Saying yes...

This afternoon's dance-a-thon will be dedicated to Donna... RIP

 

 

Nooooooo!!!!

:(

Although Davy was not my fave... this still bums me out. And yes, I saw them in concert... along with Herman's Hermits and Gary Puckett...Let the jokes commence.

 

 

Be careful what you wish for: fishcicle edition

This showed up in my mailbox (clarification: my email inbox... not my real mailbox, although that thought makes some of the guesses even funnier.) in the wee hours of the morning...first person who correctly guesses who sent it, wins a prize.

I'm glad we've only sent fish to the freezer. I don't think I want to see frozen Zombies. I'm guessing if Blue Girl was sent to the freezer, she's be even bluer, and we don't need to see that.

I don't know about thunder. Can you freeze thunder?? I know you can't catch the wind, but... can you freeze thunder.

Bittersweet

My father is 84 today. Yes, he's still with us... although I think I've been holding my breath for a few years now, always expecting that call... sometimes hoping for that call as opposed to thinking of what might be coming.

He doesn't live at home anymore. He went into assisted living this past summer... something I fully understand, but still hate and don't understand. I keep resisting the urge to bust him out... while also fighting the urge to lose my lunch.

How can this be?? How could so much have happened so fast over the past few years?? How does a man go from exercising every day and having a stellar mind, to not being able to walk, and not being sure what day it is?? How does a man go from building a home and living in it, to no longer being able to live there, even though it's still his?? He has a home! He just can't live there... at least not without a team of people. It's very easy to move a baby, it's not so easy to move a 6'1" man.

He's still there though... or part of him is still there. Sweetness, as I have mentioned before, has taken a stronger hold in him than he has probably allowed since childhood. That is one of the few blessings, no, probably the only blessing of the stripping away of who he is. 

He still has a fondness for ribald jokes. Go figure. You can ask him what time of year it is the day after he attends a 4th of July celebration, and he'll say October, but apologize to him for possibly giving him a wedgie when trying to move him from his wheelchair to his recliner, and he'll laugh right on cue and say it's probably the most he's felt down there in a long time...

He still retains (or I think he does) a fondness for flatulence humor, so today, when out shopping, and happening upon the scratch 'n sniff farting unicorn card, I snatched it up. I guess I'll find out Sunday, when we go to visit, whether this part of him still exists, or if it has joined the long line of characteristics he has left behind.

Below is my father, in younger years... Ha! I say younger, but he would have been roughly my age now when this was taken... 1976. He loved to cook out and built an awesome barbeque pit, which allowed him and one of his best friends to throw annual hog roasts. 1976 was one of the years they didn't... instead it was the Bicentennial Beef Bash... beef was chosen so a variety of other friends who did not partake of pork could attend.

You gotta love those shirts... again, it was the 70's... His glasses, however, were pure him. He's worn round spectacles since and before I've known him. I counted once, he had around 120 pairs... all different, but all round. Some crazier than others. He referred to them as his Magoo glasses.

And then there's that smile... a smile he often tried to restrain because it was crooked. Egads. What was he thinking. Smile Dad... smile!

The lyrics of this song don't really pertain, but it's been playing in my head since I put this up.

Summer Blogging in One Post!

Garden. Garden. Flower. Butterfly. Fucking rain! Dog. Dog. Dog. Lake. Grizzled. Garden. Lamblet. Lamblet. Lamblet. Driver's Ed. AHHHHHHH! Lamblet. Hot! Too chilly! Wet! Where's the rain?!?! FUN!!! Woo-HOO!! Grrrr! WTF?? Still can't access any of ZRM's many blogs... 3B's! What contest?! Garden. Garden. Painting. Painting. Grrrr. Life is good. WTF??? Dick joke. Dick joke. Thought-provoking post. Dick joke. Garden. Animules. Painting! Grrrr... painting!!@!1 FRUSTRATION! In the zone. Fireflies!! Ah, summer smell. Butterflies! Orbs!!! Orbflies!! Thundra. Von. LOL! Garden. Dogs. Frustration. Satisfaction. Good. Bad. Love everyone. Hate everyone. Weeds. WEEDS! BG!! Lake. Reading. Thinking. Anniversary. Snag. Birthday. Cicadas. School? Already?

In sickness and in health...

Today is my parents’ 60^th wedding anniversary… amazing. 60 years with the same person, for better or worse. 60 years is a long freakin’ time… and I’ve noticed over the years that when you comment about how long someone has been married, they themselves almost seem the most surprised, their marital life passing before their eyes… thinking of the better and the worst.

The lamblets and I went to visit my parents a couple of weeks ago. It was spring break and we had made other plans, but the way things have been going, it seemed a visit to them was more imperative. Our other plans could be done another time. Parents and grandparents are finite.

