Her Urbane Muse

Burned Art

2011-05-17T11:55:00.007-05:00

so the oven story goes like this...

My weeks have been filled with my husband being home...a lot. Usually, he spend the evenings at the "Boys Club" drinking beer in the clubhouse and have contests with that used beer. Let's face it, when guys drink, they get kinda' gross. (Did you see the Real Housewives of New Jersey last night??? There was some proof of drunk men being out-of-their minds gross. When that new dude smelled between his wife's toes, I about ran to the trash can...yuck and what was he thinking??)

Larry has lost the clubhouse. The head boy passed away. Dale was 68 and in very poor health. He had only half of both lungs due to smoking 6 packs a day. I did not even know there was time enough in a day to do that. He passed away in his sleep and very peacefully. Larry had taken him the Thursday before to have a chemo port put in his chest. Larry spent the day and night, went back for 2 days and spent hours making sure he was ok. The day Larry stayed home and did not go, Dale passed away. The clubhouse closed 2 nights later with a final toast to his best buddy. All the boys came down and had a fine time. I know because I tried to have a conversation with Larry when he got home. He started snoring before I finished my thought. His words upon entering the house was something to the effect of, "gakreileblblbl and then we'uns had a bear just one but then we lvjfhdkjg." That is the most I can translate that episode.

So, he has been home every single evening of every single day roaming around the house. He is lost and his routine changed. Men don't deal with change at all so, when the golf buddies ask him to go on a gulf fishing trip, I could not say yes fast enough. He started to back out but I pack his bag for him. He left on a Thursday at 9 am and I was a free woman for 4 days!

The first day was uneventful except for the wine tasting that night. It was at my house and I cleared out the frig and the wine rack. I was celebrating my induction into the office of 4th Vice President if the women's club. Yay--until 10 pm when the headache and indigestion hit. I don't think the 4 kinds of wine was a great idea for dinner. Somewhere in there I think fish sticks were involved along with 2 burritos. I swore off wine right then and there. That was easy because I had no more wine and I sure wasn't getting dress to go get any that late at night.

And, that is when I decided to clean the oven. I have done this for 30 years and even taught a course related to managing your home appliances. I threw that lever and set it to clean and was very proud of myself. I drank an Alka-Seltzer and roamed off to bed. I thought I was doing myself a big favor because when we tried to clean it with Larry home, he started yelling about the fire in the oven. Big deal, sweetie, it is a s e l f -cleaning oven, you goof. (I have a lot of conversations in my head when I drink. I am always right--in my head.)

Then, thinking I was going to drift off to a sound sleep and awake with a really clean oven, I put my head upon my pillow. My eyes shot open and I guess the wine had worn off. I was wide awake. I tried to find something to watch on tv and started with the "Did I lock the door?" "Why is it so hot in here tonight??" "You better get up and check on the door." dialog.

Good thing I did...the oven was lit up like a broadway stage! I thought 'how pretty!' and immediately felt the heat. It was so hot the bedroom was a nice 80 degrees. The oven was getting close to about 1,200 degrees. It usually goes to 900 degrees to clean and some little fires are to be expected but, this was scary hot.

I turned the knob to off and through the window watched the light show. The bottom element was sizzling like a sparkler--you know--the fireworks thing we loved as a kid. I was mesmerized until I realized that I had cut the power - or so I thought. The thing was still beat red on one half and sparkling. (see picture above)

I run out to the garage and try to get to the breaker only 5, yes 5, sets of golf clubs are in my way along with a cooler of beer (score!). Now, if you know my husband you know he is about 2 steps from being on the show Horders: Buried Alive. I have relegated him to the garage and his office. When he leaves for the day (or week) I clean out and throw away. A week trip I can get rid of half of his 70's Qiana Shirts and fake gold chains. (True story--he asked where they were when we moved 12 years ago. Really? You thought they were coming back in 1999??)

Anyway, I climbed over stuff, threw stuff outta' the way like I was a super-heroine (not the beer--makes it spew and I was going to need one pretty soon when the house burned down) and grabbed the breaker. Yea! I saved the house! When I went back in the red glow was gone and no more sparks...the show was over.

I got up for the next 3 hours to go touch the stove and see if it was cooling down. Nope, not yet (3 am head talk) and finally decided to sleep. By the next morning is was cool to the touch and I could unlock it. See, the engineering of the 'lock' during self cleaning is to prevent drunks from opening the door and burning up. It worked for me, that's all I'm sayin'.

I peer inside and touch the element with a wooden spoon and I got what you see above--free art! It has this weird coarse salt texture and is kind of a great structural piece, huh? And, for nothing.

Well, except the cost of a new stove. So, that means I have a$850 piece of one of a kind art work.

That is just like they had on The Apprentice recently! I should show it to the Donald when I apply for that show. Some day they will open the auditions up to old ladies who think they can rule the world and I will win the sucker. Yeah, and the charity money thing with ALL the cash?? No way. I want some cash in my pocket. I have to buy a new stove!

ps...turns out it was all my fault. Blackberries have a lot of sugar in them and my 'diet' cobbler spill over about a week ago. I forgot about the huge mound of burnt sugar and did not scrape it out before cleaning. One more thing--Larry will NEVER know this. I told him there was a short in the oven and he bought it hook, line and sinker (fishing trip--get it??) due to the fact that his 4 days with 4 guys on a trip involved 4 cases of beer. See? Beer is good. Wine is bad.

Wow-7 months??? Where have I been?

2011-05-16T09:40:00.002-05:00

Yipes. I did not forget about this place; I simply have been busy. First with a $3,000 tooth (no dental insurance 4 appts, one root canal and one new crown) and then with the Carrollton Women's Club of which--TA DA!--I am a Vice President in one short year of being a member.

Now, the officer-ship is not what you think. There will be no glamour in this deal. I, along with a friend from the past I have reconnected with, will put on the 25th Annual Fashion Show and Luncheon with Raffle prizes. Kay refers to this event as FLR...pronounced "fluer". Even if sounds like 'fun' it is not. Here's why: this year's the VP's raised $27,500 in a day. This is up from the first year by $27,000. That is a lot of moola to be having to make.

So, just to let you know, I have 'recovered' my sign in and password and I will be back. Not today though...Mr. Brooks wins the most aggravating husband award today.

He scheduled roofers for 7:00 am and then LEFT me here ALONE with my car TRAPPED in the garage by the DUMPSTER. He has gone to do what ever it is he does when he leaves the house and I get to hear the pounding of the guys (computer room upstairs and apparently we have not one iota of soundproofing anywhere) for the ENTIRE day with NO FOOD. Had I known the roofers were coming, I would have hauled my ass (my real ass, not Larry) into a shower yesterday and gone to the grocery store. Instead and since he was at the Texas gulf fishing for 4 days, I played the lady of leisure by not bathing myself or shaving my legs for 2 days.

Gross, huh? Don't lie, you know you do that too. I did dress yesterday about noonish but thought -'eh, I will go to the store tomorrow'. Lesson learned. When you are down to one egg, one stick of butter, two slices of bread and a stove that burned - literally- while you are home alone, go get some Lean Cuisines for pity's sake.

Oven-element caught fire at midnight-my fault-breaker thrown and not to be back on until oven is gone-good sense said so-story to follow...

REaLlY?! She posted something?!?!?

2010-10-29T09:58:00.006-05:00

Yes, I am still in existence. It has taken this long to regain my sense of humor although, some would argue that point.

Larry, who never does anything like this, bought me a car. Mine needed another $700 of repairs and it was 10 years old. For our 25th anniversary in December, he had planned to buy another PT Cruiser as a surprise. Well, I surprised him when I said I did not want another one. I wanted an old lady sedan. Why? Because I am an old lady. I love the cute, two seater cars but, alas, I can't reach the pedals. We car shopped and as it turned out only 2 would let me see over the steering wheel. A Kia (fine car for the $) and a Honda Accord (fine car for the $$$$). I got the accord. Yea me! It has exactly 108.3 miles on it after 4 days.

On another note, the bride and groom are apparently doing well, but, have lost their minds. Since I know she reads this--enough with animals! They have acquired a puppy. Soon I bet they have new carpet. It is a cute little slab of Bacon.

And, finally, since I had done everything except join a service organization and chair a committee, I have done that in the past month. I really enjoy all the ladies and have found that, the jobs everyone seems to hate, I love. I am chairing the annual Bake Sale and found out that the entire thing has been run by word of mouth for the past 10 years. Not one thing, except a sign, has been written down. They now have a 30 page portfolio, new signs for the food samples (framed and scrappy cute), sign up sheets, and reminder cards. I had to literally talk to 6 people to get all the information together. Then, one more let me know that after I had printed 100 labels, she had 400 blank ones for me. I will straighten them out by the end of my reign.

Within the club there are sub-clubs and I joined the Stitchin' Time quilting/sewing group. The

chairwoman used to work with me and 'volunteered' me for teaching a class. How could I say no when I get to be expert??? That will be Nov. 3...and it is so ready. I have a flannel board (made it myself and it is pretty good if I do say so), all the fabric cut (there are members that can't use a rolling cutter--in a quilting group--wEiRd, right?) and the card stock ready to go for this card...omg another picture!

For those who use die cuts, it is the SU! Top Note die and, yes, that is really fabric and quilted.

Wish I could give you the instructions but I don't know how just yet...and I need to go because I WOULD RATHER DRIVE MY NEW CAR! {{{{squeal}}} I will figure it out later...I think...maybe not...I am not that computer savvy.

OMG! yes--i am still here!

2010-10-08T18:44:00.003-05:00

I have been -- how do you put exhausted? E X H A U S T E D...Yes, the wedding is done...the honeymoon is not for the couple--it is for the mom. I am tired, but, I promise -- pictures soon. it was beyond what I wanted. I think it met my baby's expectations. I know I had fun.

more soon....is the back not gorgeous??? Yeah, that was 120 hours of love.

Yipes! A month?

2010-08-26T20:16:00.003-05:00

so...I am sewing like a mad woman. I wish I could post but what if the groom saw the dress...that I still have not finished?

the most idiotic thing Larry has said (and I know you guys wait one this)

me: " hey, look how pretty the wedding dress is!"

him: sitting next to a dress form, Project Runway fitting thing, with an ivory silk dress pinned to it: "what dress?" I mean he was not 6 inches from the thing!

and, then he was dead....

I promise MONDAY pictures of all 10 garments I have made in one month...

How To Tell If The Meds are wORkInG

2010-07-29T15:18:00.003-05:00

Oh, they are my friend, they are! The medication for the IBS is the antidepressant, Elavil, I take. I also take Nexxium, Levoxyl, Cytomel, Doxycyclene, Vytorin and Spironalactone. I am sure none of those names are spelled right but, I do know what they do. They make life good.

I refuse to believe anymore that I am a drug addict because I take my 'helper' drugs. I was raised by a man that does not even believe in vitamins. You can get those in beer, so says he, so he must be set for the rest of eternity as he will live that long.

Now why do I know they are working? Because right now I would be a drinking woman and I am not. I have 2 open bottles of unfinished wine to prove that. Right now I should be avoiding all aspects of life and procrastinating. I am not. I am actually on a schedule for this wedding and I am kind of ahead of it. (I actually made a schedule down to the times to accomplish tasks. OCD much?) Things that are slapping me in face and hurt are not so bad. I don't mean that literally. I have not seem to induce any injury to myself for two whole weeks.

This is the one year anniversary of all the 'new' medications (ie: all the medications) and I feel great. Yea, me!

My conclusion is this...why did I not ask for these before 56? What was I thinking? Did I think everyone would know that I was toughing it out with pain? Yeah, like we wear a badge or a scarlet N/M for "Not Medicated". No, I just yelled a lot. Amie will attest to that. I now remember yelling a lot. Dang, I missed a whole bunch'afun by being such a poop.

Now the things that happen are simply a 5 minute ordeal. Larry always use to have that 5 minute rule on things that upset him. It amazes me how guys can let things go. I know how now--it is a chemical thing. I have the 'let it go' chemical flowing now. Unfortunately, his dried up. He is a wreck.

Apparently, now that I am better, he has to have an anti-anxiety drug for TMJ. He actually clenches his jaw so hard at night that his ear swells up.

This all started in Nov. 2008 but that is a whole 'nuther blog entirely....

What is so funny is, the less I scream and rant, the more he clenches his jaw. It is like we are not in sync anymore. I keep telling him to go relax, play more golf*, drink more beer, go to more ball games...and he just gets more stressed.

*like 108 holes a week is not enough...that is 6 days a week he plays!

My conclusion is this...wives need to keep bitchin'. It keeps the men happy. If they can't complain to their buddies about the nagging, they have no social interaction. They are simply on their own if their wife lets them have all the free time in the world. Their friends can't relate. And, no man wants to have 'the best wife ever' (as I am known in his circle) because what can he say about her? The woman who lets him go 24/7? Can he even make up a story? No. They won't believe it 'cause they see him at the golf course every single day.**

**Monday the course is closed. I knew you were doing the math!

So this is how I know they are working...I am happy and content and his face is swollen.

I will let you know when it goes back to 'normal'. It may take a while. I kind of like being the pretty one.

How to Dislocated Your Jaw while Mowing the Yard

2010-07-27T09:07:00.004-05:00

I will give you 2 very easy steps for dong this....

1. Tell yourself that even though you have not 'done' the yard in 5 years, that you are physically able and will build strength and endurance as the summer goes on. Make yourself believe that you are 25 years old. Dethatch the yard as it is good for the abs and gives you plenty of time to cuss your husband for never catching the clippings for 5 years and causing 2 inches of said thatch. Swear that when you do the yard, you will bag all the clippings. And no matter what, never give up even if you are bleeding profusely from your chin.

2. Let the yard go for 2 weeks of really hard, never ending rain. Do NOT mow even if there is a break in the rain. But DO fertilize since the rain is every day.

You may ask, how does this dislocate your jaw. Is it due to the cussing of your husband for his lazy ass ways? No, my friend it does not. Although, it does relieve the clenching of the jaw.

Does the clenching cause the dislocation? No, it does relax you so you are in a Zen like state while mowing pretty patterns in the yard.

Does making the pretty patterns and turning of the mower cause you to fall and hit your jaw? No, but it does get the creative side out. And, then you stand back and admire what you have done.

So, is it God getting you because you are being prideful? No.

It is being stubborn and trying to prove your point to a man...that is how I did it.

There is a wedding in Vegas coming up and I have decided to look 'younger' and have some chemical peels (trust me, this is part of the story). This is because I have adult acne and some weird skin thing called skin lichen. Chemical peels will help immensely, so I was told. And, they did. Except for what they don't tell you...

They don't tell you that you will be burning 7 layers off your face. They don't tell you that the acid (hydrochloric and stink-ah-e) will actually penetrate down to the bone and literally sizzle your skin off your face. It will do this especially if you have 'new' skin healing over wounds.

My eyebrow that has the skin lichen (which, btw makes the eyebrow hair fall out--no doctor told me that side effect) literally went to the bone with the acid sizzle due to the fragile skin. I finally get that on the healing road 6 weeks before the wedding in Vegas. yea! I will be 'pretty'!

Ah, but no! I have to be a fool in the yard. Now, I have a sore jaw and no skin on my chin.

This is how I did it. I mowed the yard. After the torrents of rain. After the fertilizing during the torrents of rain. And, while it was wet.

Me and my stubborn 'I have to prove you wrong, Larry' ways made me bag that mulchy, wet, heavy grass. I did great all through the back yard (literally 3 bags of clippings) and most of the front (5 bags). I stopped every pass to empty the catch bag. For some reason, I decided that I could go 3 passes since I was almost done and the passes were getting smaller in my creative 'flag' design.

I stop by the HUGE pile of clippings to empty the thing but the grass is stuck. Nothing will come out. I break a little free with my hand and assume (there in lies the problem) that the rest will come out with a little shake.

Now, 2 months of mowing and thatching has cause some upper body strength I did not know I have. Two month of chemical peels has thinned my skin way out (that is how the wrinkles go I discovered; you have no skin). That was the cause of this injury.

Before I know it, I am flat on my ass on the parkway. I had seen it all happen in slow motion. Really, it was like I knew it was coming and I could not stop it.

I give the catch bag one good shake. Due to my new upper body strength, I shook so hard that my body convulsed bringing my chin down and the bag up to make a p e r f e c t connection.

It literally knocked me on my ass. I am looking around to see if anyone is going to make $10,000 off that video. Whew--no one is outside and I am a little woosy. Man, I was sweating so I take the tail of my shirt to wipe my neck. Is it really that hot out here?

No. It was blood. what the hell...? OMG I have hit my chin, split it open and I am going to bleed to death.* I dress and, of course, shower and they bleeding kind of slows. I get to the emergency clinic to have a stitch put in my chin.

doc: "I can't do a stitch."

me: " Listen, I can sew. Just give me the needles and deaden me up."**

doc: "I can sew just not this. I need the skin. Where is it?***"

me: "WHATsputttersputter‰!!!&^%($) are you talking about?!"

doc: "Well, at least it is jagged so it will heal pretty good and maybe no scar. By the way, I think your jaw is outta' whack...(screams made by me) Yep. It sure is."

I got my pain medication, stopped at Kroger for a bottle of wine and made it home.

*The doctor informed my that I would not bleed to death from a face injury...they just bleed a lot.

**obviously delusional at this point

***GROSS ALERT!! I found the lost skin on the bag.

I finally had to tell Larry. He did not laugh. He made no comment. Bless his heart. Of course, it is hard to comment you you are sound asleep. If he were conscious, I would never live this down. What is funny is he never asked about the huge bandage on my chin.

I wonder if there is a video somewhere....

Me - 0 / lawnmower - 1

I am done with them....

2010-07-26T17:51:00.003-05:00

So I say that like I really am, right? You know I will cave. I always do. I bet I do before I finish this glass of wine.

I wrote a letter to the insurance company about how they were getting defrauded by the mammo place. Then, I go to the mammo place and asked for my complete file. After being met with icy stares, they bring me 3 pieces of paper. Hmmm, looks like they cannot produce the paper that I supposedly signed saying I would pay. My entire file consists of 3 pieces of paper printed from a computer.

I think to myself... I have a case here.

I leave them a copy of the letter and leave. It is all I can do right now but it felt good to see that they don't have all the documentation. Yea.

Likewise, I am 'done' with people who never have a positive thought. I am talking about people who did, and now, do not. All of sudden, everything needs to be criticized to death. I am telling you, I like my helper drugs. I will not stray from taking them. However, lately I do need to double up I think.

And, I am done with fighting the wrinkles, fat, and gray. As soon as this wedding is over, it will all go 'au naturale' and be gross. It literally costs to much to look good.

Lastly, I am done with lying. I would never go natural. It would be too gross!

Me - 0 / wine - 1

I am such an Idiot!

2010-07-23T16:52:00.002-05:00

So, remember the mammogram retake??? What a rip off! It was a whole thing to make money. My insurance would pay for the retake and nothing showed up. They doctor comes in and says he wants to make sure so they will do a sonogram. Now remember I had asked if all this was covered and they said yes... apparently they lie.

Here's the deal, they have you by the boobs, literally. You sign a form when you go in and initial that you will pay what the insurance does not cover. My mammograms are covered. The sonogram was not. Now the fight is over whether or not I was lied to. I know I was...and, if you read this, you know I was, but the billing center does not know I was. Lied to that is.

I did my best not to yell at the girl and I told her the whole story. I forgot about this blog and that may be my only hope in not having to pay the $221.92. All I remember was asking 'how much is this gonna' cost?' and the reply was 'nothing'. Hah! I was sucked into that one!

I am too cheap of a woman. Free always sounds like a deal, right? Especially when the whole world tries to scare women about their boobs. They are either too small, too droopy, filled with fibrous tissue or laden with cancer. We will sign anything when we are naked and our boobage is being plummelled with x-rays. We just want to get dressed so if I have to stand on my head and be rubbed with a cold jelly, let's get this over with NOW!

I am just sayin', listen while you are naked.

Hmm, I wish I had known that back in the day.

I Was Conned Into Taking My Top Off!

2010-06-18T11:04:00.004-05:00

Yes I was!! So, I get to the mammogram place, go in and sit right down like I was instructed last time. Only now I am chastised because I didn't come up to the desk. So far, not so good.

They whisk me back really fast and give me a wrap from a whole 'nuther color stack. Hmm.

I am immediately put into a mammo room and the woman shows me the spot which looks like all the other spots I see. Ok. We do the thing over and then she explains the most curious thing to me.

"We are in the middle of a research project and you may qualify. We are testing a new machine that will better detect small lumps. I will take these back and see if you are going to qualify."

Hmm. So they are getting a butt load of $$$ if they can find 500 women to participate.

Hmm. Normally this little lumpy thing would not even be of interest except they want to make money.

Yep, you guess it. The thing was gone today and was occurred by folding the breast over.

I KNEW IT! They folded it up and took the mammo.

So, an hour later and three days of a nagging worry, I did not qualify. I mean I am happy {yea} but...I feel kind'a violated. I think they should have told me up front they just wanted to prostitute my boob. I don't that many compliments on anything anymore.

They did have to do a flat picture...now that was not a fun one. Imagine a grapefruit and then you roll a car over it and just sit there until you absolutely cannot hold your breath another minute. Ouch...and then the machine jammed. Yep. They had to use the special release key.

I have official been used and bruised.

The Saga of the Mammogram

2010-06-16T14:08:00.003-05:00

So here's the deal...big bosoms are literally a pain. Why anyone in their right and sane mind would ever go make 'em bigger is beyond me. I am sure my daughter will attest to that.

First, the girls (as I lovingly call them) don't fit in to the mammogram machine. Yep, they had to get out the 'big' plates. And then, they are not very photogenic. In other words, I get to go do it all over again. The girls didn't smile I guess. Or, a zit was on them, I don't know. I know they called and said 'let's do that again!' like it is a tea party or something.

So Friday I get to go in to get only one side mammo'd. I think that is the verb... right? I am making a day out of it. Afterward, I am having lunch with a friend who can commiserate. She is bigger than me. Which I thought was impossible but it is true!

Now, they already don't like me at this place. I was kinda' grumpy last Wednesday. First, I had just gone through the whole Dr. Late episode and then I had issues last year. Like fainting in the machine. Yep. I fainted but luckily that vise they put us in held me up...and it was the same boob they are re-mamo-ing Friday. I think it stretched.

Anyway, this year I go in and there is no sign up sheet. They have always had one in the past and the woman told me quite huffily to sit down and they would call me. I am thinking that did not make any sense.

"So do I sign in?"

NO! Sit Down!"

"How will you know what to call me?" (I knew what she was thinking at that point.)

Another receptionist, who was playing solitaire on her computer, came over to help me. So #1 is mad at me for asking and #2 is having to give up valuable solitaire time for me. And, I am not being real friendly because of the dread.

This place I go to is so nice and elegant. They have decorated to the hilt so it looks like a Venetian Spa. They have locking dressing rooms and cloth, very full coverage drapes for the women to wear. My problem was that last year I was screaming bloody murder because it hurt to touch me. This was all before I got the diagnosis and had the 'cure'. So this year I am thinking it will be the same.

The lady makes me sit in a chair to get a mammo...what the hell? She tells me she can't catch me if I faint because some woman who did hurt her back.* Can the machine go that low? Why, yes it can but you can't get a good shot. I was shaking really hard at the first squish but guess what? Almost no pain! We all know there is pain and that some man who hated his mother invented this contraption. I swear if men had to have their private parts put in this thing it would only happen to one guy for about 1 1/2 nanoseconds. Then we would have a new machine, right???

* so apparently fainting in the machine is common. I mean really, if it is common why don't we get a different method, huh? see above for my husband's idea...

