It's never easy to lose a loved-one. If one lives long enough, one tends to lose too many loved-ones.
My mother died back in November. My sister and I are having her memorial today. I've been elected to give the eulogy.
We had planned to go out onto the beach to scatter a few of Mom's ashes. But unless the rain lets up, I don't see that happening. Such is life...and death.
In the meantime, here is the eulogy I plan to give:
'We're gathering today to remember a special person. Some of us remember her as Mom, Sis, Aunt J, Grandma, Maghee or friend. If we include all her names from her 83 years, she'd be J. D. H. S. C. S. Quite a mouthful of names, but then, she lived quite a life.
"J was born March 6, 1931, changing her only brother, Dave, from an only child to a big brother. From the stories Mom told over the years, Dave was her brother, friend, confidant, ruining her life – at least in her child's mind, when a stranger offered to take her picture in a secluded area, thus making her famous – to protecting her from that same stranger by calling her name as he searched for her to bring her home. There were numerous other stories she told us of her early life, many of which ended up in her book, The Color Chartreuse.
"She graduated from Penn Hall in 1950, then from St. Lawrence University in Canton, New York, in 1952. It was at St. Lawrence that Mom met Dad. The two married in November, 1952. Over the next few years, three children arrived – me (Robin), Amy Anne, and Gregory John. The stories each of us could tell...The move from New York to Connecticut, the blurbs in Readers' Digest – written about the funny things happening in her life and the lives of her children – and stories published in Yankee Magazine(one of which was published in Yankee's A Treasury of New England Short Stories ), then a move to Rochester, New York.
"In 1971, Mom and Dad split up, and Mom decided it was time to move to Florida to be near her parents. Nothing like a little stress in one's life: a cross-country move with three children, an impending divorce, and hitting 40 at a time when 40 was a lot older than it is now. After buying a house in the Tyrone area of St. Pete, Mom went to work for Guide Magazine, then held several teaching positions in the area, a job she'd held at various times in Connecticut and Rochester.
"It was while Mom was teaching that she met William C. They later married, and, after moving to Largo, the two started the small publishing company, publishing materials for teachers and adult-ed classes. While in Largo, they would frequently throw pizza parties for their grandchildren as the kids stuffed envelopes for Longmuir-Jones. Later, Mom and Bill moved to Murray, Kentucky, where Bill was from.
"Mom continued to write, and read several of her short essays on the local NPR radio station. Many of these essays also made it into The Color Chartreuse. While in Murray, Mom began painting again, something she had done while living in New York (before the move to Connecticut). She enjoyed painting immensely.
"Mom was widowed in 1997 with Bill's passing, and remained in Murray for several years, writing, meeting with friends, adopting the occasional stray dog and cat.
"Then Mom met another man, James S, about ten years older than she was. James brought her back to New York, then on to Allentown, where they remained for several years. James died shortly before Mom did.
"Even with everything that happened in Mom's life – a divorce, the death of two husbands, as well as the deaths of her parents and son, Greg, Mom still maintained a bit of an adventurous soul until the end, and had looked forward to a possible move to Oregon. That was not to be, though, and Mom passed away in November, 2014.
"Mom, you'll be missed, and remembered fondly."
Sunday, August 16, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
Mom
I've been in kind-of a reflective mood the past few days. Friday was my mother's birthday; she would have been 84, had she lived. She died this past November, so this was the first of her birthdays since she died. It felt strange, wanting to call her to wish her Happy Birthday, and knowing that I couldn't. I felt as though her birthday should be commemorated somehow. In the days leading up to her birthday, I considered texting my sister and suggesting we both find a card Mom would have liked, then sending it to each other. Or maybe simply a text to each other on her birthday. I don't know...
In the end, I bought a cake mix and a can of frosting. It was a yellow cake and chocolate frosting, the type of cake Mom always baked me for my birthday. I figured I'd bake it Friday afternoon, but Friday got away from me, as did the weekend. Maybe tomorrow.
I brought a few things out to the recycling bin this evening, and thought back to when we moved to Florida, a life-time ago. We left upstate New York the last week of February on a day when the wind chill index made it feel like 40 below. Mom and Dad were getting divorced, which is seldom an easy thing. Mom had her brother, my Uncle D., accompany us in his car as far as Springfield, Massachusetts, a city that took us about 250 miles out of the way en route to Florida. Don't ask me why; the logic escapes me. Maybe it was the map-reading thing; maybe it was...well, who knows why.
