the adultery. In the Catholic Church, if you bring scandal to the Church, or commit it in the Church's name, it is in itself a grievous sin. This guy having the respect and the ear of all these little kids really frosts me. One day it is, "Oh, I know Cliff, and he is a great guy." The next day, "What a complete jerk." Just one more reason why I so strongly feel that the deal between you and God has to be the deal you cut yourself.
So, dear Louie, the spouse with the computer operated heart and the frozen shoulder, just finished spending forty minutes in the garage looking for the tow chain. One of his pals got his pickup stuck in the mud the other day, and then the mud froze. I cautioned him about getting too involved with the helping in this project, but I better spend a few minutes going over the insurance policies again. Meanwhile, I fell sideways over the snowy frozen construction project that is my front stoop.
I have been thinking for three years about putting up a larger Christmas tree cuz we have that huge peaked space in the parlor. So this year I did it. It is nine feet and turned out so well. I have not devoted so much energy and concentration on a project in a long time. I feel so pleased with the success of it, I sit at dinner and gape at it. I have to figure out how to put photos on here. Can't be too hard. Anyway, I wish I could rustle up that enthusiasm for my tile project, but I have made a little progress, and the last batch went very well. But the blocks of time still pose a problem. Yesterday was supposed to be empty and I was all fired up to tile but one phone call led to another and then an orthodontic emergency developed and the day was shot. Moving the boxes of tile around is the worst part. Fran said there is too much junk in this house. Yes.
Okay, not too much going on and no amusing anecdotes, just trying here to get back into the blogging. Let me hear from you.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
The Birds
A student of my husband's who was from a distant country, gave him a pair of canaries. The student's mom had sent them so he would not be too lonely. For some reason, they were to remind him of home. Perhaps he was from a home that had canaries in residence. The young man had to move on to another city and another school and knew my husband had twin grandaughters, so he asked Louie if he would like to take the birds. Of course, my husband said yes.
This was a pair of darling canaries. The twins were not too interested in them, but I was crazy about them. The male had a weird little crest of dark feathers that sat a little crookedly on his head. It actually looked like his toupee had slipped forward into his eyes. He sang his head off, but he did not last long.
One morning, there he was, croaked, in the water dish. I was shocked and saddened. Of course everyone thought I was overreacting. But this guy was charming. I put his body in a ziploc bag for later burial and put it in the freezer. I began to research replacing him. This is why my only google entry is some Illinois Canary afficianado club.
I soon found out that this bird was a crested Gloucester, and he cost over a hundred dollars. The gentleman I spoke with said he probably died cuz I left him with the female all the time and the female tends to harass the male to death. They should only be together to breed. He recommended not replacing him which was sort of a relief. I told the breeder that losing the canary made me sad, but when I found out how expensive he was I was even more sad.
The female was in a cage near my chair in the dining room and we became good friends. She was very demanding and insisted I chirp and cluck at her rather ridiculously when ever I sat down near her. Of course, I enjoyed this because she responded in kind. She also began to sing which is unusual for a female. She laid eggs furiously, and after about a year and a half she began to fail. I knew she was going and held her and petted her. No, seriously, I loved this bird. Well, when she passed, I put her in the freezer in a ziploc bag for later burial.
My relatives were freaked out by the birds in the freezer, but I kinda liked seeing their pretty yellow feathers and remembering them. But, mostly, they were usually forgotten behind the broccoli and the chicken breasts. Then we ordered the new fridge.
I cleaned out the old fridge the morning the new one was to be delivered. As each shelf and crisper was emptied and disposed of, I began to think of what to do with the bird bodies. It was a warm spring day, so I asked Louie to bury them out by the creek. I would have done it myself, but I was really busy, and wanted to avoid getting that little choky feeling I knew I would get if I buried them myself. So Louie agreed to take them out and inter them. I asked him to remember what nifty little guys they were and to think something respectful as he buried them. He agreed and walked out the back door and across the deck. I was standing at the kitchen sink and as he passed by the window and went down the stairs he said, "Here, kitty, kitty."
This was a pair of darling canaries. The twins were not too interested in them, but I was crazy about them. The male had a weird little crest of dark feathers that sat a little crookedly on his head. It actually looked like his toupee had slipped forward into his eyes. He sang his head off, but he did not last long.