So this time I am going to be brave, stand up straight, not cry and go on about all my problems from years past and suck it up.

I will do that with one Valium taken an hour before.

And, one glass of red wine afterward**. Hey, that might make the whole experience better! I am going to suggest that to my 2 new friends in reception. They should have a choice of color of drapes and wine. That would make the whole thing more tolerable. I mean really, isn't that what I got on a date for about the same result? It is the least they can do for violating my dignity one more time!

**Dr. Late owes me one too.

Stood Up In the Gyno Office

2010-06-08T17:53:00.005-05:00

I swear. When I was single, men stood me up all the time. Occasionally, they would just be late. What did I do? You got it--I waited patiently to go on the date. Stupid.

It happened again today. Only this time I was paying him to have the good time. I get all cuted up and set out for the yearly womanly duty. First, being the prompt person that I am, I left incredibly early. During the drive I remembered I did not know exactly what building he moved to last year, but, I would surely figure it out when I got there. I picked one of three parking lots at the medical center. Of course, it was full and the only available space was literally the last outpost in the entire medical center parking. What the heck? I needed the exercise. I had forgotten it was 95 by 10 am today.

So, all cute, I go into the closest building. Nope, no name for him on the registry. "Look," I say to myself', "I will cut through this building to the next." I cut right into the boiler room. No cut through. This was going to be a spectacular day.

Back outside and in my really cute chiffon blouse and kevlar-hotter'nhell tank, I tippy tap those cute, matching wedgies up a hill to the next building. No entrance at the end of the building. So, the trickle of perspiration that was nudging my nose was wiped off and up another hill I go.

No entrance for 'regular' people--only handicap. Up the next hill to the hospital main entrance.

By this time the squirts of sweat beads are wrecking my cute hairdo not to mention I kinda' start to smell like I have been working out. Well, surely the building will cool me off. Into the elevator and up to the appointment. WooHoo! I am 5 minutes early and only one person is sitting there. I start to plan what I will do before lunch as it is only 10:25.

Fill out this form--again. Read the magazine and wait--but no! I am called to the back right on time! I am thrilled and decide to write down all the things I can accomplish today!

Weigh in, blood pressure, gown opens in the front--I know the drill. I am out of my clothes and into the gown in record time. I figure I may even have lunch done by 11:30!

10:40 am - hmm, maybe I will lay down and scoot to the end. Then, he can throw up the stirrups and boom! we are partyin'!

10:45 - hmmm-maybe I should do leg lifts while I am laying here. Yeah, they seem to be easy laying on the table and must be good for me--I have no support under them. WHOA--don't fall off!

10:55-76, 77, 78, switch again, 1 2, 3

10:59 55, 56, 57

11:05-I wish I had that pedi before I came. I will make a cute comment and laugh it off when he gets here...should be soon. I heard another door close.

11:10 - hmmmmm-that is another door. And, it appears they are ordering Sushi for lunch.

11:15 -shit--that is another F*%*^ing door!

11:25 -really?!?! Really!!?!?! Another door closing??????

11:31 -I am soooo glad I did not shave my legs or get a pedicure for this event!!!!

11:45 -In walks Dr. Late--'sorry about the wait, glad you stayed'

Sir, I am butt nekked here and this little gown is made for the 98 pound nurse you have out there. I surely was not going to leave after laying in your bed for an hour and 5 minutes. I got to your business EARLY, parked in outer Ethopia, went to the wrong F*$*%ing building AND STILL MADE IT HERE ON TIME!

Nah-I didn't say that. He wasn't in there that long.

11:47--he leaves.

I am not kidding you. It took him 2 minutes to do the entire exam. Smear, felt up, and invaded in 2 minutes. Then, I paid him.

Only one of us left that relationship happy.

Quilting a Card

2010-06-07T12:53:00.004-05:00

I decided that I would take a day off from bridal stuff...I miss my card and scrapbook room!

I have joined a new sewing group through the Carrollton Women's Club. Since the meetings are kinda' all quilty in nature, and the woman who is the chairperson said I would teach something, I decided this would be fun to do.

The picture does not show the detail and puffiness but in real life it does look like a real quilt. Maybe that is because it is, only miniature.

Anyway, for those of you who sew, here are the instructions. Oh yeah, you need the Top Note Die from Stampin' Up! and a die cut machine.

Instructions for Top Note Quilt

Select 4 coordinating fabric scraps at least 6X6 and prepare for cutting strips. (I like to spray starch scraps for ease in cutting--they tend to stretch.)

Line up your colors for A B C and D cuts.

1 3/4” x 6”

A cut 2

B cut 4

C cut 2

D cut 4

Sew 3 ‘blocks’.

Block 1 ABCD

Block 2 BADB

Block 3 DCBD

Press seams (it will make a difference in the next piecing)

Block 1 toward A

Block 2 toward DB

Block 3 toward DC

Cut each block into 1 3/4” strips. You should get 3 cuts from each block--enough for 3 Top Note die cuts. Line the up as to 1, 2, 3.

Sew 3 rows together. Nudge seams to get corners perfect...but remember it is only a card, not and entry to the quilt show! press but do NOT square.

Layer pieced fabric, then batting (Warm & Natural because it is thin) on top of muslin.

Quilt however you wish (I did in the ditch--as best as I could!)

Find the center and 2 edges. Place straight pins and then anchor onto Top Note Die.* Remove pins after centering and carefully place cutting plate on top. Move it to the die cut machine and roll through.

*I actually used a silver glitter ink pen and drew crossing lines to find the center. If you don’t center it, then you stitch rows are “off’...ask me how I know!

Yep--I ripped it.

2010-06-07T12:50:00.003-05:00

One big foot standing on a nearly completed wedding veil that took over 38 hours to sew...and it now has a hole.

Luckily, one applique could be moved 1/12 inches to the left and all was good. I did realize that those things are sewn on really good and tight.

Then? not enough edge trim...OMG.

Oops...Miscalculations

2010-05-26T17:46:00.003-05:00

So I was never a math genius....

Apparently 40 appliques = 20 bottles of wine.

I am still not done with the veil and that is my fault. I ran out of wine.

When Are You To Old To Learn Math?

2010-05-03T09:03:00.004-05:00

And apparently that answer would be never...

The catch is that lately I have been learning a lot. I mean not just a lot; I mean MORE than a lot. It all has to do with being a parent of a bride. Bless her heart. And I mean that in the most southern way.... (said with a drawl and honey tone).

Poor brides. They have way too many decisions to make. Mine has been designing the dresses, the invites, the schedule of events and now she is done - I think. She came over to design the veil yesterday.* I had a few other questions; she was tired from her Warrior run** and hungry. Not the time to approach a bride. Also, her hair will not curl like she wants.*** I know what she is doing wrong but she has her way of learning. I am not going to suggest another thing about that subject.

*OMYGOSH it is gorgeous! It would cost about $5000 at a shop. How do I know this? When I was trimming out piece #22 of the 49 very intricate lace pieces that we are using to applique onto the veil, I checked prices at various places for said veil. I saw my fate with the construction and it is days, nay, weeks of hand sewing. But, alas, I am cheap and continued cutting my ass off. I am still not done...I figure 4 weeks to make this thing.

**You pay money to run through someone's field of mud. You also get a Viking hat to wear. No, I am not making this up. There is beer at the end. I have a feeling there is beer when you make the decision to do it, beer before you do it, and beer while you do it.

***rollers, 1960's, Toni Perm, Dippity-do, Aquanet--I mean I know how to curl and straighten hair. She wants a Pantene commercial. You would think that with her degree in advertising, she would know that is not real.

The last decision yesterday was about the adorable totes we have for the people in the wedding party in Vegas. There are 5 areas for photos or random information. I suggested making them cute with a pattern paper and removing the doggie/puppy/mom one that come with the tote. It was one step to much for her. She needed wine and pizza and I could see this as the words were stilling traveling from my mouth to her ears. However, she did hold it together enough to make a funny comment.

No more decisions. After all, she will look beautiful and that is the most important thing. The guests are just coming along for the ride. She worded it much cuter but that was the gist. She did not mean one word of it and I know that. I wanted everyone to look back at the affair and say, "There was not one detail left undone". What is wrong with that?

What is wrong with that is this -- it is not my wedding! Mine sucked. Well, my first one did. And my second? In a courtroom with a drunk and disorderly trial halted for the event and the witness was the guy on trial. We had not noticed that the room refilled quietly during the ceremony with all the witnesses and spectators. There had to be 50 people in the room and they did applaud as we left. Well, the drunk guy did not; he did ask Larry if he was sure he wanted to do that. Then, we went back to the high school where we both taught and finished out the day. Spring break (literally 3 1/2 months later) we had a 3 day honeymoon at the horse racing track in Hot Springs Arkansas--where my ex had moved to. Larry loved it. He said it was the best honeymoon ever. I had my doubts we would last a year on that comment. Let's just say he is not the most romantic cowboy I ever met.

I had to make a separation from this wedding. Only, I can't. So here's my plan: I am making the small decision from now on. She can live with them because she doesn't really care. She is Bridezilla in reverse. The tiny things are simply not important to her. She has planned everything--and I mean everything is bought and paid for and ready to go--five months early. Really, there is nothing else to buy or plan or make. Well, not for her to make anyway.

So, once again in my life I have piled on 30,000 little details for me to do...along with the yard work that I said I would do. I have to give something up because I know I can't do it all. Hmmm, what to give up?? This is going to be a tough one...but since I have not cooked in over a week and Larry has not complained, then that makes it cooking and grocery shopping. After all I did go this week. That purchase included:

6 bottles of wine

- 2 I have already had the pleasure of drinking

__________________________

4 left to get me through the veil

I'm good.

Randomness of Life

2010-04-19T10:43:00.005-05:00

It has come to my attention that the days following a funeral of a loved one are full of random thoughts. In fact, so many random thoughts that you need to write them down. I did not. Now, I am racking my brain to remember why I have been laughing lately at nothing. Someone had to have said something humorous or I am slowly going insane. I think that is one of the signs, besides talking to yourself and answering. I am doing that, too.

Actually, life is really good right now. There is a relief of the death of someone who has been suffering. I am not waiting anxiously for that phone call. I am not planning and re-planning what I will do. I am not making sure I have all the phone numbers handy. I am not double checking lists of things to do. In fact, I have thrown them out for now.

Next week I will have to go back to making lists because, now, I have a wedding to plan. May 1 is my "D-day" for the event. May 1 all the dresses will be started and the invites must be planned. (DO YOU HEAR THAT AMIE??? THEY MUST BE DECIDED UPON BY MAY 1.) May 1 is the beginning of the invasion of my free time. There will be no more 'free time' until Sept. 12. Somehow, this all worked out in the timing of life.

Honestly, I do not for one second believe that life is random. I honestly believe that there are some preordained events and the timing is completely out of our hands. All you can do is make a plan. If it is to be, then God (or whomever or whatever you believe in) takes care of the details. This has been proven to me, without a doubt, since I learned of my mother's Alzheimer's. Every single thing we planned was followed by an 'intervention' from God. They were all 'good' things we needed. Not what we wanted, but what we needed.

The same is true for this wedding. Now that mom is no longer suffering, my father can attend in Vegas to see his first grandchild get married. I know he did not want to miss that. My mother will be able to 'be' there. And, yes, I believe in spirits. I have seen them. I really have. My dream is to someday be 'read' by John Edwards. I love that guy. And, no, I am not crazy.

Ok, maybe a little crazy but in an entirely fun way...

So, back to the hilarity of this week. It is coming from my sister, Mary. Her kids are a hoot in life observations. Her youngest kinda' slapped us up the side of the head when we forgot mom's breast cancer and the whole pink theme at the funeral. Her oldest just made a very astute observation on adults. It has to do with the "Real Housewives" and other Bravo tv shows for the classically challenged. I love them. So does Mary.

We live through the 'housewives'. Mary made an very good reason as to why we watch them. We don't want to gossip as that would be 'wrong' *. We can talk about the housewives of NYC, OC, NJ and Atlanta ** without the taint of gossiping. And, we do. She and her daughter actually text throughout the show to gossip and state fact. I don't text, so, I have to take notes***. Then, I share my observations in a 40 minute phone call to my sister ****.

* Her words, not mine. I don't gossip. I share facts.

**I don't watch that one and here's why...it is not ladylike for girls raised in the south to act like that...it is not reality.

***I don't want to misrepresent the ladies.

****omg i have such a sad life.

Mary was trying to tell me something and I was not listening Sunday during our 'observation of fact' after watching NYC. Her daughter, the elder, who is finishing her student teaching, read on-line that these shows are doing some good. I was so ready to tell my sister that her daughter was sooooo wrong and she should not believe anything she read on-line. The stupid assumption being made is that these shows are actually bringing people together after years of a strained relationship; that they actually make people apologize to each other. HAH! No they don't. They make people stupid. They make people believe that their bad behavior will get them on a reality *****show. By this time I am shaking, wanting to get this point out of my brain, to my mouth and in her ear. I am glad I waited.

*****and I know it is not (but I like to think it is)

After reading this flawed assumption on-line and relaying it to my sister, my very smart niece says this:

"I think the research was conducted by Bravo".

There is hope for the next generation.

Life Is Really Never Over

2010-04-11T18:18:00.003-05:00

So, just about the time you think you have tied up all the loose ends, you realize that everyone leaves a legacy. Good, bad or indifferent, everyone leaves something here on Earth. You leave children or pets. You leave spouses and relatives. They all carry on the work you started.

Let's take the fact that my mother just passed.* She did not leave any pets but she did leave pet projects. For example, mom loved the 'woman's club' thing. It is now kind of passe to be in a 'woman's club' but I am in one and so is my sister. I just joined because I felt the need to give back to the community. I think I may be called quite often in the future. They saw me at the fundraiser cleaning...yep, I bet I get a call next year on that one! Here's the deal...somewhere in the women's liberation movement f the 60's, we forgot about women's friendships. We told us to go work and be equal but we forgot that women are social creatures.

*Sister Mary does not understand why I use that term. I think it was because in a previous life here I used it a lot.

Women need people. I just came to that huge realization recently; like 2 days ago. We need people just so we know that emotions still exist. Why this observation? Well, Larry and the pink tie. He is bitching about wearing a pink tie to the funeral and his is mostly gray. What a crybaby!

We (the daughters) decided (Mary) to wear pink (mine will be fuchia) to the funeral. Mom loved pink and I made pink and black scrap book folder thingys. Her coffin is pink inside. Mom always wore pink and somehow we got the pink thing going. So, off I go to get Larry a pink tie. I hear my B-I-L is wearing one and already owns one. I find my pink (read: fuschia and how do you spell that?) tank, my daughter is wearing my pink crystals, my niece has pink shoes...we are going pink.

I find a barely pink and gray tie that matches my pink (fusha) tank...bring it home...show it to mr. grumpy ... he whines that boys don't wear pink. Uggghhh!!! I just spent 9 hours on the road and planning a funeral why are you whining? Get over it, you are wearing pink! Come to find out, he had already bought a black tie, on his own, so he was disappointed he could not wear it. It literally is the first article of clothing he has ever bought that is not golf or fishing related.

Still whining, he asks why. I am not sure but I think it was because it was mom's favorite rose color. About that time Mary calls and tells me why we are wearing pink and the baby of the family (well she is 18 now) had asked the pertinent question in a text message to her mom.

"iz ths b/c she wuz a breast cancer survivr?"

I love Miss Kellybelly. (I think she hates me calling her that.) She is so spot on all the time.

Duh...we had forgotten about that. Out of the mouth of babes, you realize how they are why your life is really never over. They will carry on and be aware of the things we were to busy to recognize as life changing events.

I relay this to my husband and his reply was, "boys don't wear pink". My sister Mary had the best reply for him.

Boys don't wear pink but men do. End of discussion.

The Rides Are Closed

2010-04-09T19:54:00.002-05:00

EllyLand is over. Finally.... My Mom passed at 6:35 pm CST Friday April 9.

It is very sad and somewhat unexpected. Which is weird. We all knew it was coming but my daughter, Amie, said it best...it is still weird. Grandma is gone.

To my delight the whole family is remarkably strong. Amie came over with a great and expensive bottle of wine to have closure, my cousin Mike called and will be attending even though his father (Uncle Frank) just passed, my Auntie K is a doll and called everyone for me, and my precious cousin Patty was the second person I called to help me through. Even Larry, who I really give hell to here, came home early from golfing to celebrate mom's life with Amie and me.

All in all, it is a good thing. A life is something to be celebrated not mourned. Even though we had a rough ride, it was not more than we can handle. We learned so much in the great amusement park called Alzheimer's.

And, I am glad the park closed. It was all I could stand.

30 Minutes - the timer is running!

2010-04-08T07:53:00.006-05:00

I have what I call a 30 minute day today...every 30 minutes there will be a new activity.

Right now, the first 30 minutes is here and then I have to dress to go to a charity fundraiser for my new 'women's club'. I am a very new member and have not attended on meeting since I joined. I did not say I was a good member. Today is the fundraiser/fashion show/lunch/raffle and I donated 2 baskets of stuff and will be working the vintage dress appraisal table with Ken. Ken worked in the store next to the one I worked at. Well, he owned the business, my employer owned the building. He is probably nice but lives in his own world. He buys vintage designer dresses and that is all that he sells. And, yes, he manages to make a living but I have never seen him in anything from the 20th century much less the current one. And, the answer to the question burning in your head right now is, yes. I am not sure if he is a drag queen though.

I am trying to just do housekeeping information right now. There is no news on mom just yet. She is barely hanging in there. It is amazing what the human body can go through. My father is on some new medication and is kinder and gentler. We are all, and I mean all, working together. The youngest is keeping the lines of communication open. Since returning from my uncle's funeral, the whole family seems much less angry.

Which brings me to this...I got a call from my cousin Patty in MN (I am in a hurry and I can't spell it I am sure). We talked for about an hour and realized what all we have in common. We talked gardening, relatives, funerals, death and dying, (she is a Buddist and I can't spell that either) religion, light therapy and virtual healing. She is what I call our family Hippie and resident artist. No, really, she has stuff hanging every where. I love her work but I can't describe it. Just call it nouveau weird.

For years we were kept in isolation from my father's extended family, mainly by my mother. Why? Who knows. However, now is the time to learn about all my 24 or 50 cousins. Honestly, I don't know all of them, but all I have met seem to be amazing in what ever they do. I mean really, one is literally a Nasa rocket scientist. I am not kidding. Funny how death heals so many wounds.

OMGosh, I have 24 minutes left. I have time for more rambling thoughts! I am sure Larry will have some sort of crisi....wait, he is calling. It seems the library is out of tissue.

I fired my yard guys...

2010-04-06T15:56:00.008-05:00

Now that a year has passed (almost) from all that digestive/liver stuff, I decided to go back to doing our yard. I never had any brothers, so my sister and I swapped out mowing the yard when we were kids. My sister kept it up and now she does not have that middle age, ooops- now a senior citizen - spread. I just felt so bad physically last year that I could not do it and my husband has horrible spring/summer allergies, so, he hired a yard crew. All they did was mow it down and weed eat. My hubby was to handle the planted of posies and fertilizing. Yep, I fired him. I will let him tell the mowing guys that we won't be using them.

My husband swears he knows more than Neil Sperry (a local Dallas yard guru whose yard looks like crap so I don't buy into his teachings) about yards and gardens. Once, in 1963, for a brief moment in time, he worked for Dallas Parks and Recreation...he mowed for the city. One time, and only once, he planted some posies outside of Love Field. That qualifies him to tell me he is an expert. Also, he can make wheat grow on the family land in West Texas...a field that has had wheat in it for one hundred years. Yeah. You're a genius.

So, last year the middle of the back yard died. The weeds were everywhere. Weeds love Texas heat. He told me it was the heat (the grass never died before in the Texas heat) and the weeds would die once the yard dudes mowed 4 times (it's the magic number I guess) and he started the sprinkler system again. I believed it but I was yackin' up my guts almost everyday so it sounded logical. I really did not care. I knew in the back of my mind it was a sales pitch but I really did not even go outside last spring. I just did not care.

This year I feel great. And, I went out back. O M G & W T H. It was horrible beyond belief. It looks like a bad horror movie backyard. I am not kidding; I would not let anyone set foot back there. It was your worst imaginable yard ever.

I dug it up on Sunday. Well, I dug up one small part of the flower bed and took out a 6 ft Yucca that Mr. Garden got on clearance. Our house is very French Provencial/English Townhomey looking...not anything close to Southwest. He also planted Lantana. I love Lantana and about 4 on each side of the flower bed is P-Lent-Y. He planted 8 on each side. And then, they got web worms or tommyrot or something...and died. He also, in his infinite wisdom, brought dirt in from the farm...and the west Texas weed and viney stuff that cows eat. Then he got the brilliant idea to put some plastic crap down and the weeds under it are innumerable. I mean millions.

Anyway, he is fired.

Today I actually mowed 3/4 of the yards. I got a huge blister on my Achilles so I had to stop and will finish it tomorrow. Another thing? I think I need to go slower. First, the muscles in my backside have not been use for anything but to support my large ass on the couch for a year. They were not screaming on Sunday, but Monday night--OUCH.

I put down some Weed and Feed by Scotts (I love the stuff) to begin the process of killing off everything in the yard. He had been spraying some hippie love the earth concoction that was like catnip to the weeds. All they did was get bigger and stronger. After spreading the weed'n'feed, I decided that I would start the sprinkler system to water it in.

Yep, station 1, 5, and 6 all water the shrubs and gardens...not one hits the middle of the back yard. I tried it 3 times, I reworked the water timer and schedule...it is broken. Or, it has been fixed by Larry Neil Sperry.

I have now asked him 3 times for the number to the sprinkler guys.

He is going to go see if it is really broken before he gives me the number.

It is going to be a long, hot summer.

One of us may not survive.

But, the yard will look good for that big ol' party I will have to celebrate his life!

ETA: so guess what? He got it to work. After I told him if he did die I would be swindled by the repair dudes, he relented and showed me what he did. Yeah, so don't get all sorry for him yet. He hit it with a hammer and turned the setting knob R E A L S L O W. That is all it took. A hammer and working a knob the way he types. I swear if we had duct tape in the house there would be some of it on the system box. Did I tell you about the time he "repaired" his side mirror on his van? Some kind of epoxy, duct tape and a cosmetic mirror. He was furious when it did not pass inspection. Engineering is not his forte.

The Big Triangle

2010-04-03T18:13:00.005-05:00

The book I have just read is soooo good. I am giving it to my daughter next. It is a great book for all kinds of relationships. However, it does contain some geometry and that is a course I dropped in high school. I made my daughter take it because I am a mean mom.

The Dance of Anger (I still can't figure out how to underline) contains triangles as a diagram to illustrate relationships and example of how to break the cycles of bad relationships. There are squiggly, ziggyzag lines that represent bad and abusive relationships. I have a ziggyzag relationship right now. I just realized it. Of course, it took 8 hours and 13 phone calls to my good sister, Mary. Neither of us took geometry.

So here's the deal--the relationships that cause the most turbulence have zigzag lines between the two people. Somehow, and I forget how but that is because I read this 4 days ago, and I am drinking another glass of wine, which does not make me an alcoholic--just a lush, there has to be a third person involved. Like a parent...or a daughter...or a spouse. Usually, the smooth line (representing a smooth relationship) is between you and the other person and a zigzag line is who you are having the conflict with...ok, we need a picture here.

Get a pen and a piece of paper...got it?

Now, draw 3 circles in a pyramid type thing representing you and 2 people; people you know...like a husband, you and a daughter.

Between two of the people, draw a line to represent your relationship; smooth for a calm one and zigzag for a bad one.

Repeat for the other side of the triangle.

You still have one more side to draw.

