Saying yes...

It feels like you should have known...

I had one of those days a number of months back... one of those days where you know you should probably just stay under the covers. I had a new painting class starting. Most of the usual suspects were going to be missing this session due to travel or health issues. Actually, we were all supposed to be missing this session since the newer powers that be had held hard and fast to the "must meet minimums for a class to run" rule. I had warned and warned some more... class was not going to happen as we were only going to have 5 people. I wasn't that worried, knowing enrollment would pick up for future sessions. I was actually looking forward to a break. I needed some extra freedom in my schedule due to other things in my life that needed my attention... but then my boss did something insane and decided to run the class... with two people, one of whom would not be able to make it due to a bad reaction to anesthesia. I had told my boss I needed the break, but no... she decided I'd be doing a lesson for one. While the person who came to class was wonderful... she really didn't want any painting instruction. It was going to be a long 6 weeks.

Anyhow, that first day, I realized I had no clean painting clothes. No problem, I had time to do a fast, small load... it was just the washer decided to stop, not once, but twice. Same for the dryer. By the time I finally got things washed, the dryer would not stay on. These are relatively new machines. It was bizarre. 4 hours later, I managed to have a damp pair of painting clothes to wear. I went to load up the car when my dogs decided jumping up on the door would be a good idea thus shutting it. Of course the door was locked. Of course the emergency key was not in its spot. Of course my house keys were inside, in my purse, with my phone, and my car fob. Of course it was starting to rain. I ditched my uber-heavy painting bag on the patio and hoofed it to work, luckily having my work key in my coat pocket. I also knew YL would get home before me, so she'd have her keys... I'd get back inside. I just didn't think of what it would look like to her when she got home. There'd be my purse, phone, keys, etc, on the table, and my painting bag on the patio, car in the driveway,  but no me! I came home to find a tearful YL on the phone with her father telling him I'd been kidnapped.

The day had other weirdness, but I'll briefly summarize the ending by saying the father we always joked about being a perv, was actually arrested for being a perv. All attention went to news stories about that.

Flash forward to the present. Grizzled and I had been commenting off and on how we had not heard from a longtime friend for a while. She hadn't returned my email... her landline was disconnected... not that odd as her cellphone was still taking messages, but none were returned. She was a lone wolf type so it wasn't unusual to not hear from her for a few months. Still, something wasn't sitting right. I finally remembered to enter her middle initial into a google search the other day and found out she'd been killed in a car/pedestrian accident... almost 4 months ago, on that totally messed up day. Had it not been for all of the perv news, we would have heard about the accident, would have known it was right by her place, and would have thought to check on her sooner, but we missed it. It feels so wrong to have known someone for 25 years and that they can die and you don't know it. I feel neglectful even though I know I've done nothing wrong... it's just the way it is. In this world of hyper-connectivity, we still have our space. It's a blessing and a curse. Still, I wonder, were my washer and dryer trying to tell me? Were the dogs trying to tell me? Was the universe trying to tell me?? "Hey! This day is fucked because your friend was killed this morning! Pay attention!"

Most of us don't blog anymore, or at least not like we did... and even when we were checking in daily, I always remember thinking, we were connected, but we weren't really a part of a family/friend phone tree. People could die and we'd never know... not unless we hit it lucky with a morbid google search. It seems wrong. For all of our advancements over the centuries, it seems like we should have invented a way to let people know, but no, we're not much better off than we were a hundred or more years ago when people would move to far away locales and who knew if you'd ever hear from them again... Still, it seems like we should know.

RIP Maureen.

A Strange New World

This morning was the first morning I woke up without a living father on the planet. It was the obvious next chapter and yet seems incomprehensible... how could this be??

I know I have not been blogging in a while, and was not even sure if I was going to come back here, somehow this felt done... I was being called in new directions, but I felt the need to close his chapter on this as I have written about it here before... a few times.