The next day, Uncle D. headed back home to Aunt N., while Mom, my sister A. and our brother G. headed south. Mom had mentioned she felt horrible. She had debated whether to have us take her to the nearest hospital, but figured she had just enough money to get us to Florida without an extra stop. So she handed me the car keys and the map of the eastern U.S., reminded me that I had a New York state learner's permit, then told me to get us to St. Pete. Fortunately, I can read maps just fine, otherwise we might have ended up in Nome, Alaska. (Passing through customs twice, though - once going into Canada, once leaving - might have tipped me off.)
Mom seemed a little strange during the trip, but A. and I chalked it up to a combination of three major life changes: Mom was turning 40 (a big deal back when she hit 40), she was divorcing Dad, and we were moving a little more than 1,300 miles (and numerous states) away, more than 1500 miles, if you include the side-trip through Massachusetts. By the time we got to Grandma and Grandpa's the day before Mom's birthday, she was in bad shape. In fact, she spent most of her birthday in the nearest emergency room.
Finally, a week or so later, she started feeling better, more herself. It wasn't until years later, while in her early 50s and married to my first step-dad, that she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Apparently, when we'd thought was a bad case of what my younger two and I call the ditzy doodles on the trip was really her introduction to MS, which soon went into a long remission.
During the first month or so in Florida, we stayed with Mom's parents, who lived in an apartment on the second floor. Every evening, after dinner, I'd walk along the long attached balconies in front of the upper floor apartments, descend the stairs at the end of the building, then walk the second floor balcony on the building behind Grandma and Grandpa's, eventually ending up back where I'd started. The weather was exactly the way it is now: definitely warmer than upstate New York, while nowhere near as hot as it gets here during the summer. The air even smells fresh.Whenever the weather is like this in the evening, especially in March, I can't help but remember our first Florida March, and Mom's first Florida birthday. Now it's Mom's first birthday since she's been gone. And while our relationship had been difficult most of the past few decades (I'd always been a Daddy's girl), we'd slowly gotten somewhat closer, almost friendly the last couple of years. I miss her.
The cake gets baked tomorrow, even though it's a few days late. Happy Birthday, Mom.
In the end, I bought a cake mix and a can of frosting. It was a yellow cake and chocolate frosting, the type of cake Mom always baked me for my birthday. I figured I'd bake it Friday afternoon, but Friday got away from me, as did the weekend. Maybe tomorrow.
I brought a few things out to the recycling bin this evening, and thought back to when we moved to Florida, a life-time ago. We left upstate New York the last week of February on a day when the wind chill index made it feel like 40 below. Mom and Dad were getting divorced, which is seldom an easy thing. Mom had her brother, my Uncle D., accompany us in his car as far as Springfield, Massachusetts, a city that took us about 250 miles out of the way en route to Florida. Don't ask me why; the logic escapes me. Maybe it was the map-reading thing; maybe it was...well, who knows why.
The next day, Uncle D. headed back home to Aunt N., while Mom, my sister A. and our brother G. headed south. Mom had mentioned she felt horrible. She had debated whether to have us take her to the nearest hospital, but figured she had just enough money to get us to Florida without an extra stop. So she handed me the car keys and the map of the eastern U.S., reminded me that I had a New York state learner's permit, then told me to get us to St. Pete. Fortunately, I can read maps just fine, otherwise we might have ended up in Nome, Alaska. (Passing through customs twice, though - once going into Canada, once leaving - might have tipped me off.)
Mom seemed a little strange during the trip, but A. and I chalked it up to a combination of three major life changes: Mom was turning 40 (a big deal back when she hit 40), she was divorcing Dad, and we were moving a little more than 1,300 miles (and numerous states) away, more than 1500 miles, if you include the side-trip through Massachusetts. By the time we got to Grandma and Grandpa's the day before Mom's birthday, she was in bad shape. In fact, she spent most of her birthday in the nearest emergency room.
Finally, a week or so later, she started feeling better, more herself. It wasn't until years later, while in her early 50s and married to my first step-dad, that she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Apparently, when we'd thought was a bad case of what my younger two and I call the ditzy doodles on the trip was really her introduction to MS, which soon went into a long remission.