If all your lines are smooth, pick another person you hate and swap a good relationship out.

Redraw the lines.

See how it works?

Ok, now that I have, ahem--you, have represented your relationships look at the zigzag line. There is absolutely nothing, and I mean nothing, you can do to change that bad person. Period. Done deal...give up. It is over.

That is what I thought too--kinda' fatalistic, huh?

So, you can only change how you react to that crazy person. Yep. It is all on you. Mainly because they are crazy and they don't want to change since they are all comfortable with it.

So, here is what you do: Nothing. Don't react. Yep. That is it.

That was too hard for me. I am Irish, Scottish and French; all hot tempered. It simply will not work. I closed the book and took a lunch break vowing not to pick it up. I did pick it up, but, only to prove the book wrong. I did not. The book proved me wrong. Dang it.

Here is why: If you can't change them, you can change you. Change how you react to them. Don't go to their level of blaming or under-functioning (real terms the psychiatrist made up). Use the old "I" statements. Like, "I" am hurt by what you did. Not "you" hurt me. It is all psyche stuff but basically boils down to this -- it throws them off balance. Well, really it throws the 'triangle' off balance.

I tried it today...and I am waiting to see what happens. Even if it did not work, I feel better. So that is a plus. I did not eat myself into 'comfort'*. I did address the problem and I do feel a little better. However....

* a term for eating every Oreo in sight and then going to get more at Kroger because they had a sale, so obviously, God was calling me there.

I could never be a good psychiatrist...am I feeling better because I did these steps and did not over eat or over react? Or, because I had a glass of wine? Or two? Now three.

Who knows? But, my size 8's still fit, so I am good.

A funny beer story...

2010-04-02T09:32:00.007-05:00

So I get this phone call from my dad...he was having some sort of celebration last night. I guess anyone who is losing the love of their life is entitled to a little imbibing. He was very chipper and very talkative. I know the choice of beverage was beer. That makes him perky. It makes me bloat.

Speaking of which....

After the fashion show thing, which by the way was a fabulous stage production put on by my sister, Mary stopped to buy some beer. We had both been very good prior to the show. I had all but stopped eating to fit into the dress I made--and I did! I even got to buy new jeans in Houston (I had left mine at home) and they were a size 8!!!!!!!!!! Which I know is not really skinny since they are 'relaxed' fit* but I was in a 14 in October. Let me rephrase that: I was suppose to be in a 14. I refused to go up to that size so I squeezed my relaxed ass into a 12. By the end of the show and luncheon, we were both dehydrated/hungry. We needed beer and nachos.

*secret fashion term for big ass

I don't know why I was later than Mary getting back to her house because she had to stop and get beer. Houston traffic does not like me. And, it was a steady rain. And, apparently Houston on Westheimer has a never ending rush hour. And, I missed two turns. I was dehydrated and could not think straight due to the starvation/model thing; that's my excuse and I am sticking to it.

Anyhoo, I get back to the house, nachos are ready and a cold beer is waiting for me. Mary and I decide to sit and discuss how perfectly our (really only hers but I love taking credit for stuff) event went. The thing was fabulous. I mean like a rocking NYC fashion event. Mary even got women over 50 to change** clothes on stage. It was applause for the ladies like I have never heard in my life. After the show, they were like mega stars with everyone pulling them to their table to sit for a minute. Anything that followed was dullsville. Someone did follow but it is better that I leave that subject alone. Let's just say that all retired teachers do not make the best speakers...and some give tests. Yeah, that was a snoozer...

**Not like nekkid change--just jackets and belts.

So back to our beer festival....

We started 'discussing' # about 3 pm. We ended 'discussing'## about 11 pm. The next morning Mary says we killed an 18 pack. I tell her she is lying because I feel great. She says look in the bar frig. There are only 2 left. Ok, so we did not kill an entire 18 pack, don't lie. We threw back 16***. We can still hold our liquor, sort of. I held it better than Mary.**** Overall, a 8 hour drinking fest for two old ladies was kinda' funny. That was about one an hour. I read somewhere that is the pace you should go...but not drive. I think that report also said something about drinking water along with the beer, a fact that I totally forgot about.

#discussing-patting ourselves on the back

## see above but literally patting our selves on the back.

***I kept hiding the empty cans under the garbage. Gross. I was diggin' in garbage to hide the fact that we were drinking entirely too much. How bad was that need for a beerfest? Anyway, I did it so Mary would not be all full of decorum and stop drinking.

**** oops. She wound up drinking 9 to my 7.

For some reason she did not feel as bad as I thought. We went to Galveston the next day and she had a Margarita at Fisherman's Wharf. I just had tea. ****** We even got hit on by two men. Albeit they were 79 years old but, still, we had it rockin'!

*****ok, it was a Cherry Vodka Tea but it was still tea.

So my funny drinking story is this - never underestimate those models you see. They can starve for weeks before a fashion show, be spot on, and then get blotto, only to repeat the cycle. To all those skinny women--we figured out your secret. You are champions of willpower. To be able to do that and not bloat--I salute you!

BTW--My size 8's still fit.

The Final Days of EllyLand

2010-04-01T16:39:00.002-05:00

I have not been ignoring this place...really. I have been in Atlanta GA for my uncle's 4 day funeral that was a blast. That is not being sacriligious. It was an old fashion Irish wake and I wish my daughter could have been there. (She was in Egypt, being stinky. That is a whole 'nuther story.) Then, I had a (ahem) speaking engagement in Houston, TX. Yep, someone wanted to hear me. Don't get all excited like I was a tv star or something...I commentated a fashion show. Now, I am home but maybe not for long.

Here is why:

I have some sad news and this is not going to be real funny... although, Elly LOVED a good joke.

My mother is on morphine and off all the Alzheimer's medications. These are her last days.

Right before Easter too...somehow ironic, huh? She loved Easter. She loved the new clothes and the whole church thing with the family. I remember the dresses she would sew for us and one year we actually got store bought dresses. Even though they were store bought for our baptism into the Catholic faith, we still got to wear them at Easter. Then, I do believe they were kept in her closet. Like we would harm a real, store bought dress! Uh, yeah-ya -- we would have been wearing them daily!

My sister an I have planned every minute of the next few weeks. When mother's demise comes, we have the funeral planned down to when we eat lunch, I have made a glorious tribute to my mother, and, we even have stage decorations.

We are "overfunctioning adults".

I read a book today. This is a real term....I kid you not.

I read the whole book in 2 hours and it mainly focused on women and relationship with their mothers...how ironic again. here is the webbie:

http://www.harrietlerner.com/pages/dance_of_anger.htm

so here's the deal...I love books that deal with the psyche of relationships. It has to do with my abandonment issues by three significant people in my life. One of them being my mother. She had issues with attachment and bonding. Especially me for some odd reason. Personally, I think I was an adorable baby. It has to do with her not feeling accepted in my father's family and deep stuff. I think she was just jealous that I was so friggin' cute. I looked like a Cupie doll - which is great when you are less than a year and kinda' weird when you are 56.

So, I read the book Dancing with Anger** and now I am all smart and stuff. yea me!

**how do you underline in a blog?? Yes, I have been drinking wine, thank you very much!

The day has been spent with phone calls and then having to tell my baby that Grandma is in a bad way. We did get to see her On Oct. 10, 2009, and that was great. We spent that weekend trying on wedding dresses. Mom actually had moments of real lucidity and that was what Amie needed to see and hear. Ok, so they were not real lucid but they were good enough.

Now, I have some time before I get the phone call. I am the first one notified because I will be driving to meet the body -- in Po Dunk, Tx, USA -- not a real place but it should be the name of this town. I am telling you, there is no cell phone service there. Amie will have problems due to the fact that she gets a text about every 30 seconds. I swear, if I had texting on my phone and we were at my house drinking wine, she would be texting me. I really don't get it. There is no internet either. There may be but I am sure that the iPhone does not run on soup cans and a string. It is really a small town.

But I digress; I have the clothes for my mother. She is going to be dressed in new clothes from Chico's Traveler's line. She will be thrilled, I tell you! She loves Chico's, she loves to travel and it is royal blue. It is will great against the clouds of heaven, which I picture as silvery blue. She will look gorgeous! Trust me, I know this matters. Why? Because they say when you get to heaven you are well and whole again. Mom will look down to see how she is dressed. She would never forgive and, in fact, would come back to see me and ask why she is not dressed for the event if I do it wrong. She is, after all, a GRITS. Girl Raised In The South. There are 3 things we never forgo -- good hair, good clothes and done nails. Those will be attended to!

My mom has had a good ride. Everything was not ideal, nor perfect, but it was an adventure. Her belief was that if you were so lucky to be put here on Earth, go for the gusto. She did. Now that I am old and gray between hair salon appointments, I am too. Life is way too damn short to be miserable. I guess that is why I decided to read and re-read the Dance# books**. I think I need to be a total self-actualized women. Although, wine does help a lot with that!

# I read some of them in the 80's ... and then promptly forgot everything I read.

**and I still can't find the underline ... and I am out of wine! no wine, no underline... there has to be a country song in there.... ok I am cutting myself off!

I guess that life is a circle: you are born, you get all psychological to try to figure out how to function in society, and then you are old and don't care what others think of you and pass the books on to the younger generation. Then they read it and figure out how their parent's screwed them up.

Amie, I have something for you the next time you come by!

soon to post--oh my aching ass!

2010-03-06T20:18:00.002-06:00

Literally. And it is Larry's fault.

Whoa! That sounded nasty. So let me add....

And, the computer. And, Bill Gates. What a 3-some that would be huh?

Gross, I know.

I know my daughter is poking her mind's eye out right now...think baby kitties, sweetie. Oh, but she does know because she had to help in the situation and then I deleted it all by mistake.

I need Advil...

Really?!? March? Already?

2010-03-06T10:29:00.004-06:00

This year is literally flying by. I had no idea it was even March. Really. I did not and that kind of scares me. It isn't a memory thing; it is a calendar thing. I forget to turn the page sometimes. That (and this is too much information) is how I got pregnant with Amie.* I simply lost the beginning of July. July 1 to be exact....

*fyi, the calendar method does NOT work for birth control.

I have a full calendar for March and I think it is a subconscious thing to forget. My sister wants me to come to Houston and be involved with a fashion show. That is going to be a great blog entry, just so you know. She wants me to talk. Really. She is giving me a script but she wants me to ad-lib the comments of the models while drinking wine. I don't think that is a real good idea. It is still early in the month so she has time to change her mind on that one.

My daughter is leaving for a long journey but her house is well protected so don't even think of coming by...one fiance, one dog that may, or may not be, part pit, and two bad-assed cats. It is the cats that I am scared of. That older one--stay clear. Beast is the name for a reason. I have the scars to prove it.

I got involved with a woman's club here in town and they have a couple of things going on this month. I have attended two events in February and it was great to see anyone other than my husband during the day. Since everyone I know in real life works, it tends to get a little lonely. My on-line friends--it is just not the same. Hmmm, maybe if I got a laptop and went to Starbucks and chatted...no, it still is not human contact.** I do, on occasion, get to talk to my post-woman. She is great but she still has work to do.

I should'a thought twice about retiring...

**Larry does not count as human contact. I have my reasons...see below.

March is also my birthday and this year begins the 'ehh, I don't really care anymore' phase of my life. Fifty-six. It is a W-T-H moment in a person's life. Where did it go? Why did I waste so much time on trying to 'fix' people and things? Why was I so cheap about e v e r y t h i n g? Why did I tell everyone 'don't worry about me' and 'you really don't have to ______(whatever) for me'? How much time do I have left? Sheese, it is mind boggling to think that when I was thirty I thought I was old.

When you are thirty, life seems so, well, so full. Expectations are so high. You think about living to the ripe old age of fifty and how much money will you have when you are that old. You think you will need a lot because thirty costs a bundle. You have houses and husbands and kids and pets to pay for. You have jobs and career plans. You have a little fear of the future, the unknown of it all basically. You have an excitement about what is to come.

Fifty-six? You know you are about to die - soonish more than laterish. I mean we all do, but, I truly do not believe I have another 50 years in me. God--I WOULD BE 106!! Nope. I definitely do not want that.

I do have some things I would like to do before I have to go fix heaven.***I would love to see New York City again.

I really want to be thin again. I also would like to have that muscular body I had for one brief year in my 30's. (I do have a picture tho...).

I want the wrinkles to show experience and wisdom. (Now they just look like age.)

I want the vanity stuff back that I had in m 30's. I have no desire to get 'cute-ed' up every day. Work and kids make you do that. Living with Larry and his camo sweatshirt and matching pants just do not do it for me. side note: he wears that in public--with the sweatshirt tucked in...I apologize if you see him. His fashion sense makes me look like a Real Housewife of Anywhere in my jammies.

***I am sure God did not do everything right. I was not there to supervise.

Since I am on the downhill side of life, I guess I need to enjoy the slide. Of course, as a child, I fell off slides a lot. I would say I was not the most coordinated kid on the block. The free fall from the top of the stairs was a thrill for about one nano second...then reality set in. That ground was going to hurt real soon. I avoid the climb on the slide ladder for years. Or, so I thought. I guess life is like that slide. You have to keep on practicing going up to enjoy the ride down. Maybe my practice is through. Maybe it is time to realize that the fall is not going to happen. By this time I would be on the ground, don't you think? And, a little bruised and beat up.

Huh. I just had a thought flash through my mind's eye.

Now I see what all this symbolic padding I have around me was for...and, I don't need it anymore. I am not going to fall because I am already sliding down. What an Oprah moment! Did I just discover the key to weight loss? Could that goal of being thin be closer? And, if you slide a lot you would be using muscles-right? Could I be on the road to building muscles again? Wait, did someone say in one of those thousand of books I have read on self improvement that smiling makes less winkles than frowning? And, I know that I would never go out of the house without my make up on so there is the cute-ed up thing. I may have hit on something.

I may even go to the park and really slide, wearing Larry's camo outfit and drinking wine.

Wait. Then I would be arrested and haul off to a mental facility--maybe even Bellview in NYC!

However, I know my luck. It would not turn out that great. I would be arrested for drinking in the park, they would haul me off and take a mug shot without letting me fix my lips (love the lip liner look!), due to the stress I would be frowning and wrinkly, those camera never, ever make you look thin. I would be all bloaty from crying and no muscles would show--just a puffy, fat face with wrinkles and cried off make-up in really bad clothes.

However, on the plus side the camo stuff would make them think I was part of some terrorist plot and I would get a trip to NYC to be tried! It is worth a shot don't ya' think? Either way, I am headed to NYC!

I made a card today...so, you have to look!

2010-02-26T17:57:00.002-06:00

Normally, I take great photos--ok, I never take great photos but I felt I had to lie. I had fun making this one and type up the how-to for some weird reason. It was a lot of trouble so I am posting it here!

Cut one card base 10” by 7”.

Score the 10” side of the card at 2 1/2”, 5” and 71/2”. Fold mountains and valleys. Mentally label your folded areas A B C D from the left**.

Make a mark 1 1/2” up from the bottom edge on the left side of your card on the 7” side.

Line up the card in your cutter from that mark to the first fold and cut. That gives you the diagonal line.

Cut 3 strips of two designer papers 2 1/4” x 7” for you four areas.

**A area needs a 2 1/4” x 2 3/4”, B = 2 1/4” x 4 3/4”, C = 2 1/4 x 6 3/4”, D = 21/2 x 7”

You can trace angle onto the designer paper or mark* and cut.

*a= 1 1/4”, b= 3” and c= 5” from bottom edge of strips; cut angle from mark to upper corner.

Now decorate with all the crap you can find that will fit!

The Irritation of Toilet Brushes

2010-02-15T09:36:00.002-06:00

I am on a mission in these waning years of my life. I refuse to get mad like I used to. It simply is not worth it. I can find the humor in any situation and it is much more pleasant than dwelling on the wrongs that I have imagined are happening to me.

Valentine's Day is one of the most humorous days now. And, it all had to do with the toilet brush. WARNING: this may get graphic.

Valentine's Day at the Brooks' household is far from a romantic thing. It never has been and it never will be. Our 'big' anniversaries are, but not Valentine's Day. Even though it is a day dedicated to love and romance, it just never seems to happen no matter how hard one tries. And by 'one' I mean me, not Larry.

So, to make it short, I got cable connections to my craft room and the guest room as my present. He got a full Mexican Dinner, to which he was 45 minutes late.

Normally, eating a meal alone on VD would get me going. This year it was just not going to make me upset. That could be because I invented a new tequila drink while cooking (The Hairy Guatemalan--it was very good) and I was wearing an adorable new apron I made over the red silk shirt and my 'skinny' jeans. I looked like a Valentine.

There was no one home to see it.

When Mr. Brooks finally appeared after spending the most romantic day of the year at the Boy's Cave, previously described, drinking beer, I was already diving into the fajitas and having one more Hairy Guatemalan. Even though at that point I was a little steamed, I let it ride. That is, until he told me it was my fault he was late. I had said at 11 am that we would have a hamburger patty for dinner because it was on our diet. However, what he failed to comprehend was that at 5:45 pm I called and told him that in 45 minutes a full Mexican meal would be ready. He kept arguing that the 11 am statement was the precedent and he should not be in trouble. What a salesman's load of crap. He forgets I was pre-law once in my life and can win an argument with a stop sign. I also can smell bullshit miles away.

At one point in the wait, The Hairy Guatemalan needed to be -ahem, flushed. Not paying much attention because of the steam coming out of my ears waiting on my hairless chihuahua, I plopped right down, muttering to myself. Here's the deal, I rarely scrub the toilets. I do when I am cleaning but rarely on a Sunday do I clean. I usually leave the brush under the seat, yet on the rim, to dry. Normally, the next time you go into the potty you see that. Apparently, Hairy Guatemalans create vision loss.

So, basically, the biggest thrilled I got on Valentine's Day was sitting on the toilet brush wonder what the hell was rubbing my backside. Was it a Hairy Guatemalan???? Did you know that the chemicals that clean the toilet are kinda' harsh? I now have a heart shaped rash on my butt.

Happy Valentine's Day to me!

I do not recommend this method of getting a heart on your butt.

It is really hard to be mad when you are tattooed with chemicals, in the shape of a heart, on your big ass.

The Hairy Guatemalan

(aka my new boyfriend)

1 part tequila

2 parts mango juice

2 parts Fresca

2 wedgies of lime squeezed

Snow Days

2010-02-11T12:23:00.004-06:00

I love them! It is so peaceful. Snow acts like a buffer to all those daily noises (like the vacuum cleaner) that annoy me. The vacuum will not be run and I am glad that I did not mop up the doggie prints yesterday. For some reason our dog, who can't piddle in the rain, lolls outside in the snow. Go figure. Then, he comes in and drips everywhere while you chase him. It is his game in winter.

24--Larry style

2010-02-10T09:42:00.009-06:00

Can you stand another husband story? Well, that is what you are getting. For days I have been waiting for something, anything to happen around here. No snow, no sun, no fun was the motto of the week...until today. Today's fun with Larry started exactly 24 minutes ago and is over. He can completely disrupt any woman's life in that short of time.

The best thing about retirement is the ability to stay in one's jammies all day long. Since everyone I know works, there is absolutely no possibility of anyone I know stopping by. I can be a grunge all day--no make-up, no fixed hair and best of all no bra. Although, lately I should wear one 24/7. The older you get with D cups the more gravity literally weighs you down. I know this sound weird but if I don't wear one the hernia in my stomach flares up. These girls are so heavy that they are pulling the insides out. But, I digress. The event of this morning's 24 minute aggravation had little to do with my underwear or lack there of.

I love planning and this is an important detail. I am a by the date book, ring a bell, move to the next event kinda' girl. Larry is the polar opposite. I have no idea how he makes it to any meeting. In 23 years of being in business for himself, he has only forgotten two. If you ask him what the plan is for the week, (he will tell customer's this too) he will tell you he does not plan longer than 5 minutes from now. His 'spontaneity' is driving me crazy in these twilight years.

Today I had such a big plan. Even though the floors have doggie prints (rain's fault not mine) and the dust can literally be seen floating in the air (filter needs changing--Larry's job because no woman can get on a step ladder and insert a new filter--his reasoning not mine), I was going to be kinda' lazy. I was scrappin' happily in my craft room while Larry packed up for a meeting.

The time was 8:59 am. Life was good. The meds were working!

As he is leaving his office, he asks a simple little question.

"Can you write a check to the exterminator?"

"WTH--when are they coming?!?"

"This morning."

"When this morning?"

"In about 10 minutes and I have a meeting."

"Why didn't you tell me?!? Can you stay for 5 minutes while I shower? When did you set this meeting up?"

No one but no one sees me without make up. Larry and my daughter are the only two. I have the face that was made for make up. And, furthermore, I was stinky, in jammies, with my hair piled high.

"Yesterday. I didn't know I had a meeting when I told the exterminator to come."

"Hello? Why didn't you tell me after you set up the meeting that you couldn't be here?"

All this is being said as I fly into the shower, stubbing my toe so now I am mad and in pain...and cussing like a sailor.

9:07 am

"I don't get it. Why are you so upset?"

This being said as I am now out of the shower and slapping make up on...then the doorbell rings. Exterminator man is here--and Larry has not left yet! I ask him when he is going (literally I am completely dress and amazingly cute in 7 minutes) and he says "Now" kinda' mean.

9:10 am

I find my wallet and making out a check when who do you think comes in the front door? None other than Larry. He needs a Mapsco. Who in the hell even has one of those anymore? His is from 1998. No wonder men get lost. They think you can buy one Mapsco for life. He finds his destination taking more time than I took to dress.

He leaves again. He comes back inside again. WTH is going on here???????

"Give me the check and I will pay the guy."

9:19 am

He leaves again. He comes back again.

"I am mailing it in. Here is your check back."

WTF!!!!!!!! this time.

9:23 am

He smiles and says, " 'bye. I am going to my meeting so if she calls tell her I am running late due to the exterminator coming and I had to pay him."

All I can do is sit and laugh so I know the meds are working. I know he can never pull a Tiger Woods on me. No women will ever put up with this.

Why I Hate Cleaning and Other Tribulations

2010-02-01T14:31:00.003-06:00

This could get ugly. I hate to clean the house. I really do. And, when I do, I cuss a lot. My sister and I have really delved into the reasons, but I do think it is an inherited trait. I think my daughter hates to clean too.

However, I love to clean other people's houses. Go figure.

I love my house when it is clean, but, I just think it is futile when my husband is home. Remember the Charlie Brown character PigPen? The dust fell off of him all the time? His name is Larry and he is alive and well in Carrollton, TX. He also has a the sheddingest dog ever. (ok, spell check does not like that word. Ok, the most shedding dog ever. Doesn't matter because the dog should be bald by this time. Larry is.) Honestly, I just swept up enough hair for at least one dog today and I have only done the downstairs.

I guess sweeping and mopping would be more fun if I could play music and did not have to "time" the vacuum. I can't do it whenever I want because Larry works out of the house. He can't hear me when I am talking so I know he can't hear customers, ever. He says it sounds unprofessional to have a vacuum in the background. Uh, hello? Your office is in a home. Vacuuming also makes the chicken dog retreat into the closet and that upsets both of them. Big babies...

Next to vacuuming, mopping is something I can't seem to do either. I even own a machine that does that for me. Really. I do. I still hate using it. I highly recommend the Hoover Floor Mate. It sweeps and mops with a scrubbing action all at the same time. That is not what the manufacturer recommended, but it does. I mean, here is a machine that takes the really hard work out of the equation and I still don't get it done. The reason I decided to clean today was that I literally stuck to the kitchen floor. Literally. I turned and my sock came off and I am not lying. How filthy is that????? Grossly filthy, but tonight, it will be shining.