I have made my peace with my father's inevitable passing... a number of times. I have said goodbye to him... a number of times, but this is where the real rubber hits the road. This one is real. This is not just knowing what will come, or even hoping for what will come... this is having it head on. Your father is gone. You will never see him again. I know it happens. I know no one gets out alive, and yet I still feel somewhat surprised...

He went into hospice care a little over two weeks ago. I was able to see him on the 22nd, and spent a couple of hours with him. He was aware of part of the visit, thank God... maybe more, but I was able to elicit two more weak laughs out of him, and even a word. He held my hand and I held his... and I held his stare for as long as he wished. I told him I knew his eyes were talking up a storm, but I was not quite sure what they were saying... maybe just saying he was still there... for a bit. For a little bit, my father was still there...

And now he's not.

Fathers are interesting creatures... larger than life... and yet so very, very human.  I bless the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with being human.

 

Sinus medicine stream of consciousness....

I've been waylaid over the past 36 hours by sinus pain of the gods. I haven't had it like this in a while, but blame record level pollen and a weather roller coaster that soars into the 90's only to plunge into the low 40's... high pressure, low pressure, high pressure, low pressure. My head gave up and so did I. I took lot of sinus medicine, something I don't really like to do, and crawled to my bed... trying to read, trying to sleep, trying to watch some TV. I've had some interesting conversations with myself. A few one-sided ones with the dogs, who were more than happy to share bed space in the middle of the day! I don't know if they get sinus headaches. If they do, they're better at managing the really bad ones than I am. I can't wag my tail and a smile hurts. I also wonder if a dog can be in a bad mood. Sure, they can be angry, they can be scared, but they don't hold grudges, they don't spew crap, they just are what they are... usually fuzzy bundles of goodness... happy for whatever is in front of them whether it's a ball, a favorite human, a fallen piece of food, a scent on the grass, or a whole scenery of scent blowing in the window. I had the window cracked for a bit, thinking fresh air might help my head, and I loved watching the dogs catch a whiff of what was going on out there. You could see them actually catagorizing it all. It was like they were watching a movie with their noses... I wanted to see a printout of every little molecule they were deciphering and what it meant to them. OK, I was actually jealous of their ability to inhale large quantities of air without pain...

After 40-some years of living with dogs, I am still amazed at their ability to just be. This is who I am (I know... what I am... but to me, they're a who) take me or leave me. I will not change my hair, I will not change my size, I will not bark like a different breed, I will not even think about how I stack up against a different breed. I will just be, and I will revel in it. You can enter me into competitions that tell me if I'm superior or not, but that's for you. It doesn't mean a thing to me. I will just be happy here... going along for the ride that is life. Scratch my rump and I'll be even happier.

People have said it in many different ways, but I'll say it again... it'd be a happier world if we took a few more lessons from dogs. I should take a lesson and be happy where I am... and I kind of am... I'm getting to spend bonus time in my island of a bed, but I mean where I live... not the people I live with. I love and like them, but the damn place where I live. The place that seems to have a pole stuck up it's ass and demands that you do the same if you want to fit in.

I wonder how many people are naturally happy with a pole stuck up their ass. Really. I mean it. How many people chose that? I know I have met some people who were definitely born with an inserted pole and they seem happy that way. More power to them... but the rest of us?? At some point we buy into the fact that we're supposed to have one, and if we don't actually have one, by gawd, you'd better act like it. Don't act as if you can move freely about your world, reveling in your choices... no... follow some strict "pole up your ass" code. It will make everyone happier... or does it?

I feel like I am surrounded by a sea of discontent... people think they're kind of happy, but they're not. They're just trying to do what they think is expected of them and then find out that usually bites them in the ass as well. Do what your parents say, do what your school says, do what your peers expect, do what the village code demands, do what your boss demands... remember, if it's wet and it's not yours... don't touch it... I'm tired of it. What's going to happen if we didn't volunteer to stick that pole up our asses?? I'm guessing not much, but I think everyone would be happier. Everyone would be happier if they weren't spending so much time wondering if they've got the right car in the driveway or if they're asked to the right parties, or worrying that they've got the damn clover out of their yard... and they probably wouldn't worry about spending a sick day or two in bed... hanging out with the dogs... the dogs who have no poles up their asses and are so at ease with themselves that they'll crap on your lawn, even if someone is watching.