One morning, there he was, croaked, in the water dish. I was shocked and saddened. Of course everyone thought I was overreacting. But this guy was charming. I put his body in a ziploc bag for later burial and put it in the freezer. I began to research replacing him. This is why my only google entry is some Illinois Canary afficianado club.
I soon found out that this bird was a crested Gloucester, and he cost over a hundred dollars. The gentleman I spoke with said he probably died cuz I left him with the female all the time and the female tends to harass the male to death. They should only be together to breed. He recommended not replacing him which was sort of a relief. I told the breeder that losing the canary made me sad, but when I found out how expensive he was I was even more sad.
The female was in a cage near my chair in the dining room and we became good friends. She was very demanding and insisted I chirp and cluck at her rather ridiculously when ever I sat down near her. Of course, I enjoyed this because she responded in kind. She also began to sing which is unusual for a female. She laid eggs furiously, and after about a year and a half she began to fail. I knew she was going and held her and petted her. No, seriously, I loved this bird. Well, when she passed, I put her in the freezer in a ziploc bag for later burial.
My relatives were freaked out by the birds in the freezer, but I kinda liked seeing their pretty yellow feathers and remembering them. But, mostly, they were usually forgotten behind the broccoli and the chicken breasts. Then we ordered the new fridge.
I cleaned out the old fridge the morning the new one was to be delivered. As each shelf and crisper was emptied and disposed of, I began to think of what to do with the bird bodies. It was a warm spring day, so I asked Louie to bury them out by the creek. I would have done it myself, but I was really busy, and wanted to avoid getting that little choky feeling I knew I would get if I buried them myself. So Louie agreed to take them out and inter them. I asked him to remember what nifty little guys they were and to think something respectful as he buried them. He agreed and walked out the back door and across the deck. I was standing at the kitchen sink and as he passed by the window and went down the stairs he said, "Here, kitty, kitty."
Friday, June 10, 2005
Worship
I need to research this matter a little, but, I think, somewhere in the New Testament, it says something about Jesus not liking self-righteousness, especially if it was because of him. I always took that to mean that He doesn't want people to think they are hot stuff just because they bought His program. Like He teaches humility and doesn't like pride, right?
But it seems that whenever I meet people who are into that new Christian-right modern religion thing that is growing everywhere by leaps and bounds, they think they are the only ones who know the secrets or truth. I was at a little holiday celebration with a bunch of them last year. It was supposed to be a get together where we shared stories of our own families' Christmas traditions. But, as the evening went on, and we played these little sharing games and read scripture, and heard a little homily, I started to think it was a kind of intervention since I was the only one still Catholic and not attending one of these brand spanking new Evangelical churches. So at the end of the evening we were supposed to write down what we thought of the evening and what we got out of it and I presented my little note as a diatribe on how I was already in Jesus and God's family, and had always felt that way and totally did not get the personal relationship with Jesus thing. I also felt I had to mention that what they said about Jesus saying, " I am the way the truth and the Life," was actually Him saying, "I am the Way the Truth and the Light." Huge difference to me at least. So they pretty much leave me alone now.
But my one immediate neighbor cannot resist a little expounding on the love of God whenever the situation arises. We have this little tacit war about who has the best perennials, and I think I win this year. I could have told her those Gerbera daisies punk out after the big show with the initial gorgeous, SINGLE bloom. But, whatever... So, she has these little meetings where all the gals from the church come over to pray and talk about God and stuff. And last week she had two on two days in a row. This is cuz her husband is training to be a pastor, and she therefore, is in training to be a pastor's wife, I am at least assuming. So I think that is swell and won't have sour grapes about her popularity, even tho I am a singularly unfriendly type of person. And the only thing that really bothers me about it, besides the fact that her daughters are champs at bitchiness, is how difficult it is to get out of my driveway when all her guests are parked up and down both sides of our narrow little rural street.
So, I was putting in a few more petunia plants, and planting a row of Barberry bushes, and it was kind of hot and I was getting really dirty, but things were going really well. I was certainly on a roll, and patting myself on the back, figuratively of course, as my partially roboticized body doesn't move around the gardening melieu very well and certainly does not allow for any back patting manuevers. And as I was perking merrily along, I was noticing the large number of cars in the street in front of my home, and I was listening to the ladies of the church, on my neighbor's screen porch, just over my shoulder, spiritedly discussing transformation and other stuff of a religious nature. And for just a moment I thought to myself that perhaps I was remiss in not joining in such types of soul betterment and was not doing right cuz I was not attempting to learn more about the Lord and how to get to be with Him. But I realized that what I was doing was a great form of worship and doing it and realizing what it was worth seems to prove to me that God and I are still on friendly terms.