I had a vacuum that at least did that part for me. I loved my Roomba until it fried during an electrical storm. That was the saddest day of my life. I just cannot justify another $200 for one right now. I had to buy flip flops**.

**The flip flops are for the wedding in September. They are part of the gift tote my daughter and I are giving to the attendees in Vegas. I found such a deal for really cute flip-flops for only sixty-seven cents. I bought 30 pair. Well, then I needed the totes and now I need beach towels to fill the tote. Thus, no $$$ for a Roomba.

So, I must vacuum all by myself, in the silence, with a cowering dog and a dusty man. I thought when I was working it would be heaven to have all the time in the world to clean. My house is dirtier now than it ever was when I worked. It is sheer laziness. I mean really, what am I doing now? Typing. That is really getting the job done, huh?

First, I have to get Pigpen and his little dog outta' here. I may be able to entice him with beer and the boys at the club. This club, by the way, is not a 'country' club... but it is. It is about as country as you can get. Larry's buddy, Dale, is a single, old man. He has been married 4 times but the 3rd time did not count. It was wife #2. He has taken the backyard of this 50's dwelling that needs a massive cleaning*** and turned it into a boy's club. The patio, and I use that term very loosely, is now enclosed with aluminum galvinized metal and lined with styrofoam. I am not kidding. Somewhere these yea-hoo's found sheets of styrofoam and nailed them up for insulation. There is a big pot belly stove for heat and a big ass Coke cooler full of beer 24/7. (Don't get all excited as the beer is Natural Light and some other crap my husband likes to drink.) There is a distinct odor of motor oil and grease. That is due to the motor oil and grease everywhere. Outside the abode are 2 riding lawnmowers (summer entertainment) and a flatbed trailer (ours; has not been moved in 5 years). This place is not a girl's house at all. It is the most testosterone filled acreage ever.

***yes, even more than mine!

When I tell you that my husband is in heaven there it does not even come close to describing his joy. No one who comes by has to worry about showering or shaving. They can fart in public all they want. They cuss and spit everywhere. They get drunk and ride lawnmowers around the back yard at midnight. No neighbor ever calls the police because they are all illegal and I am not making this up. It is a man's place. There is another activity they do in the backyard and I had the pleasure of walking up on that once. Let us just say that you can only 'borrow' beer. Now I know the reason for a $9,000 fence around a shit hole house.

I just realized something. Larry never ever not once has complained about how dirty our house is. Huh. How about that? I knew I liked Dale for some reason. His dirty ass makes me look spotless.

2010-02-01T14:30:00.000-06:00

Old Men - in 6 minutes...

2010-01-31T08:54:00.004-06:00

I am an old movie fanatic and there is a Lucille Ball movie on in 6 minutes. However, I have had it with old men. Mainly my husband but I think it applies to all of them.

here's the deal--I have no idea what he is saying anymore. He has become a 'woman' in his verbiage. It use to be that when he wanted something he said it right out. "I want meat for dinner" has become "Are you planning on going out?" How does this become the conversation for dinner? Let me explain how he has become a 16 year old girl in 3 minutes.

First: he has taken on the evasive answer with a question that women do

Second: he has taken on the laissez faire approach of "please, don't worry about me"

Third: then he gets "miffed"

Seriously, he needs some testosterone and those 60 year old guys he is hanging with must not have any left. I guess that is why God let me have a girl. Her teens were nothing but the "poor me" syndrome (well, that is true for any teen girl) and now I have a 65 year old teen girlman.

Here was the conversation this morning before he left for a meeting:

Larry: "Are you going out?"

Me: (thinking it is a what's for dinner thing) "I had not planned on it. We are having fish for dinner."

Larry: "Well, I guess I will move your car since I have to load my pews. (He sells church pews and church pew accessories) I guess I will have to move it back into the garage. I have to turn my van around and load it (very whiney by now)."

Me: "I can move it."

Larry: (kinda' yelling) "I didn't ask you to. I will."

Me: (thinking WTF?) "Really. I can move my car to the curb. I know how."

Larry: (kinda' snotty) "Just remember I didn't ask you to."

Maybe it is the diet we have been on...too much fruit, not enough meat. I think he is hungry. Most of the time when my daughter gets this way (Oh, yes you do Miss Amie! She knows it.) I feed her. It worked in Vegas like a charm.

Here is the other dilemma...if I switch the menu then he is going to freak because the fish is some he caught. It is very, very expensive fish. I can buy Tilapia for about $1 a piece at Walmart. For this fish, he has to drive 135 miles to catch at a secret location with his buddy, Tommy. The gas in his monster van is about $50. Calculating how much he brings home by the time plus cost of gas, they work out to about $5 a piece.

If I don't cook them it will be the age old conversation about him retiring. Retiring is not a good idea for him. He really has a cushy job. I mean, how many pew salesmen have you met in a lifetime? How many churches are there? His is just about the only company left that builds custom furniture for churches. Even with the scarcity of pew companies, he still has time for golf at least 3 times a week.

OHHH!! I think I know the problem! He isn't as hungry for meat as he is for men! Winter. Ice. Cold. All that equals no golf {subset no men}.

Stills sounds kind flamey to me...

The Joys of Bluetooth

2010-01-29T09:03:00.003-06:00

How come we have become so multi-task oriented that we can't take 5 minutes for a phone call? What is up with the Bluetooth craze?

If my sister, Mary, ever reads this (which I am sure she does not) she will know this one is for her. She got a Bluetooth for Christmas and now she can chop wood while talking to me. Only she can't. She can hear me just fine but I get about every fourth word in between whacks with the axe. I have tried to tell her but somehow it does not compute. I guess since she can hear me all is well...I guess. I just have no idea what I am agreeing or disagreeing within the course of our conversation. I could be agreeing to pay for her daughter's tuition to college for all I know.

She called me Christmas day with the new thing set up. I do know that our tradition is to start the day with coffee followed by Mimosas. My dad made the strongest chicory coffee ever. I mean that saying about 'hair on your chest' is no an exaggeration when it comes to his coffee. So, in our younger years, we learned to love both coffee and Mimosas. Because mom did that. Honestly? I thought Christmas day was one big caffeine induced drunken party with brick like dressing and cold gravy. Ahhh, such fond memories. No wonder when I did a scrapbook of Christmas I had no, nada, not one picture of my childhood Christmases.

When I had my first real cup of coffee in college, it was a whole new world. Those wimps. They drank regular. I was used to double double espresso with chicory no less! Anyway, Mary had had her Christmas fuel. Then, she started talking...

Not only was she talking but the entire family was talking too. I could hear everyone very clearly, except Mary. I was trying to explain to her that I was having a hard time but she had the fuel in her. I finally just said goodbye at some point and hung up. I am sure she thought I was rude but, hell, try to listen to 5 people at once at top volume and you could go crazy. That Bluetooth has the best microphone ever...just not so good for the person talking. It is great for 'ambient' sound.

She calls me again on the thing a few days ago. We have other conversations but usually she is in the grocery store or some place where she can't really hear well so she cuts it short. This time she was filing wood with a rasp. I got every motion. Sheese, I am not sure any wood was left by the time I hung up. I am positively sure I have no idea what we were talking about. I just heard 'e-eoe-o-e-o-e-e-o'.

One of the next eventful conversations was held during a drive in her convertible (top down) or Houston traffic. They are both craziness so it was hard to tell. I do know that Houstonians must use their horn quite a bit. And, there seemed to be a tremendous amount of police activity. I am telling you I heard the police scanner in my ear.

The last time I talked to her she was apparently cleaning the sink with Comet and loading the dishwasher, she got a cup of ice, opened a diet coke, found a straw, and went to get a broom to use. What she said? I still have no idea.

Some where along the way when did we decided that just to sit an have a conversation was a waste of time? I am blaming texting. I tried for a while to do that but it is like email..,you just don't get the drift. It is hard to have that back and forth when the words look like this --BrB B/C I HV 2 P. What the hell? By the time I figure that out, the other person is back on and now I have to BrB B/C I HV 2 P. This is not a good technology unless you are in dire straights. I can see the good if you are somewhere talking is not permissible...church would be one instance. I would have loved to have that back when I was a kid. Mary and I would get the church giggles over our little ham-y sister. She would do the best antics at 3 and we would just crack up. That was not such a good thing when your uncle the priest was saying high mass. No, on second thought, texting would have gotten us in really bad trouble.

No wonder people have those things on all the time. They really never have a conversation. Now I know when they are talking smoothly in the Target, it is all a lie. They are talking to air. No one ever says "what???". They just glide on through the conversation. I swear I am going to get behind the next one I see and do a little spastic cussing about the person they are feigning to have a conversation with.

I liked it before the Bluetooth. Mary and I could go on for hour/s depending on the ire* in our lives. Now, I just listen to the background (now foreground) noise and hang up after an appropriate length of time. I am pretty sure she had a real point the one of those conversations. I just have no idea what it was. The last time she called the Bluetooth finally went dead. It was a little slice of h-e-a-v-e-n. We talked for about 30 minutes that day. The conversations with no ire are somewhat shorter. Now that I take a pill for that--they can be really short.

*translates 'family issues'

here's the deal--I have Bluetooth. I am going to wear it the next time she calls. It will be the "great experiment" of Bluetoothing. I'd better fuel up for that one though. It could on for days. The only words you have to say are "what did you say?" and "I didn't get that".

Guilty Pleasures

2010-01-25T09:19:00.007-06:00

A dear, virtual friend sent me a link today dealing with siblings and aging parents- go here for the link. It got me to thinking about my situation and siblings who choose not to cooperate. Cooperation covers a plethora of things. For example, you may be 'helping' in the parent thing but you choose not to communicate with the other siblings. Or, you just ran away from it all.

Out of the four daughters from my mother, we have both: non-communicative helper and the runaway. Granted, I am about 5 hours away, but, I am still there to support my sisters; well, the 3 that are helping. The runaway has been gone now for over 5 years and is only a very distant memory. She is my mother's first daughter. I had one train of thought, but after reading Virtual Mary's email*, I may have changed a few ideas on her. The other sister is working 'with' us just not communicating. The 'runaway' sister may, someday, have some guilt. I will concede that much.

*Thanks Other Mary!

I will concede this because I have a tremendous amount of guilt everyday about not being there to take some of the burden off my sisters. Now that the eldest one left us, I am the big sister. Somedays I feel a need to just pack up and move**. I did move into my parent's house and I did move my them to Houston and I did sell their house and I still feel guilty for not being in the same city. I did do all I physically and financially could do. Then, I had to hand it off to the Houston sisters. Now it 'looks' like I do very little which brings on the guilt.

**Some days, like today after dealing with my husband, it is a very strong desire. Never try to be your husband's secretary--ever. Especially if they are computer stupid....

In the past 2 1/2 years since the handoff, I have done very few pleasure trips. I do travel 120 miles to work on scrapbooks with some lovely people I met on line***. A couple of times I spend the night and this time I got an invite to stay in the owner's (of the store) cabin. I used the term cabin very loosely because we have a 'cabin' on our property in Breckingridge, TX. Our cabin is a poor excuse for a trailer--not even a double wide--and is skanky. You can sleep with the ticks and sand fleas and take a sailor shower so I thought this was what to expect. I can do that for free. I am a cheap woman.

***That is a whole'nuter story...

The plan was to arrive in Winnsboro, TX (exactly 2 hours away) to scrap at the store. My "met on line friend" Vivian knows the owner and that is how we got the cabin invite. They were coming after school (teachers) and I thought I would just get there about 2:00 and take advantage of the time. I asked Kathi (the owner) what time she closed and was shocked to find out that by 5:30 we would be outta' there. Vivian was not even going to be there until 5! I just figured she would set up to the Saturday 10-10 crop. Little did I know what she had in mind.

Vivian is precious and is a kindergarden teacher. She also has the same degree in Home Ec that I have and is 5 years younger. She is the kindergarden teacher you want your kids to have. I had only been with her 4 or 5 times scrapping. The first time we met (after talking on-line) she drove me to the B & B I was going to stay for the night. I promptly, like a fool, literally fell out of her car and broke part of it. Her car was 1 week old. Knowing that I was such a klutz, I wouldn't even keep me as a friend. I thought that deal was over. But no-o-o-o, Vivian and I have become fast friends and kind of like sisters. This weekend we became 'sisterwives'****. And, she had wrangled a invite to a free stay at a cabin for 3 of us so I was really liking her.

****More on that later...

Vivian and Robin (Vivian's long time friend) get to the store about 5:15 and unload everything. I did not know the plan and pretty soon (8 pm) we order dinner*****. Pretty soon it is 11 pm and the store owner is ready to go home so I think we are going. No, wrong on my part--she gives us the key and we are going to stay and lock up. I love small towns. Everyone trusts everyone. We locked up at 2:45 am. Yep. I had scrapped for 12 straight hours. Somewhere in there I knew I had to take that pill that is for my IBS and the side effect is amnesia. After explaining that I couldn't drive and I wouldn't remember a thing (I am still not sure about the shark tank comment I made), I found myself in Robin's car. We were going top follow Viv...to the Chicken Ranch. For those of you that have seen the movie, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, you know that is a true story. So, when they say Chicken Ranch, I am thinking --whaaatt??

*****By the way--the food in Winnsboro is awesome.

Just a short way out of town, we hit a county road in the pitch black darkness of night, head over a tank dam up and around chicken coops...thus the chicken ranch thing. Vivian leads us to the end of the property , stops, and turns around...great, we are lost on the chicken ranch in the dark. We retrace our drive and she makes a sharp right. We park and in the dark you can see the porch light to anything but a cabin. This place, even at 3 am, was gorgeous. When you enter, you can see this is no ordinary 'cabin'. It is about 2,400 square feet of bliss! It was decorated to the nines and had running hot water . It had 2 bedrooms and 2 full baths...our jaws dropped and no one said anything for about 5 minutes. At some point Vivian told us that Kathi's husband never lets anyone stay there because it was his baby. (thus, we became sisterwives...it was funnier at 3 am) We did make the comment that it would be so pretty on a lake and hit the bed.

The next morning ****** we saw the lake. We saw the deck around 3 sides of the house, we saw the deer, cardinals, squirrels and rolling hills out of the 24 foot high 15 feet wide window. Shortly, I take a shower and let's just say I have a new boyfriend...that shower was the highest water pressure and biggest shower head I have ever encountered, ever. I call him John. I hated to leave him, but we had to go scrap.

******more like a 4 hour nap

Driving home Sunday, the pangs of guilt hit. I had my life. I had made new friends and moved on from all my parents' grief. I left it with my sisters. I have no responsibility for them anymore. I can't. I am simply too far away. I get to go and do whatever I want without checking in with family. The Houston sisters have to check in when they leave town. They leave with the fear that something will happen and cut their trip short. I was finally retired from work and family and loved it. They were tied with the burden. Somewhere in there I need to cut them some slack. The one who does not keep us informed does this because she did a very underhanded, sneaky thing during the move. She has guilt. The 'good' one Mary has her mother in law and our parents to try to keep up with on a daily basis. And, she has 2 children who still live with them. She has a huge responsibility.

I have a New year's resolution now. I am cutting people some slack. Maybe if I do, I will feel less guilty and stop projecting my shortcomings on others. Maybe I will stop having defense mechanisms kick in. Maybe I will enjoy life just a little more.

Hmm. Maybe forgiveness is a good thing. Not for the trespassers, but for me. Anyway, it's worth a shot, huh?

Oh! My Aching Back!

2010-01-19T09:54:00.005-06:00

Yup. I did it again. I think that housework was the culprit. And, I did not get that much done. What ever it is, at least I know how it happened 20 years ago.

Thirty-fiveish women should not attempt a Herkie for demonstration purposes. For those of you who do not know what a Herkie is, let me explain. It is a cheerleading jump invented (can you invent a jump??) by Larry Herkimer, a cheerleader for Southern Methodist University back in the day. He went on to create National Cheerleading Association. I was always amazed at the cheerleaders who could pull that jump off. It is intense. Apparently, I am not.

For some unknown reason, a principal asked me to coach cheerleading. I was one for about 3 seconds right out of high school at the junior college I attended for a year. I loved it and finally got to be somewhat coordinated but, we did not dance. That was a blessing for all those in attendance at the basketball (only games they had) (but that year we won the 'title' against Austin College) who would not want to see the creator of the squad do her finger in the air disco thing. We went clubbing once. It was hilarious until I found out that was really serious dancing she was doing. She was nice enough to ask me to join (no tryouts thankfully) because I could sew. I made all the lovely uniforms back then. Eggplant purple and forest green do not make such a cute uni... However, it was better than Debbie's dance move. Yes, she only had one.

So back to the back problem... I was a member of an all women's gym and love it. They had a particularly cushy floor on the aerobic side and a huge mirror so I could perfect moves for the coaching aspect of my teaching career. Up on the elevated platform, I got that jump down cold. I was stoked and ready to show the team how to do it. Since they were about 12 years old (it was my middle school years) I knew they would be impressed. I was their mother's age and had to prove I was not getting old...and I wasn't. I could do a Herkie!

In all my excitement of doing about 12 in a row and even filming it, I was apparently not really knowing how high that platform was. I took a leap off the thing and hear a very loud POP...it was my hip and later I learn it was the bottom vertebrae of my spine. The next week was Spring Break and I spent the entire week on the couch. Really. The entire week. I sent my daughter off to my parents, I think. I could barely get to the doctor on Monday and he gave me plenty of muscle relaxers. I hit the couch when I got home and stove up...you know, like could not move an inch; not even to go to the bathroom. I literally had to roll off the couch and crawl to get there. The rest is private but I am saving you from reading the gory details. Besides, the pills don't let me remember that much. However, I did lose 12 pounds. I could crawl to the kitchen but I could get up. Which now you know part of the bathroom episode.

I could move by the time school started and remembered the video tape--woohoo! I could show that and the squad would be Herkie jumpin' fools. I slapped that thing in the first day back and to my surprise I had brought the tape of The Bill Cosby Show. Huh. I wonder where the tape of me jumping -OMG-there it is! Me, jumping off the platform and writhing in pain!!!!!! I had taped over it in my medicated stupor. Every kid saw it and that was the end of the Herkie lesson.

Every once in while I do a weird move and bam! my back is out again. I have no idea what I did this time. However, I started the muscle relaxers right away and so I really don't care how I did it. I recall feeling bad and staying in bed on Sunday (swollen lymph node) but, Monday when I got up, it did not hurt at all. I got a cup of coffee, sat in a chair and literally had to be dragged out of it. I got the dog to help...he held one end of the blanket and played tug of war with me. He is not speaking to me because I quit right after I got up. I think he feels violated since I used him.

Ok-so maybe it was not housework. Maybe it was laying on my fat ass all day.

The really bad new is we are out of food. I have been eating more carbs than ever because I found pasta in the pantry. Gosh, the pantry looks great because I cleaned it so well except it is really empty now. I have to get to the grocery store pronto but the pills are working some great magic right now. I know I could dress but I don't want to. But I have to. But I don't want to. This argument is going nowhere....

I wonder if mustard on elbow macaroni will fool my husband into thinking we are have mac & cheese.

It will if I give him a pill.

Problem solved!

Out Takes of Out Dates

2010-01-12T09:01:00.005-06:00

You would think that with my major I would be a spectacular housekeeper. I am not. I really love to clean but in a weird way. I wait until the urge strikes or the build up of dust is so bad that you can write messages in it. Really, and in his own loving way, that is what my husband does on occasion. I always reply to his little 'love notes' of "R U Dusting Soon?" with a simple "f-u" phrase I love. Then he replies, then I reply, and, before you know it, that piece of furniture is dusted! Simple convoluted team effort, that is what it is. Sort of like our marriage. But hey, it works for us.

Also, when I do get the urge (like yesterday for some reason) then I go on benders that seem to never stop. Yesterday was one of the best ones I have had in a long time. While using and appliance to sweep the floor (how lazy am I?), I went into our pantry. The floor had to be cleared of so much crap just to see it. I remember, one day about 4 months ago, storing the left over organizing devices from my old scrap room in there. Lately the organizing of this closet became an open and shut thing--as in, open the door fast and shut it faster because the junk will come tumbling down. Since we have been on this never ending diet the past 3 months I never go in there much. It was simply a storage closet lately. Sort of like Monica had in a Friends episode. Only mine was just a little dangerous, I think. I had really outdated food in there. I think I used it at Christmas for the Pumpkin Cheesecake (delish!). Sorry Amie. I sent that cheesecake home with her.

After clearing the floor and beginning the clear out of the bottom shelf (totally unprepared for that--stuff fell off so, well, then it was floor crap), I decided that the next shelf could be better organized. Three hours later the place looked great. Since every last piece of stuff came out and each shelf was Spic'nSpan clean (I love that stuff) I thought I may as well look at why I have 5 bottles of orange extract that I did not recall buying. Hmm. Where the heck...then I remembered a cafe thing when I taught and we needed that, but, the Walmart where I shopped for the cafe did not have it in stock, so I bought it myself at a Kroger. Now when did I retire....? OMG 4 years ago??? Where are my glasses? I need to see if this is even safe...it was not. Again, sorry Amie. I hope your future in-laws are ok. (She shared because she is so sweet and kind. Little did she know...)

So....that started the mass exodus of many food items that I brought home from teaching. And, the bigger question--why? Did I think I was going to cook for 200 again ever? What kind of control freak had I become? Who needs 4 bottles of Liquid Smoke that expired in 2007. out. That huge bottle of Balsamic Vinegar from Costco--died in 2008--funeral was yesterday. Five--really, 5--jars of cream of tartar for my famous Snickerdoodle Ice Cream Sandwiches (try them--they are great!) expired in 2009. Ok, so that was not so bad. Even if it was January of 2009 that seemed a little better. This went on for 6 brown grocery bags FULL of stuff. I mean a two-handed full.

Larry was gone to play golf and I know him. If my bad habit is not cleaning, his is saving crap. If he came home and saw those sacks, he would immediately pull stuff out for 'the farm' (which he never really cooks out there anyway) or try to empty the jars and save them for posterity. Yeah,sure, like he is really going to reorganize the garage and put his screws in a glass jar. We would need 2 dozen just for the flatheads alone. Oh, and he does not build things so why have every screw you ever looked at? This stuff had to go and go now.

I dragged them all out to the garage and then went to see if the trash had been picked up. It was about 2 pm and it looked like it had not! yippee! Into the bin they go. The good news is that Larry will not dumpster dive. Well, at least not in our trash. He will everywhere else he goes. I have chalked that up to the fact that he gets urges too.

Of course, try to get a man to 'try' new ways of doing things. I moved the knives once. That is another dissertation on Why Men Can't Be Changed. For all you engaged or single ladies--it simply cannot be done. Trust the older, wiser women here--they will never adapt to new ways of living.. Ever. Give it up. Until they want something done, things will remain in whatever year has the fondest memories. Apparently, Larry had a very good 1965.

There is a trick to get them to think they did it, however. I am now sharing my infinite knowledge and wisdom: Beer. Six beers later he was admiring what a great job he did on the pantry.

I am looking for a bigger sack for him.

I hate liars....

2010-01-05T13:55:00.002-06:00

and I am one. Dang it. I just had to lie to someone so as not to burst their happy bubble. Last time I got lied to I just about had a nervous breakdown over the whole thing. Now, here I am, doing it to spare someone's feelings.

It made me think--when is lying good? Is it a morals thing? Is it ethical? Have we just decided that it is ok? I have 6 hours in ethics and I taught ethics to my students. It was always a good debate and usually after hours on end of 'discussion' (more like yell nation--kids can get really worked up over this) we all came to the conclusion that, really, honesty is the best policy. But what if the honesty is going to crush someone' spirit?