During the first month or so in Florida, we stayed with Mom's parents, who lived in an apartment on the second floor. Every evening, after dinner, I'd walk along the long attached balconies in front of the upper floor apartments, descend the stairs at the end of the building, then walk the second floor balcony on the building behind Grandma and Grandpa's, eventually ending up back where I'd started. The weather was exactly the way it is now: definitely warmer than upstate New York, while nowhere near as hot as it gets here during the summer. The air even smells fresh.Whenever the weather is like this in the evening, especially in March, I can't help but remember our first Florida March, and Mom's first Florida birthday. Now it's Mom's first birthday since she's been gone. And while our relationship had been difficult most of the past few decades (I'd always been a Daddy's girl), we'd slowly gotten somewhat closer, almost friendly the last couple of years. I miss her.
The cake gets baked tomorrow, even though it's a few days late. Happy Birthday, Mom.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Life Goes On...
Some years are better than others. I guess that's true for most of us. So far, this year seems to be possibly one of the more productive ones, which is nice, especially after last year. Last year was horrible: we lost several family members died; we had a hard time getting rid of what turned out to be the roommate from hell (yes, it was someone we had known for years); and, of course, the various odds and ends that make a life.
In July, my son-in-law died. While his health was not the greatest, his death was not expected. But considering the medical care he got - or, rather didn't get - he passed away. (Yes, he'd gone to the hospital, three times in his final ten days or so; the hospital totally dropped the ball. That's another story.) His mom had come down to see him in the hospital; fortunately, she got to see him before he died.
Then, over the next few months, my mother began to die in earnest. Her health, which hadn't been the greatest for years, began deteriorating rapidly. While my sister, A., still lived near me, we'd tried to get Mom and our second step-dad to move near us to make life easier, "just in case." Then my sister moved to Colorado, then literally across the country. We still tried getting Mom and step- to move here, but it wasn't happening.
A. flew back and forth to Mom's, reporting to me on what was happening. It wasn't pretty. There were assisted living facilities, skilled nursing facilities, the whole bit. Then step-dad had a stroke and, within a month, had died at his daughter's home. (Again, another story...) A. mentioned bringing Mom out to live near her. But Mom's health was too precarious.
"If you want to see Mom while she's alive, you'd better come soon," A. said during one phone call. Mom was days to weeks from dying. "I'll even pay for your airfare."
Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a crisis here at home. A friend had needed a temporary place to stay and I'd offered to let him rent a room temporarily; he overstayed by his welcome in short order. (Word of advice: if a person's family doesn't want that person moving in with them, that's not a good sign.) I finally had to go into bitch-mode to get him out, after he'd become increasingly unpleasant and verbally abusive. I couldn't fly out to see Mom, knowing that the now-ex-roommate was still there, giving my sons M. and J. all sorts of grief.
By mid-November, Mom and roommate were gone. While Mom's passing without having seen her hurt, at least A. and I knew she was no longer in pain, while ex-roomie's leaving was the definite high-point of the month.
Over the next few months, A. and I spoke a few times. We discovered one final Christmas present from Mom, which surprised both of us.
Now, with March of the new year here, things are looking up. Life, while far from perfect, is running a lot better than last year. While my "kids" (all adults) and I still have things to work through (this is, after all, real life; there are almost always bumps and uh-oh moments), we're hanging on.
Here's hoping for the rest of the year.
In July, my son-in-law died. While his health was not the greatest, his death was not expected. But considering the medical care he got - or, rather didn't get - he passed away. (Yes, he'd gone to the hospital, three times in his final ten days or so; the hospital totally dropped the ball. That's another story.) His mom had come down to see him in the hospital; fortunately, she got to see him before he died.
Then, over the next few months, my mother began to die in earnest. Her health, which hadn't been the greatest for years, began deteriorating rapidly. While my sister, A., still lived near me, we'd tried to get Mom and our second step-dad to move near us to make life easier, "just in case." Then my sister moved to Colorado, then literally across the country. We still tried getting Mom and step- to move here, but it wasn't happening.
A. flew back and forth to Mom's, reporting to me on what was happening. It wasn't pretty. There were assisted living facilities, skilled nursing facilities, the whole bit. Then step-dad had a stroke and, within a month, had died at his daughter's home. (Again, another story...) A. mentioned bringing Mom out to live near her. But Mom's health was too precarious.
"If you want to see Mom while she's alive, you'd better come soon," A. said during one phone call. Mom was days to weeks from dying. "I'll even pay for your airfare."
Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a crisis here at home. A friend had needed a temporary place to stay and I'd offered to let him rent a room temporarily; he overstayed by his welcome in short order. (Word of advice: if a person's family doesn't want that person moving in with them, that's not a good sign.) I finally had to go into bitch-mode to get him out, after he'd become increasingly unpleasant and verbally abusive. I couldn't fly out to see Mom, knowing that the now-ex-roommate was still there, giving my sons M. and J. all sorts of grief.