No... I don't want to crap on the lawn... but maybe I'd like to metaphorically crap on the lawn a little bit more than I do. Things seemed screwed up these days, on any number of levels... I think we'd be a little better of if we removed the poles from our asses and let the country go to the dogs.

I'm going back to sleep.

 

HALP!!!

What's your guaranteed, go-to, mood-lifter song?? I have mine, but so far, they're not working. As a matter of fact, they're having the opposite effect. 

I woke up this morning, feeling the need to get some endorphins going asap, but life got in the way. I now need pick-me-up, before going into the dreadful afternoon. You know I don't like those, no matter how beautiful they are... I need musical intervention... stat.

Any suggestions?

I'm guessing around 5, I'll even be willing to give Rush a try...

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.

2011: Onward

It's going to be good. It's already good.

Unraveling

Unravel: 

1 a : to disengage or separate the threads of : disentangle b : to cause to come apart by or as if by separating the threads of

2 : to resolve the intricacy, complexity, or obscurity of : clear up <unravel a mystery>

The man I know as my father is unraveling with rapid speed. Disengaging day by day, unraveling and leaving parts of himself behind... a physical trait here, a memory there.  They said it would happen, but we held out some kind of hope for a magic pill or a misdiagnosis.

And while he is unraveling, shedding the wholeness and complexity that once was, there have been moments of joy as his carefully woven facade sloughs away bit by bit.

I know my father loves me. I have always known that, but he's had a very hard time saying it. I blame his harsh Germanic upbringing. You could see the struggle on his face, or hear it in his voice when you would say, "I love you, Dad!" and he knew he would have to respond and sometimes he did, with merely a strained, "Oh... Thank you." It was painful... not that he didn't reciprocate the feelings, but that saying it felt like he was breaking some long-ago ingrained rule.

As my father's disease worsened, his emotions ran more freely. No more stifling a tear or denying a feeling. It was amazing, and at times, almost scary to experience.

And then there came a time, when talking to him on the phone, that the conversation was not as usual ended by me saying, "I love you, Dad!" and then waiting in discomfort as he tried to sputter out the same words.... There came a time when he said, with no discomfort whatsoever, "I love you, Sweetie! Don't stay away so long!" and he said it first. I think the first time he did that, I responded in kind, hung up the phone and cried. It was salve on the wound. It was reassurance... it was just nice. There was no facade, there was no persona, there was just a father telling his daughter that he loved her... and telling her first

If you like people, if you love people, tell them. Life is too short. There's too much bullshit. We don't hesitate for a second to rip someone a new one, but so often we hold back the good. There's something wrong with that. We should be taught to struggle to spit out the venom, not the love.

Things are funky right now... I'm not really in the mood for posting... not even my filler YouTubes... but I just wanted to say, for anyone who stops by on a regular, or not so regular basis, you are appreciated and I like you.

Commenting over at fish's???

I could be wrong, but all of this sounds hauntingly familiar...

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Home Sweet Home

At some point in late October, I got an email passing on the news I knew I would at some point hear... my parents were planning on selling their house. Although this was not a 100% surprise, it felt like a sock to the gut. My father has not been doing well for the past 18 months, and as they move from diagnosis to diagnosis, he's becoming a shell of the father I've known most of my life... but that's another post...

With my father not doing as well and all of us *children* long grown and gone, the house was becoming too much. The yard, a block long, was even more so. While my parents have help to attend to a number of things, there are many things they love to do themselves. The gardens were one of them. They've had the continual battle between my mother's choice of perennials and my father's love of annuals... I think for a moment my mother actually saw victory at hand what with Dad not being able to get out there and *unknowingly* rip out a perennial in order to make room for his master plan... but in reality, my mother wasn't up for that much yard either.