So, here is my problem...I found out that someone wants me to have a gift. It is special that this person loves me enough to think of me. That is precious. The gift was purchased and sent before I knew of it. I have no idea the cost or the size and that, really, is not the big deal. The big deal is that I already own what is being gifted. True, I own the scaled down, now broken, held together with duct tape, version (I use it a lot!) but, I have it already. My dilemma started when I did not tell the giver that I owned the similar, but sad, item.

So when is lying a good thing? Lying, in my own opinion, is never ever good. At least it is never ever good if you lie to me. My lying to you might be to spare you some grief. I never think the liar to me might be doing the same. Do I have such a high self worth that no one else can nearly be as saintly? Many in my family (ie (or eg) (I don't know which): daughter) would say I am that cocky. I just say, let me know the bad news first. Maybe it is not as bad as you think it is and I will handle the grief for you. Like you can't handle the grief either...what am I? Mother Theresa?

When does lying become a morals thing? When is it a wrong thing to do? I guess if it changes your character--like if you become a drug addict and you lie about it. If you lie to hurt people then that is bad. But, what if you lie to hide the ugly truth--like you are a drug addict. See--this is not easy!

Is it ethical? Well, I guess that depends on your belief system. This may be religion related. I guess first you have to define your beliefs. You would think that after all this time I had those down pat. Guess what?

So, I have yet to be at ease with yet one more thing in life--I am a liar. But in a good way...like I will not lie if you hair cut is ugly. I will never lie about hair...ever. I will lie if you are sad about your weight. I will not lie if your weight is causing serious health issues. I will not lie about your make-up. No matter what--the 80's are over and blue eye shadow is just not normal or natural unless some one has popped you in the eye. That goes for green and red, too. You are not a Christmas tree ornament. Also, BLACK IS NOT FOR YOUR LIPS OR NAILS. Same for the previous mentioned colors. Green on nail indicates a fungal infection and I don't want to see your green toe nails, no how, no way! Especially when I am eating. Which makes me think--I will lie about your cooking. I will not lie about it making me sick.

I do believe I have come to a conclusion...lying is ok if it will affect your state of accomplishment and well being by me telling you the truth. Cooking is really not easy for some and it can be a personal triumph. Your makeup is not. That is just a fool buying a foolish thing (previous mentioned colors) and then justifying it. (I know because I have done it--yes, there is blue eye shadow in my bathroom) The things in our society that are bizarre are just that -- bizarre. Shock value does not impress me; personal fortitude does. If you honestly think I need a gift and it makes you feel good then, by all means, send it on! I will accept it graciously and love every minute of having it. Unless, of course, it is green, red, blue or black cosmetics.

Hmm, but they could be used in crafting.....see, I will lie about any gift I get! Well, that is the conclusion then. I am a liar...but in a good way.

Ass U Me

2010-01-04T15:55:00.004-06:00

I am about one card short a deck I have discovered. Or, I am just overly sensitive. Although, it could be I am not in on the story. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred it is the last. I always like to appear I know the inside joke but, I have to admit it, I don't. I am a pretender. This is a double edged deal...it is great if you are playing poker and not so great if you are in need of medication for reality. I don't play poker and I do need a pill that takes away that ghoulish lack of self esteem.

I bet if I had that pill I could make a fortune. You know you want one--a little pill you take and you have that confidence that will let you go out and conquer all your phobias. I only have one and it is simple. I fear people hate me. No, No! It is true! I fear that no one likes me. There, I wrote it aloud! I will bet one poker chip that anyone reading this has felt that way too.

Here's what is wrong with my thinking...if everyone hated me or if everyone loved me it would not be reality. Which bring me to today's thought...what is reality? It is not Heidi and Spencer on The Hills. For a while I thought that was real and then my daughter laughingly explain MTV to me. I am just a little bit gullible enough to believe that if you dare to be on TV then you must be real. I mean really, did every Twilight Zone back in the 60's not scare the peejeebers out of us? I still look for Billy Mummy reading my mind and I always need to have nice thoughts.

Today's generation has no idea about real induced fright. Oh, they have their Halloween or what ever the new "I see dead people" thing is, but we had real fear put into us. There were very few fright movies back in my day and they were mainly Zombies or Godzilla. Now, really, how scary is a plastic monster or a guy dressing up like Michael Jackson in Thriller. (I think he came later). I remember that the Twilight Zone was so real to me. I cannot even watch it today because it still scares me. And then, in the 70's, the Exorcist came out. If you were raised Catholic this was the real deal. You could find the Rite for Exorcism in your missal. So that had to be real right? Green pea vomit and all, it had me from the get go. Why? Because the Rites of Exorcism are in my missal! I could see it was real!

So back to my fear of reality...I have this nice thought of babbling brooks, posies bloomin' everywhere kind of reality in my mind's eye. I have yet to achieve this on a daily basis. I see things from a skewed perspective. If I don't have all the facts (or family inside stories--my fault I know!)<--- (that was a family inside joke, btw) then I assume that people are out to get me. I assume people hate me. And yet, they have no idea how I feel or what I think the reality is. How would they know? I am a Pollyanna in my head. I think that we, as children of the 50's and 60's, were raised to see life as some sort of perfection. We try to achieve a non existent reality.

We saw it on the few shows that were on TV back then: Leave it to Beaver (what mom do you know that wears heels and pearls to vacuum? Maybe in some weird sexual fantasy thing--eeewww) Father Knows Best ( really--kitten and princess for your kids nicknames? Bud--he was real) Donna Reed Show (uhm, my husband works out of the house. This was NOT real...I know that now. The only way a wife could stand that was by taking massive amounts of Librium and I do believe most women did back then. At least my mom did. I know because I use to sneak one every once in a while. DISCLAIMER: Children this is never ever right so don't do it! Well, unless you have to live with me.) Ozzie and Harriet ( didn't we find out about massive abuse and alcoholism later?).

Looking back we got some real mixed messages then, didn't we? There is no babbling brook, life is easy if you just dress right, eat your vegies and all will be well reality. We assume (those of us old enough to remember the 50'/60's) that if we do those things then everyone will live happily ever after. There will be no fights, no misunderstandings, no hurt feelings and no bad times. I am not sure that period did us much good. The shows definitely are not reality but neither are the reality show on TV now.

So...Where is the reality? What is the reality? I guess it is the nitty gritty, down and dirty, talk about the shaky stuff, emotion filled, heart thumping things in our life that we can't believe are happening. We are 'disappointed' when the real stuff happens. We try to avoid it or we over-fix it. We compensate for our short comings. We don't see it for what it really is. It is the good part of life. It is the crossroad that sends us on a different journey. It is what makes life interesting. It is what it is--real.

So, to my family, I acknowledge I have issues and I will make this pledge...I am not holding things back anymore. You may think this is a bad thing. I say it is the right thing. My sister (the good one) said something today. "I may not want to hear it and that means I should". I like that. It means you are smack dab in the middle of reality! It takes away the need for ASS U Me-ing things are what they are. Maybe there is more to the story than what is seen in 30 minutes. Maybe that is why God gives us longer. We need the time to figure it out. Shoot. I thought I had it figured out. I guess that was not reality.

Huh--funny how that works.

Making a Resolution Kinda' Sucks (but in a good way)

2010-01-03T09:21:00.006-06:00

After accomplishing all that I planned last year (and it shocked the hell out of me,too!), I did it again this year (only one and I am doing it right now) and now I am wondering what was I thinking? Do I really have time to do this? Yes and I did for those wonderful people who actually read my musings and write me such sweet and uplifting pm's on SCS...you know who the 3 of you are! It is funny how 3 to 5 ('cause I have 2 followers here) people can make you think you need a goal. And, those people are totally unknown to you in 'real' life. I really like the unknown friends; they are way less judgmental. The real followers are family and the ones on the good side of the tree, kwim? I guess, really, no one is very judgmental in my life right now (see #10).

Last year I had no less than 10 resolutions and I did them all except for a portion of one. Here they were:

1. Try to lose weight.

And why that worked: I had major digestive issues that sent me to hospitals and then they figured out the problem. Since then I have lost 22 pounds and, after the trip to Vegas in December, I am too sacred to get on the scales. But the new 'skinny' jeans I bought (ok, so they are a size 10 but to me they are skinny) still fit.

2. Let my hair grow.

But first it had to fill in as in I my hair fell out due to a low thyroid condition. New meds and new hair--yeah!

3. Get the adult acne cleared up--are you seeing a pattern here? If there is a defective part of the family DNA I got it.

Did that in Vegas to the tune of $600 but it really is the best face stuff ever and now I am an addict.But #10 will fix that.

4. Paint the rest of the house.

I am so frugal that I make myself suffer. I don't know why I think I have to wear a 'hair shirt' but I do. Instead of hiring people to do this intense labor (and it is) I do it myself. I gotta' get over this one. (see #10 for the 'cure') But, it is done and looks so pretty!

5. Use the closets in this house.

I mean really, why am I saving closets? for company? All they need is a teensy space for a few clothes cause the guest bed has a pain timer. Really, it does. Three days and that is all you can take of the thing.

6. Throw out the rest of the unwanted stuff.

In 2008, I donated 'stuff" to the Susan G Komen Breast Cancer 3-day walk team of a dear friend, Holly. Her team made over $2,700 on just the stuff I donated. Would you say I had too much 'stuff"? This year it was much less and it went to a great family. Now, finally, I have the clutter cleared and it feels great. I have not missed one thing! Holding on to stuff for 20 years does not make it worth more. It makes is junk. But, apparently not worthless junk!

7. Make new drapes for the living room, guest bedroom (with an empty closet) and scrapbook room.

Ok, so here's the deal...buying the fabric is half the battle.

8. Buy the stuff for the kitchen and not worry about the cost.

And I did! I love my new sink. The old one actually had a hole and not for the drain; my hubby 'patched' it with some kind of something he uses for golf clubs. I did not ask. The dishwasher was literally throwing grease around the inside and the disposal, well, let us just say that 1/4 horsepower does not a disposal make! I bought a great dishwasher and a hugely high horse power disposal. I can grind up a body in that thing. Not that I would (see #10).

9. Use all the scrapbook/card making stuff up. Yeah, sure...

Ok, I admit it I am a paper floozie. I am a fabric floozie, too. I will do anything to buy the stuff. This past year I did not buy and it was hard. I gave over 1,500 sheets to a church charity group and did more card making and scrapbooking than I have in years. I still have too much. I have no control and I know that now. Yes, I am an addict but I will work on that (see #10--again-- and, yes, it cures them all). I am pretending that most of the people who get the 25 cards I mail a month (justification for the crap) like to get some good mail.

10. Give up trying to fix people and relationships.

For the most part #1 took care of #10. The 'cure' for Irritable Bowel Syndrome is anti-depressants which is weird because it is the third time a doctor has prescribed them for me. The other time was emotional and once I had chest pains. I did not stay on them because for some odd reason I equate prescription helper drugs with a fatal flaw in my character. I got over that. They work and I will stay on them for two reason. Number 1 is, I feel better and B) nothing upsets me for more than 5 minutes now.

Except for the Tech coach getting fired. That went on until they kicked ass last night in the Alamo Bowl! Sorry Michigan State--Tech Rules! I don't expect everyone to understand that passion. You actually have to attend Texas Tech to 'get' it. You go live on a flatland with no liquor access and see how close you bond with your alma mater. It is frightening and only the Tech people can truly understand. Ok, so maybe those of you who attended a major university can too. And... maybe those who had a great high school experience also. Ok, my theory is blown. It does not matter because

TECH WON LAST NIGHT!!!!

What I Don't Understand

2010-01-02T09:38:00.010-06:00

You would think that by age 55 you know it all and can have some sort of insight into life. I mean, after all, I am 55 looking back. I am glad I am not 30 looking forward. That was a more difficult challenge by far. However, I still don't get it.

People can be so judgmental. Sure, I realize I am one of them but, really guys, try to lighten up when "fixing" someone's opinion. For the record I am NOT talking politics. I am tired of talking politics. Besides, it has become apparent to me that one's politics has very little deep thought in some cases. Here is what I am talking about: the people who are staunch religious conservatives who spend too much time sitting in the front row of church* to show it at every turn and holiday, but yet, do not show kindness to everyone. You know who they are...those that 'need' to change your opinion because their view is always the one you should have. Or, they are just a little bit smarter than you because God has told them so. I need a good comeback to those. Hypocrite is just a little too mellow. Asshole is a little too harsh.

*For the record: I am not bashing church goers...I love church! I am a Christian who has been to many, many denominations over my lifetime. **I am a firm believer and have had 'those' experiences. (however, no One told me I was any better-huh) You know who I mean...the ones who go for show and then try to 'fix' you because you don't go.

** there will be those who think I have lost my mind...and then those who know it.

So, why am I on this topic? Doesn't it seem a little controversial for me? How is that funny? Don't you want to be funny? Uhm, yes, I want to laugh more. Today, and maybe the rest of this week, I am going to laugh at them. Most who know me will say I am that person who is a 'fixer'. Little do they know that when anyone disagrees with them, they think the other is too opinionated (including me, I readily admit that!). No one really has the guts to look at a friend or acquaintance, right in the eye, and tell them it is time for them to listen. We just smile. In Texas, we can add a "Bless Your Heart". That has a whole new meaning here...and it has just a little to do with sympathy. It has more to do with "you dumb ass".

This year may be my "Bless Your Heart " year. I have a stamp that says that. I will be making cards so be forwarned... if yo receive one of these cards this year you will know what I think of you. The problem with that is I am too chicken to send it to anyone who reads this blog. I think you have to be a little older before you can be that recluse, bitchy, old cat woman***.

*** For the record: Do not go off on me because I used the 'cat woman' reference! Cats are weird little creatures with a mind of their own. I love cats except they stink. I don't care what litter you use or how many times you empty the box--an animal is still pooping in your house. Sure, dogs can poop indoors too but they rarely crap where they live. Cats just don't give a rat's ass. I love that about them. I know because I had 7 at one time 35 years ago in a one bedroom apartment in Lubbock. WAIT! That does qualify me!!!

So back to the cards...I think I want to be a little older. For some reason, at 55 you are too old to be young and "understand", yet, too young to be a person regarded as having "wisdom". I don't think 64 is the age either. My husband is 64 and I don't listen to him. He has gone a little over the edge this year, but, it is due to politics and I am not talking politics. Even if I sent the cards, the people in Texas would 'get it' and that would defeat the purpose. I have to have another outlet. thinking...thinking...thinking of lipstick? Why? ? ?

Oh yeah--that is the way my brain works. I am thinking of smart asses when I picture the smart asses in my feeble brain which reminds me of those jerks who take up 2 parking spaces because their comb over and new sports car is so important to them so it must be to the entire world which makes me get out my lipstick and write them a note on the windshield (btw--use MAC lip liner--found out in Vegas it is really potent! Thanks Amie!) and then I feel better. I am not sure it is a law breaker offense as I do not use bad words. I do have my ethics. I just leave a phone number and a "you're cute!". Then, I sit in my car and watch them dial the porn line...hilarious! And, sad because they actually call.

Gotta' go. I am stamping a few business cards to hand out when 'those' people start in on 'fixing' me. It may just work for the 2 space guys....

End of a Decade

2009-12-31T10:06:00.005-06:00

My daughter had the funniest blog post yesterday (http://amieisms.blogspot.com/ ) about lessons learned. It is funny to see your kids learning those lesson that those of us in our 50's fondly remember. In my sad way of imitating her post, I will make an attempt. This could take a while! She is waaayyyy funnier than her mom .

Since Amie learned to talk, at a very early age, the things that come out of her mouth are roll on the floor funny. Thus--Amieisms. We actually wrote many of them down they were so funny. She actually wrote some down too in the second grade. I was surprised we did not get a phone call on her Three Little Pigs story. I swear I did not read the story with calling the pigs sluts. I did not. She added that.

Here goes...the age 55 version of 55 things I learned this decade:

btw--I will not have 100; I may not live long enough to type that many out!

1.) Broke up with a psycho friend.
2.) Made a new psycho friend and went to work for her.
3.) Learned that's not a bright idea.
4.) Retired from high school. Did my 30 years-woohoo!
5.) Moved my parents into their new apartment in Houston--literally--it is a thankless job.
6.) Lived in their house to sell it for 6 months.
7.) Found out how to clean a house after old people have lived there. One word - commercial strength acid.
8.) Lived on my "own" for the first time.
9.) Saw the true colors of certain family members...and they weren't pretty.
10.) Learned that a lot of people can be very sweet and helpful.
11.) Learned what my parents neglected to teach me about extended family.
12.) Learned how to list a house.
13.) Learned how to stage a house.
14.) Learned how to close on a house.
15.) Learned that if I drank enough and often enough, that things still don't look any better.
16.) Discovered who my true family is.
17.) Learn more about Alzheimer's than anyone should have to know without an MD.
18.) Realized that family can be very two-faced.
19.) Learned how to talk to anyone who would listen about Alzheimer's symptoms.
20.) I saw prescription drugs for the first time as a help and not a bad thing.
21.) Learned that your personal health can be damaged by the drinking too much and weird eating habits (ie: wine and chocolate are not good for stress and digestion--sorry to have to tell you).
22.) Irritable bowel syndrome...ugh.
23.) Learned the cure for IBS is anti depressants.
24.) Learned the antidepressants cure a lot more than IBS!
25.) Learned that my hubby can clean a house and live on his own.
26.) Learn my hubby will not clean a house as long as I am available and in town.
27.) Learned to love Highway 6.
28.) Learned to 'blog' and I still don't 'get' it.
29.) Learned to turn off devices that keep me in contact 24/7.
30.) Learned that I need very little (and I mean very little) to live.
31.) Discovered that I REALLY liked living by myself!
32.) Drank a lot of red wine thinking it would help my digestion.
33.) Realized that it was basically causing my IBS.
34.) Discovered Facebook.
35.) Realized that I don't like Facebook.
36.) Went Nursing Home hunting for the first time.
37.) Eventually learned what a good day is.
38.) First time I became friends with myself.
39.) Learned how to scrapbook and make cards.
40.) Learned I have an addictive personality.
41.) Learned that if you leave your emotions unattended they will create physical problems.
42.) Realized that teaching was my passion--after I retired.
43.) Realized that nothing could really prepare you for life after high school -- as in retired.
44.) Developed the awesome skill of listening to people while having thoughts of their stupidity at the same time--this is a skill--trust me.
45.) Realized that you can't really know what it is like to be called a Senior until it happens at Walmart.
46.) Discovered that it really didn't matter because apparently I am older than I thought.
47.) Although, I did not look as bad as some old people--see post about reunion.
48.) Learned that if you make friends who only care about themselves you will need antidepressants.
49.) Learned that if you put lotion on your hands they will look somewhat younger.
50.) Discovered that it doesn't.
51.) Had my lotion-y hand hand photographed--reality check.
52.) Never sang enough until I was alone--I love singing!
53.) Realized that if I had 2 drinks in me, I was an awesome conversationalist.
54.) Learned that if I had 3 drinks in me, I was no longer an awesome conversationalist, but I still thought I was.
55.) Realized that cleaning/painting walls for 5 hours straight for 7 days a week really did help fight off that pesky old lady weight.

Regifting...we need a system!

2009-12-28T15:39:00.004-06:00

I still am not really good at coming here. I do have some very nice people at SCS that remind me to do it, so, for them, I am updating. You know who your are and I thank you for reading!

My life has been very tranquil lately and I love that. I know in the next few months it will get hectic due to the wedding!!! Yes! My baby girl is getting married in Vegas in September. Now, before you go all cheesy on me, I have to tell you there is not one Elvis impersonator around the hotel she chose. We did see one Michael Jackson wanna-be but no Elvis in the hotel. He was on the street singing with a sad PA system. It was very cheesy. However, the wedding is very upscale and at the Mandalay Bay.

Amie and I took a trip to check out all the venues and we had a very good time in Vegas. The last 15 years have changed the place. Some of the questionable things are still there but the hotel where we stayed was great. Somehow during this trip I got talked into $600 worth of face cream but when everyone around you has that OMG look on their face after it is applied, well, you just have to.

I got to cash in a $99.20 ticket off the penny slots at Mandalay Bay. I introduced Amie to the penny slots--we were penny slot and food floozies the whole time. Oh, and the food in Vegas has changed dramatically! It was 5 star dining everywhere. I have yet to get back on the scales.

We got home 3 days before the family get together. It was my step-daughter and her family, Amie and her fiance whom I do not have permission from to name him so we will call him Apple Pear. Because that is how I remembered his name in the beginning...really it works! The family thing was great and $200 worth of food later we called it a night. I had enough food for the entire city so I sent lots home with the kids. They seemed to enjoy the gifts and we got a gift card to go eat at any Pappa's restaurant. I am telling you that I am just this close to being sick of food. Right after I spend that gift card!

Which brings me to the title of regifting. There needs to be a system and I think I have it figured out. I may be posting it for all to use. There should be rules for receiving (intake) and giving (output). I know businesses must have a system so duplicate orders are not sent. We need a system, I tell you! So, I am giving the rules I have learned thus far:

1. When you get a gift that you know will be a regift, immediately apply a Post-it with who gave it to you and when. This will be important later.

2. Store all gifts according to who may like it. ie: If I get a scarf from Amie's future in-laws that Apple Pear might like I need to remember that his parents will be seeing Apple Pear soon. Do not regift that to him.

3. Likewise, do not regift within the year. If I received say...Oh, I don't know, a cha chi from my sister for my birthday then be sure to note that the next birthday is the earliest it can be regifted. and, don't send it back to the giver.

4. Take off all price tags. Especially if you are regifting to another city...they will figure that out.

Those are the first things that come to mind. I am not saying it happened this year, it was a thought I had. I am not having to many since I have been on the antidepressants for my stomach issues so I am happy to share this one with you!

I have been so lazy

2009-11-27T10:58:00.002-06:00

I know I need to update this...so I am posting this little bit of info.

First, Thanksgiving was a slam dunk on the diet; I lost 1 1/2 pounds. How? By having a stomach issue--again--but this time it is a bug or virus or some other medical thing. So I am thankful that it is over (somewhat) and I stayed on my diet!

Second, I only have 29 more pounds to go! That is so much better than 46 to go; that was a downer every day to face. Twenty-nine seems like, what... like what you gain at Thanksgiving!!!

Third, I have no news on Mom's condition but I do have more thoughts I need to put down on paper. I will be doing that soon. My daughter and I have been to see her and it was uneventful on the visit. Life, however, has been eventful! And "Mary not my sister" reminded me today that I have thins thing! I had kinda' forgotten about it and I shouldn't. Why? Cause I have 2 whole followers!

The journey day 2...

2009-10-27T11:42:00.003-05:00

This is where it usually ends for me. In the past I have had stomach cramps, gotten the gripes, hollered at the world and then just went to Sonic. Today, that is not going to happen. It seems things have changed, not only in my mind, but in my metabolism. Thank God! I am not hungry, under-eaten (I know, not good--word and action!) and have energy. Hmmm, how about that?

Now I need to add the exercise and dag nab it--the rain stopped. My excuse has dried up--lol--get it? dried up? I guess, if I have to, I will go put on the shoes and get out of here. Why do I hate this part so much lately? It is just one big dread. I have to get over myself, huh? I can't let this be the end because this was never the reason I stopped before.

Maybe I will walk to Sonic...it is just down the street. There and back is 1/2 mile.....I think that is one small ice cream cone.

A New Journey

2009-10-26T09:04:00.004-05:00

Latest up date on Mom: She is still hanging on but weaker every day. My daughter, Amie, and I went Oct. 9 to see her in Houston. I am not positively sure she knew either of us but she tried.