It was more or less a good visit, with the first day being the hardest. I am never prepared for the new ways my father is declining. I felt sick to my stomach that first evening, but was so happy to see a slightly better version of my father over the next couple of days. While not always present mentally, and nearly every task taking a Herculean effort,  there were a sprinkling of moments of his wry wit sneaking out, exactly as I remembered and reflexively expected it... razor sharp and not missing a jab. It was coming out of a crumpled, weak body, but it was there, waiting for some degrading and confused neural pathway to let the info through. One of my sisters related a similar innocent from a few months ago… my father, seeming lost in another world, dryly spoke up when my mother burst out of her chair, darting to open the front door… “So,” he said, “is the outdoors still there??”

During my visit, I noticed my father was also laughing at smart-ass, bawdy things I was saying. At first I thought he was coughing, but no, over time, I realized he was laughing. Apparently appreciation for bad jokes is one of the last things to go, at least for him. Thank God appreciation for bad jokes is one of the last things to go… Making your parent laugh, no matter how old you are, is still one of those elating things, especially when you’re used to them making you laugh. I can’t explain it. It’s like you hold the keys to the kingdom for a brief moment. I can’t do much for my father at this point, but I could still make him laugh. That was a gift to me, and I hope to him. I hope I never lose my ability to laugh...

But back to their anniversary… which came up in conversation while we were there. We were all trying to remember what gift represented 60 years. I suggested sainthood might be appropriate. My parents liked that. My father then asked me to remind him how long I had been married. I told him that I was coming up on 19 years, but that at times, it felt like 60.  He understood, but said that when you got closer to 60, it actually felt like it was only 20. Where had those 60 years gone...

Time is a wily creature.

Video update... I just remembered the song that was playing in the dream I had right before waking. I suppose I had marriage on my mind.

I wish we still had this...

... rediscovered while unearthing another post...repost from April, 2007... And I think I have even reposted before, but wtf...

We would have died

My eldest lamblet has always been interested in history. Since both Grizzled and I are as well, we've always been happy to help her explore the past. A number of years ago she was really curious about pioneers. I had a couple of good books, with lots of photos that showed the bizarre meshing of lifestyles that was part of the pioneer life. It was not uncommon to see men and women in full dress standing next to their sod house which may or may not have had something grazing on it.

My eldest lamblet was having a hard time grasping the concept of the sod house. Yes, she saw pictures, yes we explained, but it was apparent she was going to need more. It was just the beginning of the gardening season and we were enlarging a couple of beds so we figured we'd build a sod house replica! How hard could it be???

Oh. My. God.

Our little sod house (as you can see in progress) was only about 36 inches wide and 22 inches deep. I think it only reached a height of about 18-20 inches. The digging up and cutting of the sod, the hauling and arranging of the *bricks* was brutal and it wasn't like Grizzled or I were wimps.

And... this wasn't even virgin, prairie sod. When I had mentioned in passing to my father that we were going to build a mini-sod house, he went off on the lack of integrity of our root structure... blah, blah, blah. Yes, Dad, I know, but like I said, it's a MINI-sod house. Geeze!

We were lucky it wasn't virgin, prairie sod. We were lucky it wasn't a full-size house. It became glaringly apparent to Grizzled and me (eldest lamblet quit early in the day, I can't blame her) that had we had to build a true sod house, we would have died. Either the building of it would have killed us or the elements, whichever got to us first.

I have to say though, I loved that little sod house.We tossed a makeshift roof on it and it stayed with us through the season. I had had intentions of putting some oiled newsprint on the window frame that Grizzled and the eldest lamblet made and whitewashing the inside, but decided it was fabulous just the say it was. Besides, I was exhausted and didn't feel up to a lesson in crushing down lime...

All summer long, that house looked like it was waiting for someone. My eldest lamblet thought maybe some prairie fairies would show up. I kind of expected to see a little horse and wagon rig going across the backyard, but I never did. If I had, I don't think I would have owned up to it anyhow. Our neighbors were curious enough as to why we were wasting precious time making a sod house. It was fun, but I'm glad we didn't have to make a real one.

We would have died.

 

 

This is not a waste-free post... it will waste your time...

We have approximately 10 more waste-free lunch days until I am free... YL will be leaving elementary school and we will finally be free from the militant waste-free lunch mother wardens who have turned me into an evil being... a being who once loved the Earth, but who now does spiteful stuff just because.