No, they would be selling the house they built some 43 years ago... the only childhood home I've ever really known. And what a house it was/is. It's a wonderful house with plenty of room, plenty of character. It's a house with a wonderful location. A house with a long history of living in it. My parents have never shied away from having people over whether it be for a year or a night. We had an assorted 4-7 exchange students, some legitimate, some who sent siblings back in later years, some who just needed a place for the weekend. There has always been an interesting group of people meandering through the doors, whether my father's business colleagues, friends of my siblings and myself,  or some new soul who had landed in our town. You never knew who was coming to dinner. One of my sisters and I used to bemoan this during our college years. We'd want nothing more than to just go home for the holidays and eat a home-cooked meal in the comfort of our sweats while licking our post-final wounds, but nooooooo. No, instead we heard that *Helmut* and *Herta* had been transferred to town due to Helmut's business and had nowhere to go for Christmas dinner! Of course Mom and Dad would know that there was someone new in town and of course they'd be at our dinner. No sweats would be worn and interesting conversation would be wrangled from our tired souls.

Many invites circulated around my father's obsession with barbecuing... he had an awesome record of not missing a month of bbqing some form of meat for 35+ years (sometimes it was best not to know what the meat was...). He traveled a lot for his work, but still managed to make sure no trip was longer than 3 1/2 weeks so he could keep that record running. The grilling was done on his magnificent bbq pit that he built himself when they built the house. It's brick and has a roof and lights... and when it was first built, we'd find coins in it... it turns out the neighbors thought it was a wishing well.  The bbq pit was made large enough to hold one large hog, which it did almost every year when my parents held their annual pig roast for 350+ of their closest friends. I loved those roasts, always held on a Sunday...loved waking up to the sound of the motor on the rotisserie... I probably also loved the fact that we wouldn't have to go to church, but that's another post...

Wedding receptions were held at this house, grandchildren were born and came to love this house. Crazy antics went on in this house, but that's another post... This house has been used and cared for and has held a lot of life (it still doesn't smell like an old person's house!)  My parents, however, never ones to shy away from where life was taking them, or rather, where they were taking life, have decided it's time to move on.

Frankly, I think my mother wants to close this chapter of their lives with my father still present and for that, I can't blame her. They met in Kindergarten and have been together more or less ever since... that's approx. 75 years. In a few days, they'll celebrate their 58th wedding anniversary. I can see why my mother wants to close this chapter her own way. She's always done things her own way, why should this be any different.

In June, they'll be in a new house... one with no stairs, no multiple levels, elderly-friendly details, a small, easily maintained yard. Yes, I said new. When it became clear that no condos were opening up, my mother decided they needed to build and build something that would suit their elderly years even though my mother, at 80, is nowhere near what I would consider elderly. She's busy picking colors and lighting fixtures, she's even been planting planter boxes so they'll have flowers once they move in (I'm guessing she's already got the perennials ordered for the backyard...). Have I mentioned that not much gets between my mother and an idea??

My father, while not as *young* and energetic as my mother, is also embracing this move. It is their willingness to embrace a different stage, a different direction, that is making the thought of parting with this house a little easier... and yet, I'd be lying if I didn't say there are nights where I wake up and the knowledge that this place will no longer be mine, slips into my unguarded mind and I feel sick to my stomach. I've been away from *home* for a long time. I have my own home, but in the back of my mind, I knew I still had access. To not have that anymore will be... different.

And, when not thinking clearly, I also wonder... will the house miss us?? Will it wonder where its people went?? I just hope whomever moves in next... the second owner in 40-some years, will be kind to it and be open to all it has to offer... even offering up a meal if Helmut and Herta stop back through.

I know I'm lucky... I still have my parents and parents are more important than a house. I'm lucky in that I got to live in it, live in the same place for so long, even if sometimes going elsewhere seemed preferable. I've been lucky and I am lucky... and, it's just a house.

But it still feels like I'm losing someone.