By mid-November, Mom and roommate were gone. While Mom's passing without having seen her hurt, at least A. and I knew she was no longer in pain, while ex-roomie's leaving was the definite high-point of the month.
Over the next few months, A. and I spoke a few times. We discovered one final Christmas present from Mom, which surprised both of us.
Now, with March of the new year here, things are looking up. Life, while far from perfect, is running a lot better than last year. While my "kids" (all adults) and I still have things to work through (this is, after all, real life; there are almost always bumps and uh-oh moments), we're hanging on.
Here's hoping for the rest of the year.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
The Holidays Are Here...Is It New Year's Yet?
Thanksgiving is over, and Christmas is right around the corner. I spent a good part of yesterday writing out Christmas cards. It's something I normally do every year on Thanksgiving, after the meal is finished and the dishes mostly done. But this year, the day after Thanksgiving was good enough. After all, I usually don't start sending them out until December 1. Monday will be here soon enough.
Actually, I'm kind-of looking forward to New Year's. It seems that this time of year, so many of us proclaim that "I can't wait until this year is over!" for a variety of reasons. And yes, some years seem to warrant that sentiment. Death, divorce, all sorts of reasons give rise to that can't wait sentiment.
This has been one of those years for us. My son-in-law, B., died in July. Then my step-dad. I can't really say that Jim and I were close; we never met in person, and had only talked briefly on the phone from time to time. But that's beside the point. Then my roommate had a car wreck that warranted a week-long hospital stay and a short cast. During this time, between his family and his actions, I discovered things I'd really rather not have known. My sons J. and M. and I had pegged roomie as a storyteller. We just didn't know the full extent of it.
We finally had to tell him he would have to move, and it had nothing to do with the stories. There were several reasons factoring into this, none of which really need to come out here. Suffice it to say that for a while, things were a little strained.
During this time, my sister called numerous times. Mom was fading rapidly. She finally passed away November 11, never having made it to Oregon with my sister. Although my sister and I knew it was coming, it still hit hard. While I'd been closer to Dad, who passed away in 2007, Mom was our remaining parent, the last wall between A. and I and the future. Now A. and I are the last remnants of our birth family.
Then, last week, roomie moved. He was supposed to be out earlier, and had tried to make his stay longer ("Would it be possible to stay until December 1?" he'd asked; I responded with a firm, "No."). But when last Saturday came, we both seemed okay with it. Maybe resigned might be a better way of putting it. But it looks like it's going to work out nicely for both of us. And it was very much needed - again, for both of us. Now the extra bedroom can go back to being an office/studio/thinking space/library/whatever, at least for the time being. M.H. and G. might have to move in, and if so, that'll be their room. We'll have to wait and see.
Back to Thanksgiving...M.H. had Thanksgiving off, so she and G. came over for dinner. The flip side is that she has to work Christmas day, which stinks. Actually, I feel much stronger about stores that remain open on holidays and that don't pay their employees accordingly (i.e: at least time-and-a-half or more for working holidays), but I'm using my "nice words" this morning.
But as for dinner: Two years ago, M. and I had gone to their place for Thanksgiving, a day filled with memories that I hope they'll love as much as I do. Since M.H. had to work last Thanksgiving, and the bus ride of the year before had complicated things, we'd both done the Thanksgiving-at-home routine, touching base in the morning to exchange Happy Thanksgivings.
This year, I managed to get a couple of pies made, then stuffed the turkey and put that in the oven. Then I headed out for a walk.
We live a few houses away from the back entrance to one of our city's parks. It has plenty of space for riding horses, playing Little League games, walking or running, as well as a playground and plenty of picnic tables and grills throughout fields and woods. Walking through the horse trails became a holiday tradition for me years ago, after I'd stopped driving cab, and during my better-half's last few months driving. It's always a great way to unwind, as well as feeling like I've earned a big meal. Also, I've seen changes in parts of the wooded areas over the years, as well as seeing houses go up around the park. It usually takes me an hour or so to head out and back; by that time, I'm usually ready to put my feet up before putting the finishing touches to the meal.
When M.H. and G. showed up, it was almost time to take the turkey out of the oven. No problem there. But while my stuffing usually gets good reviews, this year I changed things a little; let's just say that the stuffing was definitely memorable, but not in a great way. Some of the stuffing had been cooked inside the bird; that, of course, ended up at the bottom of the pan, along with part of the turkey, in a liquid-y mess. The stuffing that was baked outside the turkey was too crisp on top and basted waaaaaay too much below that crisp top layer. When it got chucked, there was a slight pool of yellow margarine at the bottom of the bowl. Actually, it would have buttered a medium-sized movie theater popcorn. Like I said: Memorable, but not in a great way.