Latest on my health: The doctors asked me to wait 6 months before changing much of anything to see how the medications are working. It has been 4 months today without much of a problem. I have had 4 really bad nights and it was my fault as I did not know that I cannot eat peanut butter and dark chocolate, drink orange juice or gin and tonic (s) (note the (s)!) . At least milk chocolate is not on the list!

Which brings me to today--a new journey begins. I am on a diet and announcing it to my 2 followers. There, I said it out loud so it has to be. Larry is on it too and I know he will probably lose 10 pounds by lunch. That is the most aggravating thing about us going on diets together. Men can just drink water for 3 days and drop 50 pounds. Old women just gain their loss for them. This time I am ignoring him totally. It is my diet and he is just to lazy to cook so he has to eat the food. That is how I am looking at this thing.

I am doing the Scarsdale diet. It is well balanced and the food is really good. It is the old version of a Southbeach type diet and it is the 6 small meals a day I am suppose to eat for the hernia. The eating will work; it is the exercise that I have forgotten how to do. I can walk (doctors' only release so far-no weights--hernia) but there is a problem. Dallas is in the middle of 40 days and 40 nights of rain. It is not an excuse, just a fact. While cleaning the other day, I found my step for aerobics and all that yoga stuff I bought. It was kind of dusty but it still will work. It will not work by itself; I have to use it. So, I will.

There I have said that out loud too...I will cut calories and work out.

I feel doomed because so far not one thing has worked in the last 4 years. In two weeks of other diets, I gained 10 pounds and then given up in a state of depression. I have not even tried to lose weight since I have new medications (for IBS but it is an anti-depressant!) so we will see. I am not expecting to see any results on the scales which is not such a bad thing.

Ben Franklin said that--expect nothing and when you see results you will be pleasantly surprised. You know, Ben could stand to shed a few pounds too. He must have been using my old diets.

Make 35 your last...

2009-10-25T16:35:00.004-05:00

I have a new perspective on life. It came from my husband's 45th high school reunion. He seemed so excited to go when the e-vite came. First, he wasn't sure what an e-vite was and second, he actually paid for something on line which was a first. He was very excited and kinda' cute as he proceeded to A) attempt to diet so he could be in his old high school running form (120 pounds--yeah, sure) and B) pick out his clothes a week before to make sure they fit from gaining 10 pounds on the diet.

Last night was the night. I have to admit I was excited because it was going to be a a revamped motor inn from the 40's and the chef is suppose to be good (uh, he was not). The re-do is a retro upscale thing so I really wanted to check it out for a couple of reasons which I cannot mention just yet. (think here comes the bride) Within days of the event Larry received an update to the e-vite which he did not read but I did--we were going to be by the pool. At night. In October. So far, I was a little hesitant but it was ok. Turns out no, it wasn't. Here's why: old people by a pool with no lights at night. Mix in the liquor and, well, you get the picture.

We arrive with barely a hiccup in Larry's GPS...he goes with what he knew in 1964. As we approach the hotel, he takes a left onto a side street. Let's just say the area is in big rehab and the street was a little scary.

I asked why we did not park at the hotel and he says, "Look, all those old people are parking here so this must be the place." No, it was a restaurant.

"The walk will do me good", I thought. It would, had it only been that short as I was in 3 inch, but cute, heels.

At the restaurant he says, "Huh this is not a hotel"

"ya' think?"

So off we trek another block only to find that the motor inn is on a big old steep hill. In 3 inch heels. As we go in the reception area, the girl asked if we were with the reunion. Why, yes we are and where is it? At the pool. Larry's reaction was that of shock as apparently he did not read the email since it looked just like the first one and he was confused. Off we go out the door where a youngish man asks if I would like to ride in the golf cart. I look all around me to see to whom he was referring...it was me. I asked him how old did I look and told him I just made it up that hill. Hah! Ride to the pool! Indeed sir, I can walk! He neglected to tell me it was a 1/4 of a mile down a steep hill. In 3 inch heels.

Off we go and it become apparent that many were taking the cart. Larry actually said "Where are all those old people going?" To the pool, honey and you are one of them. Add it up: 45+18=64. We get there in less than an hour and he gets our name tags. The woman working the tags forgot to alphabetize them before she hit print so that took about 15 minutes. I stood to the side to watch the carts empty and the food cart unload. We had followed the food cart down and watched the rolls roll right off the tray--no saran wrap here! And, I saw the waitress pick them up off the bed of the truck and put them back on the tray. *note to self--get a roll from the bottom*

It is dusk and a really beautiful 40's style Hollywood pool. As we entered, I really got the whole picture. This was going to be really funny. I could tell by the 5 old men lined up in the pool chairs, by the pool, swatting mosquitos. One was telling of his story of his hip replacement, another talking at the same time was telling of his cataract surgery, and a third was saying "what'd you say ?" and cupping his ear. Then I saw the beautiful view; it was a gorgeous view of Downtown Dallas all lit up. Apparently, this was the ambient lighting for this affair. We had pool lights, a few Christmas lights on a fence, the light from the concession stand now bar area, and the downtown lights. Let's just say it was dark. 'Cause it was.

As the lady in the walker came in, Larry says in his usual festive demeanor which is 3 decibels too loud "Who the hell are these old farts?" Why sweetie, they are you! Walker lady makes it to the grass area and stops dead in her tracks. Not really dead, just came to a complete stop due to the fact that we had just had over 14 inches of rain in the last 2 months and the ground was a little soft. She was sinking. Really. I cannot make this stuff up. Someone came to her rescue and parked her at a table of which there were 4. For 120 people. The side walk was not much better. It was the old style--the kind with a block of concrete and a 4 inch strip of grass between. Perfect for tripping old people in the dark. Old guy #1 gets up so I get a chair and Larry brings me a beer with the W-T-H? look on his face. I just smile as the dutiful, yet youngest person there, wifely smile. He puts me in charge of the Off bug repellent. I am not kidding. I was the official sprayer. Of course, he thought he was being nice when he gave me a little spray--right in my mouth.

I am really hoping this chef is something good; he is suppose to be. Let's leave at, he is not. Alice, the wife of classmate and Larry's best friend Sam, sits by me to eat. I had eaten a little nosh at 4ish so I wasn't really that hungry yet. Alice takes a bite and proceeds to do a cartoon spit on the grass. She asking what the heck she put in her mouth, it was suppose to be guacamole, what is that--so I try it. Now I am cartoon spitting everywhere. It was not guacamole. It was green, I saw that go in so I know is was a little darker than avocado--but he is suppose to be an avant garde chef. What it was is this:

5 pounds of basil

3 pound of garlic

1 tablespoon of soured (I mean as in old) cream

Puree the hell out of it and pretend it is a dip. It is not. I smelled it and then tasted what I imagine cow poop would taste like. I am beginning to think this was not going to be the night of nights here. I go get another beer to get the taste out of my mouth. It took 4.

I can't find Larry anywhere. It is so dark and all these old guys are coming up to me only to bend down and stare at my left breast trying to see the name tag in the dark. Really. They did. It got to be the running joke of the night. Old women's breasts never get as much looking as they did last night. Yea! I found him. He is near the food so I decide to get my plate from the buffet. I avoid the green gunk. I go for a roll at the bottom which I think did not touch the maintenance truck bed. I load up on the chopped beefy looking stuff (in the dark it was kinda' black and had a sterno so I thought it was meat) and look to see a garden salad (no forks) and some cheese cubes from Sam's. So far, I am not so impressed with the guy.

One bit of the whatever mystery meat was and I do the cartoon spit again and head for the trash barrel...it is full of the same thing with one bite out of it. I know I am not the only one who does not have a palate for meat shreds with ketchup and hickory liquid smoke poured over it.

I drank wine for the main course at $10 a glass--pardon me--plastic cup.

So, to sum it up, we had a beautiful view with no lights, plenty of mosquitos, non-edible food, in the dark, by the pool. I did get my boob looked at so I guess it was a trade off. I went to my sister's 35th reunion last summer. It was great. I learned this last night--35th should be the last. It should be a law. Or, someone who actually lives in town should plan the thing. Not everything done on the 'net is a good thing as I learned while leaving last night. She was so proud of herself; you had to thank her for her planning. She did it all on line and this was so high tech to everyone. Some things are best left to real life. Like tasting the food before serving it....

2009-09-15T16:20:00.002-05:00

My sister and I sent emails back and forth composing these....I found them today while cleaning the computer.

The Rules for Aging Gracefully

1. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment by expecting more than you deserve for living life. Expect nothing - be surprised at something!

2. Judge not lest ye be judge.

3. Don’t look for faults in others; the faults always surface without your help.

4. Laugh at yourself first: beat everyone else to the punch!

5. Give thanks everyday for what you have. No need to gripe over what you don’t have - go get it!

6. Overlook what others “overlook”.

7. You are not neglected. You elect to be neglected.

8. Ask yourself occasionally out to dinner. Would you say “yes” to the date? If you don’t want to go out with yourself, then why would others? Try to honestly figure out why others do not want to associate with you.

9. Don’t wait for life events to happen again. You cannot recreate life events. Don’t try; it won’t be the same.

10. Face reality: some things are never accomplished. Let them go.

11. Foolish actions do not make you youthful: they make you foolish.

12. Testimonials to your greatness are really eulogies .

13. Have a ministry. Don’t brag about it because then it is not a ministry.

14. Have a hobby that is for one person to do alone.

15. Let others in your life have as much independence as you want to have. Adults do not need parents.

16. Do not parent other’s children. You had your chance.

17. Life stories are only funny to you and the person in the story. Others were not present and don’t get it.

18. Contemptuous attitudes breed additional contemptuous attitudes.

19. Keep a day planner. Write down schedules and important events. Life is too short to forget stuff.

20. No one owes you anything. You owe life everything.

21. Do it today~you may not have tomorrow.

22. Retire from work~not life.

23. Regrets you may have about life are not final. Events can have a do over - except childbirth.

24. Don’t try to recreate the “good times”. Recreate the attitude that brought the good time on!

25. Frugality is one thing~depravation another.

26. If you expect respect form others, then they deserve a good example of it!

27. The best inheritance you can give your children is a peaceful life of their own.

28. Don’t live 1 year 80 times. Live 80 years!

29. Listen. You aren’t through learning.

30. If you are through learning, then why are you still around? Do you have a purpose? Do you have a desire? If so great. If not, get one!

Blood Sugar Friends

2009-08-27T09:56:00.002-05:00

Now I know that I have issues. That was proven yesterday. The bad news is that I nearly passed out due to my own stupidity and the good news is there are several new friends in my life.

For starters, I have to tell you that I have an addiction. Yes, I am powerless over it. I love a bargain to the point of not eating for hours just to stand in the check out line. There is a very good and very cute shop closing in a town 30 miles from my house. Yesterday was the first day of a 75-80% off closing sale. I have never been first in line for that! I was so excited to get there 15 minutes after she opened only to find that the line for checking out was completely around the shop. I kept thinking by the time I get in line it will be really short! The only thing was that the air conditioning was broken. Sure, it was 90 degrees inside, but I am a trooper!

Wrong. I get in line at 11:15. I remember looking at a clock because I knew I should have something to eat in just a couple of hours or I would feel the effects of low blood sugar. Also, my blood pressure has dropped to an all time low again - 90/50 - so I knew I had to eat something soon. What checkout line could ever take more than say, what 30 minutes? There were some really nice ladies from Oklahoma (Brenda, Suzanne (lives in LA now), and Susan) and one from Coppell (Denise) on either side of me. Naturally, I was talking to them. I would talk to the water fountain if I am standing in line.

So, at 3:00 (no, that is not a typo), I start to get very nauseous. I am trying to hold it together. I asked the ladies in line if they would watch my stuff so I could get some air. Then, the dry heaves start and I know that will make the hernia explode. I try to get some food but in a small town lunch is over at 2...period. Finally, some angel from the store who is helping out, walks by and I think I must have paled out completely. I tried to talk but I knew I was incoherent. She came back with just a couple of bites of chicken they had behind the register. I was shaking so hard that I could not get hold of the dang thing. She hauls me back to the only part of the building that has air conditioning (did I mention that it was a 100 degree day? Inside, with hundred of hot ladies and screaming children it had to be 95.) and tells me to sit. I keep trying to get up, I think, because she is becoming very emphatic. Turns out, she has nurse's training and recognized the symptoms.

So, I sit and try to eat like a dog because I cannot get the food to my mouth. Then I tried to take a drink with the shakes. That part I remember the best because I saw the tea come out of the glass and I caught it with the glass. After about 20 minutes I was normal again but I had sweated off all my make up, and those that know me, know that I do not appear in public without my make up. Did I care? No, I got back in that line and waited until 4:00 to check out with my bags of goodies! I was a trooper and a super shopper! 4 1/2 hours to checkout for a one hour shopping event.

It was only $121 (saved $336-woohoo!) and one nearly comatose wait to save a tremendous amount of money. Immediately after I leave the sweltering building , the cafes on the square of Celina are now open for dinner. I ate about half of a hamburger (I know what not to order next time-way over done) and the best onion rings ever. The bill was a whopping $5.25. Earlier in the day, the owner of Lucy's Cafe (I had one of their daughter's in class) brought 5 gallons of the best iced tea ever over for the 'standees' at the scrap book store. For free; they are going to miss her. I tried to pay him for the tea but he refused the money. I told him I would get the money to him somehow. I left the girl $12 for the bill. Hah! I showed him!

Rambling and Funeral Folders

2009-07-30T19:02:00.002-05:00

Today was spent making and embossing the folders for my Mother's funeral, whenever it may be.

I hope no one thinks this is morbid, and I know it is, but Alzheimer's is a horrible thing to watch. You have no idea when the patient will go, so you just plan for every contingency. We learned that the hard way over the past 6 years. My sister and I planned a lovely funeral. Poor old dad thought by paying for the funeral it was all done. My uncle (the priest) is suppose to do the service and no one could get the order of service from my father...argh! So, after about 2 minutes of being nasty, my sister and I got his wishes on paper. And, he does not want to see it. But, I must say, we did a bang up job. I spent the afternoon doing my part.

We decided to do a black folder (gate fold for all you crafters out there) and the middle will have removable card stock with pictures of my mother's progression through life (no Alzheimer pics!) matted on pink card stock. Those pictures of the 50's are really good of her. She was beautiful.

Eleanor Rose McGowan-circa 1958

The folder is embossed (I did 17 of them--we don't expect any more at the service) with a pale pink glittery rose and a sweet saying about memories are beautiful pictures that nothing can ever erase.

The order of service ( the daughters and granddaughters {there are 4 and 4-no boys} are doing a rose ceremony smack dab in the middle of it. Her middle name is Rose) is on one flap and direction to the luncheon (her favorite bakery since childhood) on the other all tied up with gorgeous pink and black ribbon. Funerals in the south are a big deal and are always with a lot of pomp, circumstance, hymns and food!

Today, my mother did not want to (and did not) get out of bed. Her B/P is 85/40 and she has stopped eating this past month. They are giving her an Ensure and water but they will not force feed her due to the stricture in her esophagus.

We have no idea how long it will be and, with this horrid disease, you have no time frame. Ever. On anything. All you can control is the plan and the contingency plan. Still, that doesn't always go according to plan. The fact is the planning saves your sanity.

Father, Uncle & Niece

2009-07-18T09:42:00.003-05:00

Thursday was another one of those dreaded, yet eye opening, days in my life. My uncle called and wanted to stop by my house for a visit. The dread (and should he read this-finish before you judge Uncle Dick!) was the simple fact that I was led to believe something totally untrue about relatives. The "eye opening" was the profound effect this visit had on my being, my soul, and my heart.

For those of you not from the 50's, visiting is an age old tradition. You call and make a plan to drop by for a face to face visit. In the south, we do not do that without food. It is kind of like high tea only it is usually in the morning. The spread can be small, but, I live in Texas. Nothing but overdone is acceptable. So, in my finest Southern Lady traditions, I over do with a perfect brunch. Quiche (home made of course), fresh fruit, cheese and crackers, cookies, and beverages. I had at least 3 beverages ready, just in case. One was Mimosas. Alcohol in the a.m. is another southern tradition I love.

So my uncle, who has never set foot in my house in the 11 years I have owned it, comes to visit. Wait a minute, my uncle has never visited any of my houses in my first or second marriage! Come to think of it, none of my relatives on my father's side has ever had the invitation nor asked to visit that I know of. That fact was one I had ignored until Thursday afternoon. I found out there is good reason they never asked and I never invited. It all has to do with Elly.

My mother, bless her heart, was not one to give credit for things that were right if she was in the wrong. Let me explain. My mother was in the wrong about people and motives A LOT. She led me (and my sisters) to believe that all relatives were notorious, and, you can take you pick here: thieves, ner' do wells, gossips, back-stabbers, money hungry, fame hungry, arrogant, sons of ...well, you get the idea. During the visits she was gracious, I guess, but before they got there and after they left, we heard all about their faults. I mean, down to the number of times they did, or did not, use a napkin. The whole entire visit thing made me believe that the only time relatives (and friends) come over is simply because they want something. Yes, they do want something. They want to visit. It has taken 45 years to change my mind on this one.

Nowadays, I think people text and blog entirely too much. In real life meetings you get the innuendo. Texts and blogs are simply Christmas news letters to me. Hmmm, what I am doing now?? I consider this more of a diary. If people are reading it, great. I hope I can help them by reading it. Maybe I can give insight into a child of the 50's learning to cope with the new way of life's moral compass. Maybe some one else has a skewed view of the world. Just maybe it helps me get through the weirdness of my up bringing. Maybe I can get past the fact that relatives don't want anything from me; maybe, simply, they want to care about me.

Back to the Uncle Dick visit...he gets to my house and we sit for 1 1/2 hours and visit. Let me rephrase that...Uncle Father Dick talks. I was so enjoying his ramblings that I interrupted little. He has many for my father's mannerisms and the timber of his voice is very similar. He is a priest (a Jesuit) so he can hold an audience. He had a couple of stories about my mother that simply put me in a head vacuum. Nope, not a spin, but a vacuum. I simply could not compute what he was saying with what I had heard over the last 55 years. He was portrayed to be something of a, well, head strong arrogant sumpin' not nice. My uncle, the priest, is very nice. He is forgiving and gentle. He is kind and nice. He is something I lost in my childhood and that makes me so sad.

One of the the things he spoke of was that he and my mother exchanges cassette tapes for a very long time. Like 20 years. I would also put in there reel to reels since cassettes were not invented the whole time they exchanged conversations. The reason this shut me up for the remainder of the visit was that my mother barely could get his name out without seething most of the time. The impressions she left on me literally scarred my view of my uncle. He was not at all what she had said. I had the exact opposite impression of the what the man really is in my mind. Yes, he is like the rest of the McGowan men; he loves to talk. But these men are not stupid. They actually are very intelligent and have stuff to say. Granted, like any man, they can go on and on--wait, isn't that what I am doing here??

Father / Uncle Dick will be presiding at my mother's funeral. He needed some information that I could not give him. My father cannot talk about the sequencing of the funeral to his daughters. He just chokes up. I asked my uncle to do a few things and one was that he spend some alone time and get this sorted out with my father-his older brother. My uncle has had many end of life dealing lately. He helps priests in their final days. He took care of my grandfather until his death at age 100 1/2. My Uncle Dick knows how to handle the living relatives of the dying. I pray he can help my father come to accept the inevitable. I know he can.

I used to dread the visits. Maybe it was what my head heard all those years with my mother. After Thursday, I really looking forward to them. Maybe it is the new medication I am on for the IBS. (Anti-depressants are the cure for IBS. That makes no sense to me but it is the third time I have been led to the things. I get the hint. I need them. ) Maybe it is that I am more open to people. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a gift from God. I chose to believe it was a gift. Thanks God. I needed that.

Ventures Into The Unknown

2009-06-11T08:39:00.002-05:00

As life goes on we have a new problem. I do believe that my father is trying to make up for time lost. He is doing this by taking my mother out on errands. This is not a smart idea but what can you do? He is a stubborn man.

The last few adventures go something like this: Dad gets mother 'dressed'; we have learned not to leave the best stuff at the nursing home because they wash everything in hot, very hot water and bleach. Then, he wheels her down to the lobby and leaves her sitting out front. This is ok since she cannot get out of the wheelchair. Dad drives up and tries to maneuver her into the car. Remember, she cannot stand on her own and, even though she is not fat, she is dead weight. And, can't walk. So, they do the dead weight shuffle to the car and he plops her down hoping she hits the seat. I am think the odds are at least 50-50 that she hits cushion. He is 85 and not as strong a he used to be with a bad knee and back. It is the crippled leading the mindless. After he gets her legs in and seat belt buckled, off they go to the barbershop which is 1 mile away. Of course, that is a 20 minute drive for him. When they arrive, the procedure starts all over again. He gets her inside and his haircut lasts 15 minutes. Here we go again to the bank!

Finally, after 3 months of doing this he decides she is too heavy. So, he does the first lift and plop and now leaves her in the car! While he does the errand-she sits in the car, in Houston, in 90 degree weather. He is doing drive by visits to my sisters. He drives up and they come to the car. Why you ask? He is lonely, I guess. All I know is the place where she lives is air conditioned, they have organized activities, and they change the diapers. You gotta' be desperate for company to take her out.

We have tried to get him to go do something, anything, but each time he finds fault with the program. He does laundry and that is the highlight of the day. I am guessing there must be lively conversation in the laundry room or some cute young thing in cut-offs. I have to poke my mind's eye out over the last one.

The Great Beyond

2009-05-01T07:40:00.002-05:00

Ch. 25

Dad wants to preplan a funeral for Mom. She is now on palliative care and that means the end could come at any time. It could be right this minute and it could be 2 years from now. You never know with Alzheimer’s. We all have learned one thing - planning is the best route with this. Have a plan for everything. Everyday is different with this disease and the one thing you can depend on is your plan. Plan what to say, plan what to do, plan how to give a bath, plan the meals that work, plan a contingency plan. It is the only thing you can control.

Once again to Houston I go. It is now late March and the last time I saw Mom was November. In there, I got a horrible flu and then had some liver thing going on (see previous chapter for outcome) so I was not going to go infect the world. I went to see Mom first thing and she looked really good. For just a brief second there, I nearly packed her bags to take her home. She had 10 minutes of the most lucidity I had seen in 20 years. I mean uncanny. Let me explain...

When I walked on to her floor, she had seen me first and recognized me! I was shocked and thrilled. She has a new habit of hitting her left thigh over and over when she can’t find the words or feels frustrated. I have seen my autistic students do this and so I knew she wanted to communicate with me. Yippee! A good day!

I take her from the main television room to her room for some privacy. She is frail and gaunt but her color is great. (I have posted a picture of that day.) Her broken collarbone is really visible and there is no hiding it anymore. She cannot sit up straight and I do believe she has had a stroke. But on palliative care, that is not treated or rehabilitated. She can barely string 3 words together. All of a sudden she has an episode. That is what I called it when my students would seizure. She was a little spacey and I sat back quietly and waited. If God was going to take her right now, so be it. I let the episode continue. Then, after about 5 minutes, she says my name! It was a little Three Faces of Eve-ish. You old people know--the movie about the personalities? The first time in one full year she has said my name. She sits straight up. Supposedly she can’t do this and I am a little confuse. She leans forward. She raises her right hand--the bad “gone” right arm-- goes right out to me. I am a little freaked out. Here is the conversation...

Mom: Linda, you are my daughter right?

Me: Yes, I am.

Mom: I have 3 (she is actually indicating with 3 fingers from the ‘gone’ hand) daughters (now she is slapping the 3 fingers in the other palm) that take care of me, right?

Me: Yes, Mom are you ok?

Mom: Yes, I am. I am here because I am sick but I am better right now. Do I have another daughter?