But it seems that whenever I meet people who are into that new Christian-right modern religion thing that is growing everywhere by leaps and bounds, they think they are the only ones who know the secrets or truth. I was at a little holiday celebration with a bunch of them last year. It was supposed to be a get together where we shared stories of our own families' Christmas traditions. But, as the evening went on, and we played these little sharing games and read scripture, and heard a little homily, I started to think it was a kind of intervention since I was the only one still Catholic and not attending one of these brand spanking new Evangelical churches. So at the end of the evening we were supposed to write down what we thought of the evening and what we got out of it and I presented my little note as a diatribe on how I was already in Jesus and God's family, and had always felt that way and totally did not get the personal relationship with Jesus thing. I also felt I had to mention that what they said about Jesus saying, " I am the way the truth and the Life," was actually Him saying, "I am the Way the Truth and the Light." Huge difference to me at least. So they pretty much leave me alone now.
But my one immediate neighbor cannot resist a little expounding on the love of God whenever the situation arises. We have this little tacit war about who has the best perennials, and I think I win this year. I could have told her those Gerbera daisies punk out after the big show with the initial gorgeous, SINGLE bloom. But, whatever... So, she has these little meetings where all the gals from the church come over to pray and talk about God and stuff. And last week she had two on two days in a row. This is cuz her husband is training to be a pastor, and she therefore, is in training to be a pastor's wife, I am at least assuming. So I think that is swell and won't have sour grapes about her popularity, even tho I am a singularly unfriendly type of person. And the only thing that really bothers me about it, besides the fact that her daughters are champs at bitchiness, is how difficult it is to get out of my driveway when all her guests are parked up and down both sides of our narrow little rural street.
So, I was putting in a few more petunia plants, and planting a row of Barberry bushes, and it was kind of hot and I was getting really dirty, but things were going really well. I was certainly on a roll, and patting myself on the back, figuratively of course, as my partially roboticized body doesn't move around the gardening melieu very well and certainly does not allow for any back patting manuevers. And as I was perking merrily along, I was noticing the large number of cars in the street in front of my home, and I was listening to the ladies of the church, on my neighbor's screen porch, just over my shoulder, spiritedly discussing transformation and other stuff of a religious nature. And for just a moment I thought to myself that perhaps I was remiss in not joining in such types of soul betterment and was not doing right cuz I was not attempting to learn more about the Lord and how to get to be with Him. But I realized that what I was doing was a great form of worship and doing it and realizing what it was worth seems to prove to me that God and I are still on friendly terms.
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Pee, Poop and Pizza Boxes
Warning: Major Rant...
First of all, I was going to name this chapter "Piss, Shit, and Pizza Boxes", but I then thought that might offend someone's sensibilities. Then I thought "Offending sensibilities...there's a concept to explore!" But that is really not where I am right now, and besides, my current choice is way more alliterative.
I woke today to the sound of my daughter's dog barking it's head off. We are babysitting him this weekend because her boyfriend is in Las Vegas and she is mostly staying here. Of course, last night being Saturday, she went out with her pals and will not show up here until later today. I tried to introduce the concept of the boarding kennel yesterday when we began discussing her impending trip to New Orleans with said boyfriend. She is really looking forward to this because she thinks he may propose. Propose? All they talk about it getting married, when, if and how, and they have been basically living together for almost two years. I don't get the significance of the formal "Proposal", especially since nowadays every body does what ever they want whenever they want, contracts, promises, vows, etc. not withstanding.
Anyway, the boarding kennel idea was drowned in the sea of facts regarding whether she would actually be gone for an entire week versus a mere extended weekend. And my misgivings about wanting to spend an extended period of time with her three year old, her dog, my three other grandkids, my dog, various pets and other disfunctional members of this family that will remain unnamed, went by the boards.