M.H. and G. brought over some mac and cheese that M.H. fixed at our place, along with some rolls and some homemade chocolate chip cookies that G. had baked. They'd also brought along a few other things we needed. (Thanks!) (Also: G., if you're reading this, another batch of those cookies would make a great Christmas present! That's a not-so-subtle hint; they were really good!)
After we ate and talked for a little while, M.H. and G. headed back home and I started rounding up plates and glasses and bowls and pots and pans and got to work.
We still have the month of December to get through, including Christmas. But as long as the New Year rolls around, we'll make it.
Note: You can also check here for some of my other Thanksgiving memories.
Actually, I'm kind-of looking forward to New Year's. It seems that this time of year, so many of us proclaim that "I can't wait until this year is over!" for a variety of reasons. And yes, some years seem to warrant that sentiment. Death, divorce, all sorts of reasons give rise to that can't wait sentiment.
This has been one of those years for us. My son-in-law, B., died in July. Then my step-dad. I can't really say that Jim and I were close; we never met in person, and had only talked briefly on the phone from time to time. But that's beside the point. Then my roommate had a car wreck that warranted a week-long hospital stay and a short cast. During this time, between his family and his actions, I discovered things I'd really rather not have known. My sons J. and M. and I had pegged roomie as a storyteller. We just didn't know the full extent of it.
We finally had to tell him he would have to move, and it had nothing to do with the stories. There were several reasons factoring into this, none of which really need to come out here. Suffice it to say that for a while, things were a little strained.
During this time, my sister called numerous times. Mom was fading rapidly. She finally passed away November 11, never having made it to Oregon with my sister. Although my sister and I knew it was coming, it still hit hard. While I'd been closer to Dad, who passed away in 2007, Mom was our remaining parent, the last wall between A. and I and the future. Now A. and I are the last remnants of our birth family.
Then, last week, roomie moved. He was supposed to be out earlier, and had tried to make his stay longer ("Would it be possible to stay until December 1?" he'd asked; I responded with a firm, "No."). But when last Saturday came, we both seemed okay with it. Maybe resigned might be a better way of putting it. But it looks like it's going to work out nicely for both of us. And it was very much needed - again, for both of us. Now the extra bedroom can go back to being an office/studio/thinking space/library/whatever, at least for the time being. M.H. and G. might have to move in, and if so, that'll be their room. We'll have to wait and see.
Back to Thanksgiving...M.H. had Thanksgiving off, so she and G. came over for dinner. The flip side is that she has to work Christmas day, which stinks. Actually, I feel much stronger about stores that remain open on holidays and that don't pay their employees accordingly (i.e: at least time-and-a-half or more for working holidays), but I'm using my "nice words" this morning.
But as for dinner: Two years ago, M. and I had gone to their place for Thanksgiving, a day filled with memories that I hope they'll love as much as I do. Since M.H. had to work last Thanksgiving, and the bus ride of the year before had complicated things, we'd both done the Thanksgiving-at-home routine, touching base in the morning to exchange Happy Thanksgivings.
This year, I managed to get a couple of pies made, then stuffed the turkey and put that in the oven. Then I headed out for a walk.
We live a few houses away from the back entrance to one of our city's parks. It has plenty of space for riding horses, playing Little League games, walking or running, as well as a playground and plenty of picnic tables and grills throughout fields and woods. Walking through the horse trails became a holiday tradition for me years ago, after I'd stopped driving cab, and during my better-half's last few months driving. It's always a great way to unwind, as well as feeling like I've earned a big meal. Also, I've seen changes in parts of the wooded areas over the years, as well as seeing houses go up around the park. It usually takes me an hour or so to head out and back; by that time, I'm usually ready to put my feet up before putting the finishing touches to the meal.
When M.H. and G. showed up, it was almost time to take the turkey out of the oven. No problem there. But while my stuffing usually gets good reviews, this year I changed things a little; let's just say that the stuffing was definitely memorable, but not in a great way. Some of the stuffing had been cooked inside the bird; that, of course, ended up at the bottom of the pan, along with part of the turkey, in a liquid-y mess. The stuffing that was baked outside the turkey was too crisp on top and basted waaaaaay too much below that crisp top layer. When it got chucked, there was a slight pool of yellow margarine at the bottom of the bowl. Actually, it would have buttered a medium-sized movie theater popcorn. Like I said: Memorable, but not in a great way.