Me: Yes, you do.

Mom: She left me. She does not take care of me. Why did she leave me?

Me: (thinking she is miraculously cured and where are those bags-shoot we don’t need them let’s go) Mom, I don’t know but she left all of us. We won’t leave you.

Mom: That Mr. Mr.--- (I say McGowan) Yes, that Mr. McGowan loves me and he takes care of me.

Me: Yes, he does.

Mom: Now my oldest daughter does not, right?

This goes on for another 3 or 4 minutes. Finally she says, “You have to go to Mary’s. You can take me back out there.” Outside the door of her room a new patient to me asks who I am and my mother introduces me. Literally, introduces me as her girl and mentioned that I love her. It is an Easter miracle right her in Houston, Texas. I am thinking that was the best thing ever! I talk a little on the 10 foot roll to the television room. By the time I get her there she is beating her leg again and cannot even get good bye out.

Weird, huh? You never know when and where with Alzheimer's that the words come and a thought is produced and articulated. You learn to remember those moments. They are like watching a child walk for the first time--precious.

The next morning Dad and Carolyn come over in his still new to me car. It is March 23, the day before my daughter’s birthday and the day of Mom’s mother’s funeral. We plan mother’s funeral in a short time and make a plan to go to Hubbard to finalize and choose a casket. It was an oddly peaceful day with beautiful weather. The conversation was pleasant and not one bit of tension.

The plan was that in a week we would all meet in Hubbard, Texas at the funeral home for the last phase of planning and to pick plot in the town cemetery. Things happen, Dad got the flu delaying the trip and Mary could not go on the new day chosen. On the day of the meeting, my trip down was the worst 2 1/2 hours for a 100 mile drive ever. The exits for 25 miles were closed and I had to go 40 miles out of the way to get there. I had the “unknown to me” bleeding ulcer thing going on and looked like hell feeling like hell too. The whole thing would have been done in 30 minutes if Dad had not had to tell “stories” unrelated to anything. The funeral director was a great guy and let him ramble for 2 1/2 hours. The hardest part for Dad was choosing a casket. It was easy for Carolyn and me. The first one in the casket room was a French Provençal, pink lined job that reminded me of her “Caddilac Car”, as she called it. It has roses embroidered on it. It was perfect.

The planning is all done for now. Now is the wait on death to end this disease. What does the future hold for us and others dealing with this disease? We don’t know. Will Alzheimer’s be cured in the future? We think so. How long will our parent’s live? We don’t know. Have we forgotten how to laugh? God, I hope not!

Excuse my irreverence to this nasty, old disease. It is too serious to be taken lightly and I don’t. Spend your time finding the endearing qualities of each day. Let go. And--

Don’t forget to remember.

The end ~

for this moment.

It’s Not All Fun On The Downhill Slide

2009-04-30T10:40:00.006-05:00

Ch. somewhere in the twenties

It is Thanksgiving, 2008, and Mom’s birthday is the 25th of the month. Some years her birthday actually falls on Thanksgiving. This is not one of those years. I am in Houston for the big celebration-ice cream cake and coffee at Mary’s house in the morning. I have not seen Mom in about 6 months so I am prepared to see someone a little weaker. I hope no one heard the gasp I let escape as she was rolled into the house. Did I do that out loud? I hope not. Not that mom would mind but I don’t want the rest of the family to know . They see her almost daily. They don’t see how far she has deteriorated.

When you have to go months without seeing someone with late-stage Alzheimer’s, it is a little shocking. My daughter, Amie is with us in Houston. She is the first grandchild, the blessed one, the anointed one. She is so close to her Gramma and Paw-Paw. I am a little worried about her. She amazes me with her grace. She is not shocked and is an absolute doll with her grandparents. I do find a comfort in that. Today will not be so bad, maybe.

As mother is rolled into the house, I am very concerned as to her body temperature. She is freezing cold to the touch. Dad is not so gentle with the wheelchair. I am not sure if he is angry that she can’t walk or just does not know how to use it properly. I have pushed more than my fair share of students around the schools but I am not sure he has ever touch one-ever. Obviously he has a learning curve going on when he tries to get the thing over the porch step. All I can use to describe this is OUCH. Man. That had to hurt or break something!

Mom cannot even support her weight and she is thin, so very thin. And frail. And lost. Completely lost. We have a nice visit but she is really confused and is not sure where she is. She cannot use a fork at all. She smiles and laughs. She tries to keep up with the conversation but soon she is completely exhausted and we begin the trek in the chair to the car.

Again OUCH. And what!??! A new car?!!? For Dad? When did this happen? I ask Carolyn what happened to the old car and she literally disappears. I look around and she is driving off in her car. Odd. Why didn’t she answer me?

We still have no explanation as to the money fiasco and no apology. Now it seems that he has bought a car with no explanation to me or Mary. He does not have to explain anything to us. It would be nice, though not needed. The money is his and he can do with what he wants. The deal is this, Mary and I worked really hard to make the guy have this much money. A little warning that he spent a large amount would be nice. That’s all.

After they leave, I ask Mary directly about the car and the money. She lets me know that the main account is only a couple of hundred dollars and she has no idea where the money has gone. I guess it is either none of our business or I have to get the monkeys out. I love the Wizard of Oz but I love the movie the best. When that wicked witch sends those monkeys on a mission, she means business. I wish I had monkeys. I have to do everything myself. I just don’t want to have to get ugly with people. Why do they make you get ugly with them? Just pacify me with a good lie and I will be happy.

All this brings me to the realization that I have to let this go. Literally, let the whole caring, concerned daughter routine go. I am making myself worry over nothing that anyone wants to make my business. Why should I care anymore if the old guy spends himself into oblivion? Mom is safe and that was the main purpose of helping them out. If I am not worthy of the time and trouble of explanations about his future and his money, then so be it. I will let it go. It is a matter of a fish stick life. My sister, Carolyn, gets the information and the praise and I get nothing. I get the fish sticks and she gets caviar. Hey, they are both fish byproducts. They just come out of different places on the fish. Maybe fish sticks are just what I need. I can’t afford caviar anyway.

The drive home from Houston is about 5 hours and is a great time to rationalize life and make those decisions of importance. I make more than this decision on the way back to Dallas. Really the whole fish stick thing came up over a bottle of wine with my sister, Mary, and my daughter. Sometimes just getting a little loopy makes the world so much more clear. Anyway, on the drive home I do a lot of thinking while Amie is talking. I have no idea what she said in 5 hours. None. I was in my own little world.

In that place, on that drive I came to more than one conclusion. First, I really am a doormat. Second, I am a wimp, Third, I am stupid-not ignorant but stupid. let me explain....

First, I let people use me all the time. I have people tell me that to my face. They do that by telling me I am so useful to their life and would I mind _____ (fill in any verb) for them? I give them money, I support their jobs, I buy them stuff, I go along with their plans and I really ask very little in return. And, when I do ask for a favor or to go do something with me, they turn me down. It is ok to tell me no. I cannot tell them no. I realize now this is my problem, not theirs. It has been my problem for over 40 years. So, I guess I have to 'own' it.

Second, I am a wimp because I never tell anyone no. I think that my sole purpose on the Earth is to do for others. I guess I believe I am Mother Theresa or Jesus but really I don’t ever do “miracle” work. I just do the mundane ie: take care of the chores for you (my husband), buy stuff from your kid, attend functions which include buying stuff from you or your kid (ie: jewelry I will never wear), work the 15 -20 hour day for $8 and hour so you can go shopping or on vacation, etc. The only way out of this is to take a stand, but, will anyone believe me when I say no to the request? I doubt it very seriously. Why? Because I will cave. I know me.

Third, being ignorant is good. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorant is the absence of knowledge, unknowing. It is excusable. Stupidity is knowing and still doing stuff wrong. I am stupid and I personally hate stupid people. I know that by being a wimp and a doormat I will continue to get treated as such. I am being stupid by continuing this behavior. I will change because I would hate to hate myself.

I decide the first change had to come with my new job. Somewhere in there I had taken a part-time job in an upscale (in price only) gallery on the old square in my city. I watched my sister, Mary, become a whiz at retail and I guess I needed to prove my worth. Being retired is a double edged deal. On the one hand, it is great to know that you have done your thirty years and have a little to live on; on the other hand you get bored and feel a little worthless.

So, I go get this job and told the owners, the original hippies from the 60’s, that I want maybe 15 hours a week. The month of October I worked 135 hours while they went on a 16 day vacation/buying trip to New Mexico and Colorado. I was not scheduled to work that many hours; they just refused to come home and called me in every day. And, I went. By the end of November I realized that a) I hate retail and b) I was being used. Shoot, I would have me come in anytime for $8 an hour. Wish I could hire a yard guy for that amount or even a teenage baby-sitter! I was being a fool. So I quit. Or rather, I tried to quit. I actually had to quit 3 times. Why? Because no one believes me when I say no. The final straw was when the owners asked me to a store meeting after I had said Jan. 1 was my last date working. I had told them I would be an emergency sub for them. They had scheduled me for 8 days in January and February. Finally, I had a chance to use the monkeys and it wasn't pretty. The husband of the owner was pretty petty in his “dismissal” of me. Uh, hello-you can’t fire me ‘cause I quit. I did get an apology letter and another scheduled day if I would be so kind. I was not.

This brings us to the present day. What did all this niceness get me? Bleeding ulcers. Yes, the past 3 months have been sheer pain and torture and I did not know why. Yes, holding all this in and then finally letting it go does one thing, it gives you ulcers. Now, at 55 I finally get it. Life is not about holding things in; it is about letting things go.

Not my Liver! Bleeding Ulcer! WooHoo!

2009-04-28T15:03:00.003-05:00

I finally have and answer to everything. I have a bleeding ulcer somewhere and that is why I am anemic and feel so bad. My wonderful, blessed doctor, Eva Klima, has some magic potion she gave me and figured it all out. Today is the first full day of medication and I really do feel better, just weak.

As soon as I feel a little stronger, I will be posting a couple of new chapters.

The Beginning of The End

2009-04-26T18:32:00.003-05:00

Ch. I am not sure

The whole lawyer experience had made us feel very bittersweet. We knew that Mother was safe for now and the future was grim but safe. Mary and I knew we had lost a sister due to trust issues but that was something we had to come to terms with in the next few months, maybe even years. Dad would probably never understand our side. Carolyn would never feel obligated to explain taking the money and lying to us. However, all told, Mary and I knew we had done right by our parents.

Mary had found the Memory Care place and took Dad on a tour. Within minutes of entering, he said this is the place and signed her up. It was now the end of March, 2008, and there was at least a 30 day waiting period for admittance. All was going so smoothly that it seemed clear that a few more months would not make a difference. Dad had new “tools” to cope and seemed to be more clear in his thinking. He had money in the bank. He would need all the money he could gather as Medicaid would not kick in for at least 6 months. Little did we know that the Fall of 2008 would bring such changes to the economy that it was longer than we expected for the approval process.

Suddenly, without any notice, Dad gets a call and mother is accepted for residency into the facility. It is time. She has to go. It really was time. She could no long walk without a walker and was not doing that well with it. She could not keep food down for any length of time. She was totally incontinent. It was such a physical burden for Dad to even lift her. She smelled. She needed grooming. Men just do not get those things that have to be done on a woman. On top of everything else, Dad needed to move.

The apartment that Dad was living in had the worst landlord ever. He was holed up in his apartment and was not paying bills. The elevator was broken and the second floor residents were stuck unless they were able to maneuver the stairs. The repairs were just not getting done. It was time to go but he had mother to contend with and she could never had made another apartment move. She had only one move move left in her and that needed to be to the facility.

Dad make an event of the day before he takes her. I come to Houston and ‘baby-sit’ while the others go to her new residence. I have mom for the day and she gets her hair done and her nails painted. She goes to the mall to buy new shoes. She gets some new clothes. While I am doing all this with her, Dad, Carolyn and Mary are filling out paperwork and moving furniture and clothes into her new “apartment”. All Dad has to do in the morning is take her there and leave her there. This is much easier planned and said than done.

The next morning he takes her to McDonald’s for breakfast and, of course, she can’t keep it down. After a long drive, he pulls up to the place and takes her in for registration. After that, we have no idea. He never speaks of that day again. I know it must be devastating but it is for her well being. She is finally at her last home.

Before leaving Houston I go to see her in the new place. All is good except she wants to go home. Later that night we find out she has a little upper respiratory thing from the health exam. The nurses (bless them and bind them) have to give her a shot. I am at Mary’s house when we get the call to get over there. She has used the “N Word” to every nurse in the facility. She did not like the shot. Not one bit. For an old frail woman it took 3 nurses to hold her down and one to give the shot.

So, we finally get her settled in the nursing home and I know this sounds weird, but we are not devastated. This is the place she will be until the end. My sisters and I know this is the best for the whole family. I leave with a good, yet forbearing feeling, and return to Dallas.

I get home and all has been good for 3 weeks. Then the bad, yet not unexpected, news hits. The nursing home decides that she needs an upper GI test. She has a problem keeping food down and is extremely bloated in the lower part of her body. Today, my suspicion is confirmed. Stomach cancer. We make a decision today not to do a biopsy.

She is dying of Alzheimer's right now and has been for 15 years. We just did not know what was wrong until 5 years ago. She is in the final and last stage of that disease. Cancer could be a friend at this point. Alzheimer's is so unpredictable with time but cancer is finite. She has absolutely no pain sensation, none; that has been gone for about a year. God has done so many miracles for us in the past 18 months that this too will be a blessing. When His answer is no, a better solution is just around the corner.

So, she goes on a ‘mechanical’ diet; that is basically baby food puree of the normal food served. Mom does well and, in fact, gains a little weight. Her color is good and, except for the fact that she is furious that we left her there, she is doing better than expected. Life is really good for about 6 months . We need the vacation from trauma for a while.

I Slept With Your Husband But I Washed The Sheets.

2009-02-20T11:07:00.002-06:00

Ch. 22

February 19 is an anniversary of sorts. It was the day the light began to shine on this situation. I mean that literally. It was a because of the fluke that my sister Mary did and it was exactly what we needed. Mary has a knack for flukes at just the right time. I guess I should call it Serendipity. That must be my sister’s muse in life. Remind me someday to tell you how she got to be a flight attendant. Serendipity, indeed!

Mary calls me to let me know that she has seen an ad and made an appointment with an Elder Care law firm--but it probability won’t pan out. She is taking mother and Dad to the Veteran’s Administration just to double check the route we think is the only one available to them. And, it is not a good route. We are afraid that Dad will no longer be in control of his finances and the future is glum to say the least. The same week, Mary has set up an appointment with an Elder Care attorney in Houston. The initial visit is $350.00 and we can just see if they qualify for anything and maybe we can do a trust of sorts--a Miller’s Trust to be exact.

I make my trek up Highway 6 once again (3 hours exactly with no traffic) and get all dressed up to go see this lawyer. I have very few hopes as I have done my homework. Mother does not have any money so she will not qualify for a Miller’s Trust. However, Mary has worked hard on this and I will go for her sake. Mary, Carolyn and I sit patiently for 3 hours and tell the lawyer everything we know..and more. She is very pretty and her name is Mary. I am thinking “What a coincidence. Hmm, another coincidence.” I still wasn’t letting the word miracle come into play. Not until we stopped talking.

Mary Molly Dear (her name, I swear I am not making this up) rises from her chair as we finish our question and answer session. As she parts the drapes on a huge window and the most gorgeous morning light pours into the office surrounding her like a halo she says...

“I can help you. Your mother qualifies for Medicaid.”

I swear I hear angels singing. You know that kind of music you hear in commercials with the choir holding a note for a full minute? That is what I heard while looking at a very angelic face surrounding in sunlight. Plain and simple, it was a miracle. A beautiful, uplifting, musical, God sent miracle. Mary, my very proper sister, has only one comment. She makes the following statement to bring me back to reality. She says, in all of her serendipitous glory and ladylikeness, “You have to be shittin’ me.”

It took about 3 second but we all broke out in laughter. We had felt so helpless and doomed just a few hours before. During the meeting, the lawyer gave no indication that we had a leg to stand on to get help. I was ready to pay her $350, have a 3 martini lunch and call it a day. Now, we had a plan. We had hope. The system will for people who worked hard all their life, raised decent kids, and paid into the system. Now they would be taken care of in the twilight of old age. We had a few things to do as far as gathering files to prove where the money had been spent. After the paper work was submitted she did all the rest. She file the Medicaid forms, she goes to the appeals if there are any, she keeps your records updated for life and she has a huge binder with all your new wills and trust documents for you to keep at your house. It was expensive but in the long run the money Dad would make off interest from the sale of the house would pay back the fee in 3 years. But the main thing was, we had no worries. No one could have done anything to make us happier that day. Nothing was going to beat us down anymore.

I decide that since I had the house expenses already that I would pay for the lawyer and Mary treated us all to a steak lunch and great wine. The three of us laughed and joked. This was unusual because we had a tenuous relationship at best with Carolyn. She has a personality that is a tad bit aggressive and bossy. We all have problems from our upbringing but she has issues. However, today we had room in our hearts for anything. We finished lunch and Mary asked us to go see the nursing homes she had found. We looked at the one we knew Dad would say yes to and took a tour. This place was Shangri-La; it was the Cadillac of nursing homes. Mom would love it. Well, as much as anyone would love a nursing home. We learned that for Alzheimer’s it is called Memory Care Facility. You learn really quickly to prepare for the odor in most nursing homes. The odor cannot be helped. It is a fact of life. This place had not one bit of odor. The best part? The mall. It had a mini mall on the lower floor. You could buy anything in the shops. It was all the mall Mom would need.

We depart company and are still enjoy the little buzz of the wine from lunch. I am staying at Mary’s house. When we arrive her husband is there so we tell him the story. Jack has been through so much lately and he looked tired on my last few visits. He is an only child and has just recently place his father in a nursing home and moved his mother into an Assisted Living facility right across the street from their house. All of these things happened within the last 6 months. Mary told him about the day and I saw years come off his face. They are not even his parents but he cared so much. It was so nice to have a big brother. I had never had that feeling before for him but that day, he was a brother to our family. Have I mentioned we have attachment issues?

Jack did put a slight dent in our bubbly high. Had we told Dad? How would he react to this? Crap. Well, Mary and I decided to keep the buzz and we would deal with this tomorrow. We had sort of made a plan for a couple of week later with Carolyn and she was leaving for a trip the next morning. We had time. We thought.

Five am o’clock in the morning: Phone rings-Dad is crying-again-he needs help. Mary and throw a plan together as we realize this cannot wait. She will go sit with Mom while I explain what we had learned to Dad and convince him this is the way to go. It was so much easier than I anticipated. He is not a man to accept help very graciously. However, when he came into Mary’s house, he was a beaten man. He knew he could not do this anymore. He had not slept in days and he was thin as a rail. Within 30 minutes he was convinced and had eaten a sandwich I made for him. Done and done. We called the lawyer for an appointment and made one for the second week in March. I went to relieve Mary with Mom and she went to help Dad get documents together. Another miracle. I wasn’t keeping count yet but knew I needed too. That was two in as many days. What had I done to deserve this?

I leave Houston to do a few repairs in Hewitt. (Highway 6 - 3 hours - with traffic) I would be back on March 11 for the big meeting with the lawyer. I would stay with Mom while Mary and Carolyn go with Dad to the lawyer. I was good with Mom so it was fine with me to not be at the meeting. I was ready to had off the Power of Attorney and I did not live in Houston. I wouldn’t be of much help anyway. Mary had Dad and Carolyn over and they set up files, lots of files, of everything for the big meeting with the lawyer.

They had a busy two days. Things seemed perfect except for one encounter. It was Hmmm moment. That’s all. A moment when Mary walked into a room on a hushed conversation between Dad and Carolyn. All she heard was Dad saying that he “would have to tell Mary”. Tell Mary what? We had no idea and brushed off the incident when Mary called to tell me how the days went. We were all on Cloud 9. Life was excellent. Until the thunderstorm of life. It was a doozie.

The day before I was to drive down, late in the evening, I get a call from Mary. It seems as though $10,000.00 is missing. Why? Carolyn took it. Dad makes this announcement at a pre-meeting with Mom to tell her what is going on with the lawyer. Mom does not have the capacity to understand what we are doing but Dad feels obligated to tell her. During this meeting, it comes out that Mother was pitching a fit because she thought Mary and I were stealing all her “stuff”. She thought that because Carolyn never showed to any of the packing or unpacking of the move. Carolyn had taken her fair share of “stuff” . I helped her load her car after the move to Houston. She drove to Hewitt to get stuff. Over the years, Carolyn had gotten a lot of stuff from them including a college education and 2 cars after she was an adult. We had not.

But all that aside, the kicker was that she and Dad had lied to me and Mary. Mary calmly told her that she had to repay the money. Carolyn’s only addition to the conversation was that she was forced to take the money. She didn’t mean to take the money but she had to. I guess she had to spend it too because she did not have it right then and there to pay back.

This all came out at the lawyer’s office. The lawyer was a little miffed. We, as a group, had sat in her office the week before and Carolyn never mentioned the money, even when asked directly about loans and gifts.

The second kicker to this? Dad was mad at me and Mary for being upset about his deception. I lesson I learned that week was with rainbows you get rain. This was not what I called a miracle. It was an anti-miracle. The answer to the prayer for smooth sailing? It was no. No is not the answer I wanted. Deceptions and deceit when I had not been home in 6 months was not what I wanted. Not one apology for her actions and no explanation was not what I wanted. It was what I got.

The Miracle of Life

2009-02-06T10:26:00.002-06:00

Ch. 21

I make it back to Hewitt to begin the cleaning process and get my parent’s house on the market. I am going to tell you this--yuck. I will not describe any part of what I found. Here is the main problem-my dad is probably legally blind and he is a man. Men do not see the gunk like women do unless it is on a car or in a car engine. Or, in my husband’s case, his golf clubs and guns. Those things shine. The kitchen counter after peanut butter crackers, not so much. Let’s leave it at this: it took 3 weeks. And, the house was only 3 years old when I listed it. And, they had only lived there 18 months. Anyway, it gleamed and I was very please with myself in the end.

I told you there are miracles everyday and pretty soon you really start recognizing them. I mean, you know they happend after the fact but I started to see them in the present. This was the first one where it hit me right between the eyes. There had been many moments but this one was the lighting bolt kind. I needed a realtor. In a town that I had never lived in and only visited 3 times, I had to find a realtor. How the heck do you find and feel confident that you have the best realtor in town? Well, I got my nails done at Walmart. That is how I found Jo Hammons, realtor extraordinaire.

The day before I left with mom to go to Houston, I took her to Walmart to get a (now I know the term) wet set and a mani/pedicure. I decided to get my nails done while she had her pedicure. The woman I was sitting next to ask me quietly if she had Alzheimer’s. After a few minutes of visiting, I told her I was going to list and sell their house in the next month. She was a realtor. Sitting next to me, right there in the Walmart. So I am thinking, huh, I wonder if she is any good. She gives me a card and I tell her we will talk later. I see on the card her name is “JO” my middle name. I make a comment and then she says, “My full name is Mary Jo”. I have a sister Mary and I am Jo. I am thinking cool coincidence. I tell her I am from Carrollton but I taught in The Colony. She had the Hallmark store in The Colony. My parents worked for Hallmark and did a redo on her store. She knew them! I hired her on the spot but she told me that when I got back we would go to lunch.

At lunch at one of the best Mexican food places in Waco, she reveals her life work experience. When she said she was the credit manager’s secretary at FrigiKing in Dallas, I hear the theme song to the Twilight Zone. My dad was the credit manager at FrigiKing. She had not seen dad nor knew his name, so we couldn’t connect this until right there at lunch. She worked in another department. When my dad went to another company and the new guy took over, she became the new credit manager’s secretary. She had met my dad on several occasions when he went back to visit. We knew all the same people from the company. She was still in contact with all of them and promised me she would tell them what was going on in his life.