So, then when I woke up today:
After I put last night's pizza boxes into the recycling bin, I found three pees and two poos in the dining room. Of course, that corner of the dining room is covered every night with half a package of puppy training potty pads cuz our cocker spaniel still has occasional accidents,( or spite pees, but that is another story) so this morning's distribution of canine bodily waste was almost all, maybe about ninety three percent, on the potty pads. So, while I was picking them up, I mentioned to my husband, who was nearby, and God bless his heart, had already given grandson #2 his breakfast, "Did you see all these pees and poos?" He replied that he had seen them and, I of course had to start in about how much longer it would have to sit in the dining room before it got picked up (By ME being implicit). So of course he reminded me that that was why the potty pads were there. And I began ranting, under my breath, but not COMPLETELY inaudibly, on how the potty pads would just be layered ad infinitum did I not come out to dispose of them, and how, when the urine leaked over the edge of the potty pad, it eventually found its way under the three layers of polyurethane on the beautiful hardwood floors that took two solid years to install, and caused said wood to swell and turn black in a very unattractive manner.
So, as that rant increased in volume and emotional content, Louie fled to the yard to mow like a son of a bitch. I hope he realizes that the anger I generate in him increases his energy level, causing him to complete these chores amazingly quickly. But then, quickness is not his goal as the lawn and the swimming pool are only there so he can keep busy enough to not have to wallpaper or install toilets or clean the garage. My theory anyway.
So then I went out to the deck, or, as I so quaintly refer to it, in my charming grandmotherly way, the back porch. There I proceded to pick up some more defecations that had accumulated since I had performed that task yesterday. I put aside my worries about the fact that apparently one of the dogs seemed to be having a little stomach distress, and scraped and bleached and disposed. This involved only one trip to the basement to get more paper towels, during which time, I efficiently filled the washer and folded a few items of clothing.
By this time it was 8:45 a.m. and I had to hurry to put a "cuter" outfit on grandson#2 cuz his paternal grandmother was going to pick him up at 9:00 a.m. to celebrate Mother's Day at a "Brunch" with her mom and her kids. They did this last year and I cried almost all day and went to Denny's with my younger daughter. So, Grandma Sue just called to say she was too busy to pick Ben up, so he will be here today. So I will have his adorableness to enjoy and it is sunny and warm and I have lots of beautiful new flowers to put in. Now I am going to try to stop crying long enough to call my mom and wish her Happy Mother's Day. In my book, the ultimate oxymoron.
First of all, I was going to name this chapter "Piss, Shit, and Pizza Boxes", but I then thought that might offend someone's sensibilities. Then I thought "Offending sensibilities...there's a concept to explore!" But that is really not where I am right now, and besides, my current choice is way more alliterative.
I woke today to the sound of my daughter's dog barking it's head off. We are babysitting him this weekend because her boyfriend is in Las Vegas and she is mostly staying here. Of course, last night being Saturday, she went out with her pals and will not show up here until later today. I tried to introduce the concept of the boarding kennel yesterday when we began discussing her impending trip to New Orleans with said boyfriend. She is really looking forward to this because she thinks he may propose. Propose? All they talk about it getting married, when, if and how, and they have been basically living together for almost two years. I don't get the significance of the formal "Proposal", especially since nowadays every body does what ever they want whenever they want, contracts, promises, vows, etc. not withstanding.
Anyway, the boarding kennel idea was drowned in the sea of facts regarding whether she would actually be gone for an entire week versus a mere extended weekend. And my misgivings about wanting to spend an extended period of time with her three year old, her dog, my three other grandkids, my dog, various pets and other disfunctional members of this family that will remain unnamed, went by the boards.
So, then when I woke up today:
After I put last night's pizza boxes into the recycling bin, I found three pees and two poos in the dining room. Of course, that corner of the dining room is covered every night with half a package of puppy training potty pads cuz our cocker spaniel still has occasional accidents,( or spite pees, but that is another story) so this morning's distribution of canine bodily waste was almost all, maybe about ninety three percent, on the potty pads. So, while I was picking them up, I mentioned to my husband, who was nearby, and God bless his heart, had already given grandson #2 his breakfast, "Did you see all these pees and poos?" He replied that he had seen them and, I of course had to start in about how much longer it would have to sit in the dining room before it got picked up (By ME being implicit). So of course he reminded me that that was why the potty pads were there. And I began ranting, under my breath, but not COMPLETELY inaudibly, on how the potty pads would just be layered ad infinitum did I not come out to dispose of them, and how, when the urine leaked over the edge of the potty pad, it eventually found its way under the three layers of polyurethane on the beautiful hardwood floors that took two solid years to install, and caused said wood to swell and turn black in a very unattractive manner.