M.H. and G. brought over some mac and cheese that M.H. fixed at our place, along with some rolls and some homemade chocolate chip cookies that G. had baked. They'd also brought along a few other things we needed. (Thanks!) (Also: G., if you're reading this, another batch of those cookies would make a great Christmas present! That's a not-so-subtle hint; they were really good!)
After we ate and talked for a little while, M.H. and G. headed back home and I started rounding up plates and glasses and bowls and pots and pans and got to work.
We still have the month of December to get through, including Christmas. But as long as the New Year rolls around, we'll make it.
Note: You can also check here for some of my other Thanksgiving memories.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Looonnng Summer
I know, I know, it's been a while since I've posted here. It's been a very long, rough summer. Granted, it started off easily enough, but then...
Someone had been keeping an eye out for the perfect job for me. Yes, I'd been applying to anything that seemed vaguely possible with my degree (BA in journalism, one semester short of an MLA in history), but I figured it didn't hurt to put the word out. The person looking (okay, a job coach...long story, don't ask!) called me to excitedly tell me that the perfect work experience had been found. Turned out that it wasn't exactly the best fit, but I figured that since it was only for a few weeks, I'd try to stick it out.
But then, near the end of July, my son-in-law, B., died. While he hadn't been in the best of health, he'd been maintaining. Of course, it wasn't as simple as "he died," but I'll leave it at that for now. Let's just say it was not expected, and was totally unnecessary.
So, of course, my daughter (M.H.) had to start trying to jump through hoops trying to get things worked out, while trying to maintain some stability for my granddaughter, G. She's still working on everything.
In the meantime, M., J. and I ended up sick again - several times. This is since the June 6 posting. Then the roommate had a wreck and is in bad shape (cast, broken foot, etc), and is, in my opinion, acting much more entitled and whiney and (pardon me) helpless than even I am at my most drama-queen worst. Add to all this that my step-dad also recently died, my mom is in a nursing home, and about to be moved to Oregon (my sister, an RN, lives there), but Mom is now in the hospital...Siiiiiiiigh...
All this shall pass, I keep reminding myself. Roomie will move. M., J. and I will get to a point where none of us sound like a bad impersonation of Harvey Fierstein. Mom will, hopefully, get well enough to head for Oregon. M.H. will get things straightened out.
Here's hoping for a better autumn.
Someone had been keeping an eye out for the perfect job for me. Yes, I'd been applying to anything that seemed vaguely possible with my degree (BA in journalism, one semester short of an MLA in history), but I figured it didn't hurt to put the word out. The person looking (okay, a job coach...long story, don't ask!) called me to excitedly tell me that the perfect work experience had been found. Turned out that it wasn't exactly the best fit, but I figured that since it was only for a few weeks, I'd try to stick it out.
But then, near the end of July, my son-in-law, B., died. While he hadn't been in the best of health, he'd been maintaining. Of course, it wasn't as simple as "he died," but I'll leave it at that for now. Let's just say it was not expected, and was totally unnecessary.
So, of course, my daughter (M.H.) had to start trying to jump through hoops trying to get things worked out, while trying to maintain some stability for my granddaughter, G. She's still working on everything.
In the meantime, M., J. and I ended up sick again - several times. This is since the June 6 posting. Then the roommate had a wreck and is in bad shape (cast, broken foot, etc), and is, in my opinion, acting much more entitled and whiney and (pardon me) helpless than even I am at my most drama-queen worst. Add to all this that my step-dad also recently died, my mom is in a nursing home, and about to be moved to Oregon (my sister, an RN, lives there), but Mom is now in the hospital...Siiiiiiiigh...
All this shall pass, I keep reminding myself. Roomie will move. M., J. and I will get to a point where none of us sound like a bad impersonation of Harvey Fierstein. Mom will, hopefully, get well enough to head for Oregon. M.H. will get things straightened out.
Here's hoping for a better autumn.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Summer Solstice
So today's the first day of summer, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. As if we could really forget it. Anyone with a TV has heard the local news babbling for the past week that today would be the summer solstice. According to the local news (here on the west coast of Florida), the event took place at 6:51 AM, EDT. I slept through it, or, at least, tried to. Not that the earth shook, or anything loud happened to announce the occurrence...But I'd gone back to bed to try to catch a couple of extra minutes of sleep.