Waste-free lunch has been a burr under my saddle for years now. It used to be it was just one a month and anyone can handle anything for one day a month... plus it was for a good cause. We were teaching our kids how to reduce the waste that goes into landfill... (never mind that Grizzled and I do this on a daily basis. We've learned that nothing really counts unless it happens at school.) Of course, this message wasn't important enough on its own, no there had to be prizes. Kids need to get prizes for their participation. Grizzled and I often discussed the waste that went into making those Oriental Trading Co. prizes, not to mention them being waste themselves, but hey, let's not confuse things with the facts.

I think the thing that has frosted my ass the most since the inception of waste-free lunch days were the random rules, decided on the day by whichever militant mother volunteer showed up, exercising the power that she so missed in other areas of life. Waste-free lunch seemed to be one of those carnival games you never won and the child was then shamed for killing the planet.

During EL's years, I purchased a multi-compartment lunch container that took care of all items to go into her lunch. Did El get her prize? Hell no... I received a note one time that the rules were, there must be at least 2 reusable containers in the lunch. She only had one... never mind that ALL of her lunch items fit into this one ecologically sound container. She needed to bring two. I debated with them over this, but they refused to see my point and I refused to not use the container I had specifically purchased for waste-free lunch day. EL still has scars, but is not alone...

Sometime during YL's years at this school, waste-free lunch day became a weekly event. I upped my prescription for ulcer medication at this point, but continued to try and run the waste-free gauntlet set up by the new batch of mothers in charge... It seemed they had lightened up on the 2 or more container ruling so I thought I was home free... not to mention, I always use a metal spoon in her lunch. Her lunches were waste-free... until I got the notice about the cloth napkin. It seems it didn't matter now that her lunches were packed in waste-free containers and that she had a reusable spoon, I was including paper napkins, which I might add, are recycled napkins. I should have used a leaf.

But still, EL explained to me that I must continue to try as the shame of not having the perfect waste-free lunch weighs heavy on a young soul, and although she liked to bust her sister's chops, she didn't want someone else doing it. Cloth napkins it would be. I could do that. But... I also found myself rebelling in baaaad ways. Instead of buying a large container of apple sauce, I'd buy the individually wrapped ones... open one and put it into a reusable container. This gave more glee than it should have, but I am a sick individual when pushed to it... I did it with other things as well... sending in the supposedly waste-free lunch with a wicked, knowing smile. Screw the Earth I loved so much! Spite was so much BETTER!

The final straw (plastic straw!) came the other day when I was packing YL's waste-free lunch and asked her to get me the beatific cloth napkin. She said to just use a paper one, she didn't care... for one thing, they don't hand out prizes anymore, they just write "WF" on your hand with a marker. Grizzled chimed in at this point and said they forgot the T that goes in between... YL said she wouldn't even get that anyhow because she drinks milk from school... a milk contract that we purchase in the beginning of the year... milk that is ordered specifically for the number of kids with a contract. I was missing something. Why would that enter into what she brought from home?? She said the mother told her the milk did not come in a waste-free container and therefore, she did not have a waste-free lunch. We explained to her that it would be more wasteful if all kids who normally drank this milk did not on this given day. She said she understood, and just didn't care. She didn't care anymore. Hooray... they successfully killed what should have been a good thing in my kid's mind and in mine. Instead of encouraging any form of reducing waste, they made it impossible to do a good job. Did I mention, we'll only have about 10 of these left?!?! I can't wait.

In the meantime, Grizzled has been reeling off suggestions for the ultimate waste-free lunch... "How about we send her in with a live cow! That would reduce packaging and waste! The mothers can butcher it there in front of the kids and serve it for lunch! RAW!! So we don't waste energy cooking it!!!"

I believe another suggestion was sending her in without any lunch since any form of lunch involves some form of waste, including bodily waste... Can't have that... can't get WF marked on your hand if you poop.

Have I mentioned?? I'm so ready to be done with this...

Casting a pall

A student at EL's school decided he was done. He took his life last week. He was not a friend of EL's, but kids in her classes knew him and said he seemed "normal". I've had brushes with this before. I lost a cousin to suicide. I lost a good family friend to suicide. I've had dark days when the thought entered my own head, but thankfully, it never lingered.

I don't know what it is about this particular boy... perhaps it's having kids around the same age, but it just makes me sick. No one should have to feel that alone, that hurt, that done... especially someone who should have everything ahead of them. I know it's hard to see ahead when you haven't had enough life yet to realize life moves on, but still, it just breaks my heart to think of a child as feeling that bad... and I can't even imagine what his parents must be feeling. There will never be enough answers, that I know... even as things come to light in the days to come. There will never be enough answers.

In the meantime, I hug my lamblets, and thank the powers that be that they seem happy and I pray to whomever, or whatever will listen, that they always will be... and will never hurt as much as that poor boy... and that if they do, that I'll know they're not feeling "normal" and will be able to help.

Surely You've Seen This