So, as that rant increased in volume and emotional content, Louie fled to the yard to mow like a son of a bitch. I hope he realizes that the anger I generate in him increases his energy level, causing him to complete these chores amazingly quickly. But then, quickness is not his goal as the lawn and the swimming pool are only there so he can keep busy enough to not have to wallpaper or install toilets or clean the garage. My theory anyway.
So then I went out to the deck, or, as I so quaintly refer to it, in my charming grandmotherly way, the back porch. There I proceded to pick up some more defecations that had accumulated since I had performed that task yesterday. I put aside my worries about the fact that apparently one of the dogs seemed to be having a little stomach distress, and scraped and bleached and disposed. This involved only one trip to the basement to get more paper towels, during which time, I efficiently filled the washer and folded a few items of clothing.
By this time it was 8:45 a.m. and I had to hurry to put a "cuter" outfit on grandson#2 cuz his paternal grandmother was going to pick him up at 9:00 a.m. to celebrate Mother's Day at a "Brunch" with her mom and her kids. They did this last year and I cried almost all day and went to Denny's with my younger daughter. So, Grandma Sue just called to say she was too busy to pick Ben up, so he will be here today. So I will have his adorableness to enjoy and it is sunny and warm and I have lots of beautiful new flowers to put in. Now I am going to try to stop crying long enough to call my mom and wish her Happy Mother's Day. In my book, the ultimate oxymoron.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Further Musings on Crime
It seems to be an effective parent, which I no longer want to be, I will have to go to law school.
My older daughter's ex is in jail. I do not know why fetishism is a crime and how serious a crime it is. I think, in order to provide my grandson with any kind of an explanation as to why his dad is incarcerated, I should have a working knowledge of wtf is going on. I was in discussions with the imprisoned person's sister, but apparently I overstepped my specified place in the situation, and they are no longer speaking to me about it. So I made up a little story about how Billy's dad went to visit his neighbor and, for some reason, this time she did not want to visit with him, and she became angry and called the police. He seems to have bought that. But, seeing him trying to deal with that, along with being abandoned by his mother, I have asked the schools to provide him with a little psychological counseling.
To further complicate my feelings about this situation, my older daughter's current boyfriend was recently arrested and is in the Cook County Jail with no bond. We have not even bothered to discuss this with her son. He barely knows Jody, the felon, having met him but once or twice, and I really think seeing this pattern in his mother's life will be overwhelming for him, especially considering the time frame. This has all happened in the last month.
I dare not muse, even momentarily, on why my daughter chooses companions of this type. But, it is definitely a pattern. Two former companions also spent time in jail, all, of course, for varying reasons. My wise older brother suggested that I think of it as poor choices on her part. I think, if she wants to correct this pattern, she needs to find answers within herself, preferably with a professional counselor helping her. But of course she would first need to get rid of the notion that she is a hapless bystander in life. And that ain't gonna happen for awhile...
So, when she first moved out, her son asked if he could have her room, a perfectly wonderful reaction in my book, and I am going to go out, right now, and by some beautiful blue paint for that room. Flat surfaces once again call to me.
My older daughter's ex is in jail. I do not know why fetishism is a crime and how serious a crime it is. I think, in order to provide my grandson with any kind of an explanation as to why his dad is incarcerated, I should have a working knowledge of wtf is going on. I was in discussions with the imprisoned person's sister, but apparently I overstepped my specified place in the situation, and they are no longer speaking to me about it. So I made up a little story about how Billy's dad went to visit his neighbor and, for some reason, this time she did not want to visit with him, and she became angry and called the police. He seems to have bought that. But, seeing him trying to deal with that, along with being abandoned by his mother, I have asked the schools to provide him with a little psychological counseling.
To further complicate my feelings about this situation, my older daughter's current boyfriend was recently arrested and is in the Cook County Jail with no bond. We have not even bothered to discuss this with her son. He barely knows Jody, the felon, having met him but once or twice, and I really think seeing this pattern in his mother's life will be overwhelming for him, especially considering the time frame. This has all happened in the last month.
I dare not muse, even momentarily, on why my daughter chooses companions of this type. But, it is definitely a pattern. Two former companions also spent time in jail, all, of course, for varying reasons. My wise older brother suggested that I think of it as poor choices on her part. I think, if she wants to correct this pattern, she needs to find answers within herself, preferably with a professional counselor helping her. But of course she would first need to get rid of the notion that she is a hapless bystander in life. And that ain't gonna happen for awhile...