My son, M., had to work today. His schedule is such that he has a one-day-weekend every other week; the up side is that the other weekend is a five-day-weekend. He works Wednesday through Saturday, has Sunday off, then works Monday through Thursday, while another guy at work works the opposite of M. So, this weekend, while M. has a one-day-weekend, the other guy has a five-day-weekend.
M. has to get up at 5:00 AM to get ready, so I frequently set my alarm as back-up, just in case he conveniently sleeps through his, then I'll go back to bed until 6-ish. This is mainly to run interception at the front door, so that Karma, our resident Houdini, masquerading as a black cat, doesn't try escaping. I think he does this just to keep us on our toes; he'll go for a few weeks without incident, then, when our guard is down, Zooooom! Out the door! This morning, after M. left, I went back to and tried to sleep until 7:00. Never quite happened, what with Karma and Drexie wanting breakfast...
Good thing M.'s not into celebrating the Summer Solstice. Also, I guess to do it up right, we really should live near Stonehenge. But we don't. However, The Old Farmer's Almanac has suggestions for celebrating the solstice, some of which are do-able. Because of local laws, lighting a bonfire is out. And I seriously doubt that I'll be fishing or camping. But cooking outside is a possibility; so is planting a tree (we have plenty of them in our yard, most of which my sons and daughter and I planted), letting the light in (Florida is the sunshine state, after all!), reading a book, listening to songbirds, or watching the night sky.
Anyway, once I was up, I had my first couple of cups of coffee (does that count as celebrating the solstice? Probably not.), then got ready to go out for a walk. I'd wanted to walk and/or run for an hour, but got a late-ish start. I figure that with the heat and humidity, half-an-hour was not bad. I'll probably go back out this afternoon for another walk.
In the meantime, I guess I'd better get started on another Saturday. One of the neighbors is already out mowing the lawn. I kid him that he's obsessed with his yard, and he gladly admits that he is, although he's eased up a little on it over the last year or two. But when the worst you can say about a neighbor is that his lawn is perfect, I guess one can't complain. (We'll leave politics out; the neighbor and I generally do.)
Whether you tend to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes or simply are aware of when they happen, I hope you have a decent day. And if nothing else, maybe read a book while in a park, listening to the nearby birds. If nothing else, it'll at least break up your day a little.
My son, M., had to work today. His schedule is such that he has a one-day-weekend every other week; the up side is that the other weekend is a five-day-weekend. He works Wednesday through Saturday, has Sunday off, then works Monday through Thursday, while another guy at work works the opposite of M. So, this weekend, while M. has a one-day-weekend, the other guy has a five-day-weekend.
M. has to get up at 5:00 AM to get ready, so I frequently set my alarm as back-up, just in case he conveniently sleeps through his, then I'll go back to bed until 6-ish. This is mainly to run interception at the front door, so that Karma, our resident Houdini, masquerading as a black cat, doesn't try escaping. I think he does this just to keep us on our toes; he'll go for a few weeks without incident, then, when our guard is down, Zooooom! Out the door! This morning, after M. left, I went back to and tried to sleep until 7:00. Never quite happened, what with Karma and Drexie wanting breakfast...
Good thing M.'s not into celebrating the Summer Solstice. Also, I guess to do it up right, we really should live near Stonehenge. But we don't. However, The Old Farmer's Almanac has suggestions for celebrating the solstice, some of which are do-able. Because of local laws, lighting a bonfire is out. And I seriously doubt that I'll be fishing or camping. But cooking outside is a possibility; so is planting a tree (we have plenty of them in our yard, most of which my sons and daughter and I planted), letting the light in (Florida is the sunshine state, after all!), reading a book, listening to songbirds, or watching the night sky.
Anyway, once I was up, I had my first couple of cups of coffee (does that count as celebrating the solstice? Probably not.), then got ready to go out for a walk. I'd wanted to walk and/or run for an hour, but got a late-ish start. I figure that with the heat and humidity, half-an-hour was not bad. I'll probably go back out this afternoon for another walk.
In the meantime, I guess I'd better get started on another Saturday. One of the neighbors is already out mowing the lawn. I kid him that he's obsessed with his yard, and he gladly admits that he is, although he's eased up a little on it over the last year or two. But when the worst you can say about a neighbor is that his lawn is perfect, I guess one can't complain. (We'll leave politics out; the neighbor and I generally do.)
Whether you tend to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes or simply are aware of when they happen, I hope you have a decent day. And if nothing else, maybe read a book while in a park, listening to the nearby birds. If nothing else, it'll at least break up your day a little.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Caution: Whiny When Sick...