So, when she first moved out, her son asked if he could have her room, a perfectly wonderful reaction in my book, and I am going to go out, right now, and by some beautiful blue paint for that room. Flat surfaces once again call to me.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Crime and Parenthood
Am I a "victim" or a "control freak"? I am going to have to go back to talking to the psychologist and ask my shrink to up my meds. I slept last night and that is so wonderful.
I am overwhelmed, as usual. On the days when I don't have two or more commitments, and I am so looking forward to having some time for myself, I walk around the house, flitting from project to project, unable to focus or rest, and accomplishing little or nothing.
I am 61 and my husband is 67. He has a bunch of metal parts in his heart and I have a bunch of metal parts in my knees. We are faced with raising an 8 year old that is a complete bundle of problems. I cannot see laying on my death bed wondering if he has a clean pair of socks to wear to school tomorrow. I have mentioned to his mother that she needs to make arrangements to move back to this county and take care of her son. I realize that will probably not happen, and even if she provides a home for him, the care part is an unreasonable expectation.
Am I in this position because I have tried to keep my kids under my control and crippled them for ever being able to take care of themselves? Or am I using all these problems other people have to keep myself from living my own life and making decisions for my own welfare? Or is every one just taking advantage of poor muddled me? I know every time I have to come to a decision about my own health or welfare it takes months of rumination. I also am painfully aware that the decision making and organization part of my brain is untrained and ignored.
Beside making a concerted effort, sort of in the form of a resolution, to organize the material part of my existance, I am not improving my life or anyone else's by much lately.
I have been making an effort to make my grandson be more of a presence in his father's life and this seemed to be working out well. I had a lot of cooperation from his paternal aunt and grandparents. We had hoped that when Bill reached high school age he could live with his dad. Then, last week, the sheriff called to tell me that Billy's dad was in jail for a sex crime.
The sheriff misspoke about the type of crime it was, causing lots of fear and confusion. When that part was cleared up, and we realized it did not directly affect Billy, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Someone mentioned to Bill that his dad was in jail and I was able to give Bill a sort of simplified version of what happened that seemed to satisfy him and perhaps consoled him a bit. We are definitely consoled by the fact that is was not pedophilia as the sheriff first stated.
But the fact remains that Bill and his dad are undoubtedly NOT going to be doing much father son bonding in the future. So that tiny glimmer of hope for MY future has been extinguished and I am back to living somewhat reluctantly in the day to day.
I am feeling like the future would not seem so scary if I was able to count on some kind of plan being in place. I am always telling my kids and grandkids that they are responsible for themselves and their own welfare and well-being, and I guess all I can do is hold myself up as a bad example. Maybe I do not need to point the finger of blame at anyone for this mess. Maybe I just need to go to the laundry room and make sure the clean clothes are all put in the right drawers.
I am overwhelmed, as usual. On the days when I don't have two or more commitments, and I am so looking forward to having some time for myself, I walk around the house, flitting from project to project, unable to focus or rest, and accomplishing little or nothing.
I am 61 and my husband is 67. He has a bunch of metal parts in his heart and I have a bunch of metal parts in my knees. We are faced with raising an 8 year old that is a complete bundle of problems. I cannot see laying on my death bed wondering if he has a clean pair of socks to wear to school tomorrow. I have mentioned to his mother that she needs to make arrangements to move back to this county and take care of her son. I realize that will probably not happen, and even if she provides a home for him, the care part is an unreasonable expectation.
Am I in this position because I have tried to keep my kids under my control and crippled them for ever being able to take care of themselves? Or am I using all these problems other people have to keep myself from living my own life and making decisions for my own welfare? Or is every one just taking advantage of poor muddled me? I know every time I have to come to a decision about my own health or welfare it takes months of rumination. I also am painfully aware that the decision making and organization part of my brain is untrained and ignored.
Beside making a concerted effort, sort of in the form of a resolution, to organize the material part of my existance, I am not improving my life or anyone else's by much lately.
I have been making an effort to make my grandson be more of a presence in his father's life and this seemed to be working out well. I had a lot of cooperation from his paternal aunt and grandparents. We had hoped that when Bill reached high school age he could live with his dad. Then, last week, the sheriff called to tell me that Billy's dad was in jail for a sex crime.