I'm not sure why, but I get whiny when I'm sick. Throw an occasional ache or pain my way, the normal I-just-mowed-the-lawn ache, the twisted ankle during a morning run, and I can usually shrug it off. But give me a bad cold, the flu, or anything like that, I jump full-force into whiny-little-kid mode. I fully expect my mom to fix me hot cups of tea and toast or soup, with the knowledge that that evening, my dad'll get home from work, bring me a class of Canada Dry Ginger Ale (the only kind he bought when one of us kids were sick) and sit and me the funny pages or some really cool book.
I've been sick the past week. (You kind-of suspected something was up, right?) My mom, who's in her 80s lives several states away, and my dad, the Ginger Ale king, died almost seven years ago just short of his 80th birthday, which meant I was sort-of on my own.
Actually, I sort-of was given the cold (which morphed into bronchitis) from my younger two sons. Growing up, all four of my offspring were told repeatedly to share. There are times when I wish they didn't take that sharing thing to heart. Usually, my son M. gets whatever first, then passes it to his younger brother, J., who then hands it off to me. This time, however, my friend Kevin is go blame. He started the whole thing, then gave it to M.
For a while, it looked like I wasn't going to get it, but when I did, it hung on, gradually getting worse. Finally, I broke down and had Kev drop me off at a walk-in clinic. I didn't feel bad enough to go to the ER, but I also didn't want to wait a day or so to get an appointment with my primary doctor.
At the clinic (one of Bayfront's many walk-ins), I had less than a 15-minute wait. (Note: No, I'm not getting any form of compensation for the plug, but I do figure that if someone or some place provides a decent service, I'll let people know. Flip side is that if that service treats people like crap, that gets a write-up, too. One area hospital - unnamed here - knows that.) Once in the exam room, Dr. Sunshine (obviously not his real name) checked out the lungs, etc. and told me it was definitely more than the cold that Kev, M. or J. had: it had morphed into bronchitis.
"On the bright side, it's not pneumonia!" he exclaimed. I wanted to ask who had died and made him Dr. Sunshine...In this case, I'm not trying to be mean or snarky, just realizing he was trying to put a positive spin on it (I hope!). Off I went with a prescription for antibiotics and cough medicine.
There are two pluses to this all. First is that I'm doing a lot better. (Everyone else healed before I did; I made 'em bring me hot tea and soup and Canada Dry Ginger Ale.) The second is that, unlike one bout of the flu (partial description in January, 2013), no one sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
When looking for something positive, ya gotta go with what works.
I've been sick the past week. (You kind-of suspected something was up, right?) My mom, who's in her 80s lives several states away, and my dad, the Ginger Ale king, died almost seven years ago just short of his 80th birthday, which meant I was sort-of on my own.
Actually, I sort-of was given the cold (which morphed into bronchitis) from my younger two sons. Growing up, all four of my offspring were told repeatedly to share. There are times when I wish they didn't take that sharing thing to heart. Usually, my son M. gets whatever first, then passes it to his younger brother, J., who then hands it off to me. This time, however, my friend Kevin is go blame. He started the whole thing, then gave it to M.
For a while, it looked like I wasn't going to get it, but when I did, it hung on, gradually getting worse. Finally, I broke down and had Kev drop me off at a walk-in clinic. I didn't feel bad enough to go to the ER, but I also didn't want to wait a day or so to get an appointment with my primary doctor.
At the clinic (one of Bayfront's many walk-ins), I had less than a 15-minute wait. (Note: No, I'm not getting any form of compensation for the plug, but I do figure that if someone or some place provides a decent service, I'll let people know. Flip side is that if that service treats people like crap, that gets a write-up, too. One area hospital - unnamed here - knows that.) Once in the exam room, Dr. Sunshine (obviously not his real name) checked out the lungs, etc. and told me it was definitely more than the cold that Kev, M. or J. had: it had morphed into bronchitis.
"On the bright side, it's not pneumonia!" he exclaimed. I wanted to ask who had died and made him Dr. Sunshine...In this case, I'm not trying to be mean or snarky, just realizing he was trying to put a positive spin on it (I hope!). Off I went with a prescription for antibiotics and cough medicine.
There are two pluses to this all. First is that I'm doing a lot better. (Everyone else healed before I did; I made 'em bring me hot tea and soup and Canada Dry Ginger Ale.) The second is that, unlike one bout of the flu (partial description in January, 2013), no one sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
When looking for something positive, ya gotta go with what works.
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