The sheriff misspoke about the type of crime it was, causing lots of fear and confusion. When that part was cleared up, and we realized it did not directly affect Billy, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Someone mentioned to Bill that his dad was in jail and I was able to give Bill a sort of simplified version of what happened that seemed to satisfy him and perhaps consoled him a bit. We are definitely consoled by the fact that is was not pedophilia as the sheriff first stated.
But the fact remains that Bill and his dad are undoubtedly NOT going to be doing much father son bonding in the future. So that tiny glimmer of hope for MY future has been extinguished and I am back to living somewhat reluctantly in the day to day.
I am feeling like the future would not seem so scary if I was able to count on some kind of plan being in place. I am always telling my kids and grandkids that they are responsible for themselves and their own welfare and well-being, and I guess all I can do is hold myself up as a bad example. Maybe I do not need to point the finger of blame at anyone for this mess. Maybe I just need to go to the laundry room and make sure the clean clothes are all put in the right drawers.
Sunday, April 10, 2005
The Birthday from Hell
Every year I wish people would ignore my birthday or, if they must acknowledge it, to do so quietly in a way suited to my advancing age and fragile state of mind. This year was the worst in a long string of horrible birthdays.
My husband actually said "Happy Birthday." I should have stopped right there. He has not said that in about twenty years. Then he actually asked me if I was starting to feel old. Something kind of like a conversation then ensued. That would have been another good stopping place.
I was going to make a spice cake, so I wouldn't have to eat one of those store things with the dark blue "frosting". Dja notice that no matter what color scheme they approach, they always manage to get some of that dark blue stuff on there? Well, I never got around to baking that cake...
My grandson woke up several times during the night saying his leg hurt. He is three and is not a crybaby. Then in the morning, when everyone, the six on hand anyway, was up and moving around and starting the day, we noticed he did not want to get out of bed. Then when we tried to encourage him to get up, he said he didn't want to cuz his leg hurt. When grandpa picked him up, he yelled kind of loud in pain and began to cry. He was at our place cuz it was date night for mom, so we had to call her to come over a little sooner than she had planned. When she arrived, we took him to the acute care place, which is kind of a cross between a hospital and an ER .
We were there almost four hours. They did a lot of blood work and xrays and decided it must be a pulled muscle or sore tendon. They couldn't even determine from interviewing him exactly what hurt. So they suggested we try ibuprofen cuz it is more of an anti-inflammatory. And sure enough, by evening, he was taking a few steps. I stopped on the way home and purchased a small sheet cake with a lot of dark blue frosting on it.
So we went to the Buffalo Wings place for dinner and I had a beer! Totally the high point of the day! We didn't do the candles and photo in the birthday hat thing, and I feel kind of bad about that. Crushed, actually.
Ben seems fine and walked and played today. What the heck hurt him so bad?
Next year I check anonymously into a motel with a book the day before the birthday.
My husband actually said "Happy Birthday." I should have stopped right there. He has not said that in about twenty years. Then he actually asked me if I was starting to feel old. Something kind of like a conversation then ensued. That would have been another good stopping place.
I was going to make a spice cake, so I wouldn't have to eat one of those store things with the dark blue "frosting". Dja notice that no matter what color scheme they approach, they always manage to get some of that dark blue stuff on there? Well, I never got around to baking that cake...
My grandson woke up several times during the night saying his leg hurt. He is three and is not a crybaby. Then in the morning, when everyone, the six on hand anyway, was up and moving around and starting the day, we noticed he did not want to get out of bed. Then when we tried to encourage him to get up, he said he didn't want to cuz his leg hurt. When grandpa picked him up, he yelled kind of loud in pain and began to cry. He was at our place cuz it was date night for mom, so we had to call her to come over a little sooner than she had planned. When she arrived, we took him to the acute care place, which is kind of a cross between a hospital and an ER .
We were there almost four hours. They did a lot of blood work and xrays and decided it must be a pulled muscle or sore tendon. They couldn't even determine from interviewing him exactly what hurt. So they suggested we try ibuprofen cuz it is more of an anti-inflammatory. And sure enough, by evening, he was taking a few steps. I stopped on the way home and purchased a small sheet cake with a lot of dark blue frosting on it.
So we went to the Buffalo Wings place for dinner and I had a beer! Totally the high point of the day! We didn't do the candles and photo in the birthday hat thing, and I feel kind of bad about that. Crushed, actually.
Ben seems fine and walked and played today. What the heck hurt him so bad?
Next year I check anonymously into a motel with a book the day before the birthday.
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