We go to the house to list it and finish the paperwork. As she leaves she gets a magazine and gives it to me. She tells me that she has a piece in it and I could read it later. That night, when the day’s work is done, I go to the verandah with my glass of wine and look at the magazine. Boom! Right smack dab in the middle of it is a 4 page spread on the best realtor in the area. Ta-da! Jo Hammons! Number One forever! I slept like a baby that night. My job was to sell the house for the most money I could get. This was all the money in the world that my parents had. This house was going to have to give them the income to last a lifetime. $202,000.00 if we could get that in a market that was just beginning to go soft. And, I had the best for the job. Prayer answered. Miracle to me!

After a month of living there, I head back to Dallas to repack for winter and go back to keep the house occupied. Since dad was going to apply for VA benefits, we thought the house had to be occupied. I can’t remember what I had read but it was a good idea anyway to have someone living there. On December 18, 2007, I get the first of many calls. Dad is sobbing. Mother has become violent and her is confused. He was sober for 60 days and I think it was the first time in 10 years. He saw the reality of what was his life. Mom snapped. With Alzheimer’s you never know when the moment of change comes. You can be having the best time and SNAP! they have changed into an ogre. Could I get to Houston immediately? Yes, I am on my way. As I get into the car for the lovely drive on my favorite Highway 6, I am thinking-whoa! Wait a minute Nellie! Don’t I have 2 sisters living there? What the heck? Why did he call me? Why am I driving to Houston to settle mom down? What is it God? I was a little insistent with him that day. My hair was wet and not looking so good. My hands were dry and cracked from the chemicals. (I had to use industrial strength to get some stuff cleaned. Lesson learned: wear gloves when using professional acid based cleaning agents) I had been sleeping on an air mattress for 8 weeks. I missed my husband and my dog. He missed me. I was tired and grumpy and now I had this to contend with. I did, I whined the why me God? whine all the way. 3 hours. With traffic. I am telling you no matter what it is 3 hours on Highway 6.

I arrive in Houston and had called Mary to meet me there. She was at work but she took off to come over and see what the situation was. I had gotten a prescription of Xanax for my dad but now I had told him to give one to mother. I had talked to her on the phone and she was out of control. I told her she had to take the pill and I would be there after she did. I think I mentioned the word magic pill in there somewhere. It was because she would go to sleep and I would be there when she woke up. Dad could sleep too. Mother had been up all night on a rampage. She was lost and scared. She did not recognize the apartment and was trying to leave. I do believe she was naked, too. She was when I got there anyway.

When she awoke at 2 pm there was still a residual effect of the Xanax. She was calm and confused as to why I was there. While she slept Mary and I got an appointment with a doctor. They needed a doctor in Houston and this was a time to get some sort of sedative for her. The next day we all went. The three daughters, mom and dad all traipsed into the small room. We all needed to be on the same page. Once again, the few questions to identify Alzheimer’s were asked. She could not answer one with any clarity but she had a nice demeanor. She was very social that day. But, the outburst were real and the doctor told us she needed much stronger medicine than Xanax. Have you ever had a Xanax? And she needed stronger?

We were sent to a psychiatrist. I went with them the next day. At this point Dad is acting really nervous and won’t let her talk. I am sitting in a corner and not saying a word. I had this experience many times over with students so I knew my place. Also, I knew what had happened in the closet in Hewitt
After her “fall” in the closet they had made a frantic trip to her cousin’s house. Mother told the exact same story she told me. Dad had a fit in the closet and hit her. Dad was outside and was crying to Tommy while mom was inside with his wife. Tommy told him he needed to get her help. Mary, Carolyn and I showed up that next weekend. We thought they had gone to the doctor the minute mom fell. Come to find out dad took her to the doctor the next day. He had to sober up first. I found out a lot of things those 8 weeks in Hewitt. I do believe that dad knew I knew by the look on my face. He was explaining his version of the collarbone break and that was the last thing the psychiatrist needed to know. Really, dad was the one needing help too but right now we had to concentrate and mother. She had to stay home at least until the house sold. There was no money. None. Nada. Zilch. She gets a prescription for an anti -psychotic. And, it works. For a few weeks anyway.

Mary immediately starts looking for nursing homes. We did notice something strange about this time...where the heck was Carolyn? She did not return phone calls, she did not show up for the unloading of the van, she had no information on insurance or the Veteran’s Administration. Mary had done all those things. Mary was so busy with her dying father in law, moving her mother in law into assisted living and selling her house, working retail, raising 2 teens, and her husband losing his best friend very suddenly at a reunion out of state, that she had not noticed that Carolyn was completely absent from all of this. She did attend that one doctor’s appointment but that was it. Where was she? Oh, we found out. I’d stay away too. She had lots of reasons to stay away. Ten thousand to be exact.

Where’s My Boob?

2009-02-03T20:55:00.003-06:00

Chapter 20

The next morning I get her so dressed up for the ride to Houston and to see her new apartment and Dad for the first time in 3 days. She is surprisingly “normal” and is ready to go. I am driving the same car from 3 years ago when they first moved to the area. And, the gas gauge still does not work. Now we get to add the brakes to the list of not working items. I find this out about 30 minutes into the trip. The only way to Houston that make sense is Highway 6. Everyone in my family knows how I feel about Highway 6. I hate two lane highways that go through every little podunky town. Speed up to 70, hit the brakes to slow down to 35 only to have to get back up to 70 in 3.5 seconds after slowing down. There is one town on Highway 6 that I love. Calvert, Texas is the place I want to own. While we are there I take mom on a tour; it is so quaint and that is when I realize the gas gauge does not work. It is on empty and I panic. I find a station and fill ‘er up. Eight whole gallons. Sheeze, he has to get a new car. Only this is mother’s car and even though she can’t drive it she won’t let him sell it. If he did, in 2 hours she would forget it ever existed.

No matter how fast you go on Highway 6 the trip is 3 hours. Even if there is no traffic, it is 3 hours. I think Highway 6 is magic. It was a magical 3 hours. Mom read the road signs and we had typical car conversations and not a repeat of any of them. She was calm. Well, I did move the antidepressant dose up. No potty accidents, no food incidents from breakfast. All was good.

There are days with Alzheimer’s that you wonder if anything is wrong. There are days, until the last stage, where there is a sense of normalcy. In a flash, those days disappear. In an instant, really. You learn that the normal days are the days you cram every errand in and then you realize they are tired and the bad appears. Finally, by the time you learn to pace your life, the good days are gone forever.

We arrive in exactly 3 hours. Mom gets out of the car and she looks radiant. Everyone says so. They cannot believe their eyes. I had done her make up and her hair and nails had been don the day before. I even got her “boob” in place. Mom had a radical mastectomy in 1974. For the past few years she was not able to get her “boob” in the right place because dad was helping her dress. As we were dressing that morning, she had asked me where it was. I found it in a drawer and we got it in. (I am telling you I have done things I thought I would never in my life have to do with my mother.) Her clothes were “cute”--a little denim skirt, t-shirt and vest with the cutest flats. She had her purse and kinda’ strutted. We were all so proud as she toddled into the apartment. As we were toddling toward the door, my sisters looked at me and said “What the hell happened to you?” I did not look quite so cute. I told them “life”. I was exhausted.

My sister Mary had made sure the apartment was exactly like their house. When mother walked in, she recognized the layout and all her “things”. The things that she had been missing in the house were not a problem anymore. Mary and I had packed some things a few months before the move. We divided the good stuff and move it out. Mary took about 6 boxes of the most delicate pieces home and washed them. After we left with the treasures, mom was very upset for the longest time. She thought we had stolen them. This is an important fact for many reasons. Ten thousand to be exact.

We get mom settled and dad is very happy to see her. He immediately starts shoving food in front of her. My father thinks food is the source of all good things and you can never enter his house without him asking if you want food. We had weight issues growing up, needless to say. Mom is eating, everyone is chattering away, and then the f-bomb hits me. Me! After 3 days of taking care of his personal business, he decides that I had “f’-d up the move”--his words not mine.

Before I left Hewitt, dad had asked me to bring a specific cable. I took every cable I could find off the apparatuses and brought it. Apparently, I had not brought the right cable. It was the only cable like it in the world, I guess. Houston did not have a store where another could be bought it seemed. Houston. What is it, the third largest city in the universe? When he realized the I had not brought the exact cable he wanted he turned to me and said, “You really fucked this move up didn’t you?” I did not say another word to him for 2 months.

I kissed mother goodbye and told my sisters I need to leave. They followed me outside and I asked if they heard him. They had not. He has been clever enough all his life to not have witnesses. I told them what he had said and Mary took me to her house. We were going to our cousin’s house for a wedding/retirement/farewell to Houston party. That was our excuse for leaving. To understand how upset I was, you had to know that I had planned the entire move around the fact that Dad was going to be able to see his 4 of his 5 brothers and sisters. They range in age from 73 to 86. He had not seen them for years. This is a very big Irish Catholic family. My grandfather died at 100 with all of his children at his bedside. They are close. Well, all of them except my father. My mother did not understand big Catholic families. She was an only child of a Southern Baptist family with pseudo money. By that I mean, during the depression her father was a Postmaster in a very small Texas town. Mom had shoes. Literally, that is what separated the rich from the poor. And, when Elly married Joe, she was divorced. One day divorced. Dad had to leave the church and mother had such a resentment toward his family. We were told they were evil. We had very little contact with any of our 32 cousins.

So, I arrange for dad to be able to see his siblings, nephews and nieces without the stigma of mother with her prejudices and ailment. He gets to Houston in time for the first day of a two day event and has a wonderful time reconnecting. I am attending the next day with my sister Mary. I a little cautious because I have heard horror stories of them and I had not seen anyone in 10 or 12 years at least; maybe longer. Mary tells me I was going to be really surprised. And, I was. They were perfect and cordial and wonderful. My cousin is a retired rocket scientist. Literally. We realize that these are intelligent and gracious people that we had been denied access to for the past 15 years. That evening is when we put it all together. Mom had been sick with Alzheimer’s for 18 years. We can actually pinpoint the day. It all started when she thought that my dad was having an affair with his younger by 10 years brother’s second wife’s mother in law. She is 10 years older than my father. She played golf with him one day.

That was the beginning of the signs of Alzheimer’s. Irrational fears and paranoia. That is one of the first signs along with repeating stories over and over within a few minutes. I remember the day mom called me with this information. I heard the same story at least 5 times in one hour on the phone with her. We had a date, a time and a place as to where it started. We knew she was in the last stage of the disease. Dad had told us she was in the first stage. He was in denial. She was much further along.

It was 8 pm and I was exhausted. Mary had one of those Tempurpedic mattresses in the guest room and I was ready for bed in about 5 minutes. I slept for 14 hours. I never even turned over. It must have been the mattress because I know the 6 beers I slammed back at the party would never make me sleep that soundly. Yeah, not much they didn't!

Packing My Life Away

2009-01-30T10:37:00.004-06:00

Ch. 19

I have this move so coordinated I swear I should be moving troops in and out of war zones. I have the truck rented, I have people to drive the truck, I have people to unload the truck, I have food planned for the event. And, I did it from 200 miles away. whoohoo! And I am only going to be out $200.00 or so. Or, so I thought.

I have made plans to move to Hewitt to live for an indefinite amount of time. I have retired from teaching and a little vacation from the house would be nice. My husband works out of the house and is always there. Twenty-four-seven, he is home except when he is golfing or at the ranch pretending to hunt. I want some alone time desperately so I am ready to move for a few weeks. And besides, I love that house. Did I tell you it is only minutes away from every store imaginable for a middle income life? Ok, mmm so there is not a Nordstrom’s or Neiman’s but still Dallas is only 90 minutes away. And, no boy crumbs to clean up! I have to interject that I have no brothers and I had no sons and I do not understand the mess that a boy makes. My husband makes the biggest, bless his heart. I love him dearly but the piles of stuff we have to keep drive me crazy. My stuff is needed; his stuff is boy stuff. I swear we have dead animal parts in every room.

I get to Hewitt and move in a blow up mattress that actually blows up as tall as a bed with the flip of a switch (what will they think of next) and my clothes. Dad is leaving in 3 days and I am going to get a feel for the routine and the area. He does not have to do anything except ride down to Houston with my sister Mary prior to the arrival of the moving truck. The truck is the size you rent for a one bedroom apartment. Since that is the size that was finally available after many months of waiting, I feel sure that the downsize will be complete and he will know what he really needs for a one bedroom, 725 square foot apartment. If you know my dad at all, you know he has graph paper and templates made. Well, ok, I made the templates but he was using lines and erasing all the time. I was sure he had figured out down to the last piece of glass what was needed and what was not. Wrong. He was going to take everything. He was trying to fit a 3 bedroom house into a 1 bedroom apartment. No way was the truck I rented going to be big enough.

He had boxes. 83 boxes. 83 banana boxes from the grocery store. The boxes came with a plastic liner . The liner was covered in banana sap. He was using the banana sap liner to protect his precious possessions. The boxes were sturdy. I know this because, after the repacking, I had to tear them down for the recycle pick up. Banana boxes are very durable. And, very sticky. Crickets love them, by the way.

I get there and he decides that we need to go through every box he packed and “look” at his stuff. He had bubble wrapped everything. This had to have taken hours on end and now he wanted to unwrapped and repack. The man needs a hobby. We begin this procedure and I realize he has the dollar store glasses in with my great-grandmother’s Fostoria crystal. He told me that was the garage sale box. I saw my future and it was bleak. He now wanted me to have his garage sale for him. And, he had priced everything so he had the total he expected. In hindsight, I should have just written the check then and there. It would have been simpler. Instead, I would write one several months later to end the conversation of how he got screwed in the sale.

I figure at a mealtime I would help him by cooking. I mean, I have a degree in cooking so surely I can do this for him without his input. No. I can’t. He shows me how to burn toast. I am thinking to my self: I cannot wait for you to go! Where and when is Mary getting here to take him away? What? I have only been here 6 hours? She isn’t getting here for 3 more days? I immediately open a bottle of wine.

The days he was still at the house are a blur. I am cleaning and he is wondering why. He drives me all around town and runs every stop sign in the neighborhood. The signs are not for him apparently. His driving is really bad and I realize that he needs to not drive anymore. Hey dad, gone to the doctor lately? Why? Nothing, never mind. There is more to that I found out later. Yes, he had gone and the news was not good. His blood alcohol level was so high that the doctor told him he had to stop drinking and go back on the blood thinners he was suppose to be taking all along. He had an “episode” which the doctors called a “stroke” a few years before the move to Pearland. Since he decided he was well and you are not suppose to drink on the blood thinner, he quit taking the medication. After all, he was not going to live his life taking pills. Beer, yes! Pills, no! And remember, mom is the one losing her mind....

I learn where the grocery store is and I get a power of attorney so I can sell the house. He explains that he wants me to bring the mustard and mayo from the frig when I bring mother down in a few days. He show me how to “make” an ice chest. Dad is notorious for “making” ice chests. It has to do with plastic bags from the superstore and cardboard boxes. It has nothing to do with keeping food and drink cold. It has everything to do with water all over your car. I pretend listen patiently but in my mind I am wondering if I can keep the cable on for a few more days. I am also lining up a nail appointment in my head. Apparently, I missed some important line like “do you understand” and he left the house in a huff. Note to me: learn to figure out when to stop daydreaming while people are talking.

Mary arrives and dad is ready to go. This is where it all falls apart for the rest of my time with mother. Dad loses it. He becomes a blubbering idiot and cannot form a word. He has that crying jag where liquids are shooting out of your face. This upsets my mother and her only living relative that had dropped by to say goodbye. Her cousin and his wife leave immediately. Mary gets dad in the car and I am left with Elly and the “Ride to Nowhere”. She snaps. Her mind does not understand where he is going and who I am. She starts with a barrage of questions: Why is he upset? Why is he leaving her? Who are you? Why are you here? I am leaving! Let me out of here! Are you trying to hurt me? Are you trying to steal my stuff? Where is my stuff? This went on for an hour or so. She come at me in an attack mode with something in her hand. I do the old teacher maneuver for securing a violent student and rock her until she calms down. Then, she wets her pants. It is just like having a 3 year old who is scared.

After reassuring her that all is good she tells me I am a nice lady and she is sorry. I look at her meds and dad has them all mixed up in the pill container and he took the original containers with him. Why? I have no idea. After a few phone calls, I figure out which is the antidepressant and give her one.
I get her all cleaned up and fix dinner. And for the first time since I arrived, she does not throw it up. Of course, the food was not burned and it was nutritious. No sugar, no tabasco, no grease. She did great. We visit for a few hours and I get her ready for bed. The ride now is the “Get Out of Bed” . Apparently, she still thought I was trying to steal stuff and the only way to calm her down was to lay down in the bed with her. I did this on the 15th time I put her in the bed. I gave up and joined her.

I decide when she starts snoring that I can get up and do some packing. You would have thought with that many boxes it was all done but nooooo. He had yet to pack the drawers from the chests of clothes and the office. I look up and this is where it gets bad. Or at least as much as a naked parent can be bad for children. She is out of bed at 1:30 stark naked. I have no idea why. I calmly take her back to bed and put her nightgown back on her. I lay down and ask God to help me sleep. Uhm, the answer was apparently no that night.

The next day I take her to get her hair cut and curled and a manicure. I look like hell but she would be pretty when she arrives in Houston. We had a much better day with very few episodes. My niece had come into town under the pretense of washing her clothes. She had a calming effect on mother and I got some things done for the move. She left the next day and all seems good. The evening comes and I am wiping off counters and mother wants to help. She gets it now. She is moving and she should help. I give her a cloth and she dusts the dining table for no less than 45 minutes. I am busily doing things and look up occasionally to see her happy as a clam. I am still doing things and I look up to check on her and she is gone. Shoot ( or a variation of that word), Where is she? I check the front door and it is still locked. I look in the garage and she is dusting the car. It is so cute. And, it is funny as it is so out of character for my mother. She never touched a dirty car-ever. I get a glass of wine, open the garage door to a perfect evening sit and watch her dust for an hour. She finishes and sits with me. Then, she says the most prophetic thing.

"Always remember this from now Linda -I forget to remember." These were the last coherent words I ever heard from my mother. October 11, 2007.

All Good Things Must End

2009-01-29T09:54:00.002-06:00

Chapter 18

I don’t really remember the exact timing of all the events that took place while my parents lived in Hewitt. First, I lost six months due to their “running away” and then the phone calls were sporadic at best. I remember a massive amount of research on Alzheimer’s and the medications. I had read what was on the horizon but, for mother, it was all too late. I remember a few calls toward the end of the stay and those calls were the alerts that our roles were quickly coming to full reversal. I remember the one that made me feel that queasy feeling you get after riding on of those spinning rides. You love it in the middle of the ride but as soon as it stops you have to barf. All of a sudden one day, the ride stopped. I felt queasy for the next -well, to be honest, I still feel a little queasy.

I am having a very simple, everyday conversation with both of them during the phone calls. I had gotten use to dad tattling on mom and mom complaining of dad yelling at her and the occasional “he hit me” statement. I had not seen any physical evidence but, when he hit me when I lived with them, he didn’t leave a mark. That he would hit her did not ever make any sense to me. The man had her on a pedestal and would never do anything abusive to her. I had only seen him hit me. Once I saw him slap Mary but that was the whole getting loaded on bourbon and orange juice thing. I’d slap her too for making such a stupid drink!

One particular phone call was different. I do not know why it was different; maybe I just heard it for the first time. It may have been that an ambulance was involved. I don’t know why but I really listened to what mom said. It seems she decided that since the doctor had taken her keys away (dad actually left them in the car at all times) and she couldn’t drive, that she decided that she would go on a walk. It was her only mode of transportation. In EllyLand anyway. Dad drove constantly and made at least 42 trips a day to anywhere, especially places that sold beer and had coupons. He loves coupons. He doesn’t even use the item but he had a coupon. And, you must say it “coo-pon” to get the real effect. On one of his many trips to use a coupon or buy beer,, mom decided she would take a walk in the neighborhood. Since they are in a small town, the codes did not require sidewalks to be built. These beautiful custom homes had man made burms. Those hilly things in yards, you know. Since mother had the inclination to walk early in the morning the dew was still on the grass. A pair of miracles occurred that day. One, mom found her way home, and two, the neighbors were both home at the time and the wife was a nurse. The neighbors are the most wonderful people ever. They, too, had wondered if we existed. The story they got was much like what mom’s only living relative, her cousin, had gotten. We were mean. Later they found out we were concerned and there is a difference.

When mother fell the neighbor had somehow found her and called an ambulance. Mother, who barely walked to her chair everyday, had decided to climb the hilly burm thing to get to the house. Three feet away was the circular paved drive she could have walked on but with Alzheimer’s that decision and rationalization could not be made by her. So, she saw the house, she recognized the house and she headed for the house. Once the ambulance got there and mother tried to give information, the neighbors realized she had problems. The husband found mother’s cell phone and called dad. He rushed home just in time to refuse treatment for mother. Her shoulder was hurting she had told them but he would not let them take her to the hospital. His tone convinced mother that this was not a good idea and she went along with the decision. Money is a great influence in my dad’s life and there was not coupon for the trip I am sure. Also, hospitals are the place you go to die. Both of them are convinced of that. It is a generational thing.

Shortly after, or before as I am still not clear of the timeline, mother “fell” in the closet. My sisters and I never could get the same story and never quite figured it out. That is until I moved to Hewitt to clean and sell the house. Then mother’s cousin told me that one night dad drove over to his house and told him parts and some details. It is all so confusing. Dad’s version was that mother has gotten locked in the closet (plausible since she could not get out of the dining room) and climbed on a chair (not so plausible, but, who knows in her condition) and fell off the chair laying in the closet for hours. Dad found her and took her to the doctor. After X-rays, he found out that her collarbone was broken. Severely broken. It was the same one she had broken as a teen when he had wrecked the car they were in on a date in the 40’s. This made some sense as that bone may be weak. I was buying it. I bought it for a couple of months. I bought it hook, line and sinker except that mother could still tell us her version 2 months later. And, the two stories just did not jive. She said he locked her in the closet and beat her up in a fit of anger for not hanging her clothes up. Shades of Joan Crawford! This had been an event in my childhood so I thought at first she was reliving what had happened to me. Except, her short-term memory was gone and yet she could tell this same tale over and over with accuracy.

I call Adult protective Services in Dallas to get info. Yes, if he was found to be hitting her, he could go to jail. We would then have to have mother declared incompetent. I wrote to her physician in Hewitt knowing that I could get no info but she could read a letter. I explained what I thought was going on and asked her not to scare dad by sharing too many details. She talked to dad and got permission to call me. Her idea was that they both needed assisted living. She had discussed that with them and Dad made another decision in desperation. They would move, yet again, to a small apartment, near my sisters in Houston.

I decide that we, the daughters, need a trip to Hewitt. Things were not going so well. I had been there on a few occasions and so had the other sisters. The place was filthy. I do not mean a little dirty, I mean shut it down filthy. And, the house was only 3 years old! They bought it practically new! Did I mentioned that dad is blind in one eye since childhood? The other eye has cataracts or astigmatism or something. That amounts to this-- he cannot see. And yet, the state of Texas lets him drive. He could not see the grime and funky slime that has built up on everything. All of us gave the bathroom a thorough cleaning before ever using the toilet and I never once drank from a glass. Mom and dad are having way too many stomach things that require him giving us details that we did not want to know. Of course, that could explain the bathroom....

In May we converge on the local motel/extended stay facility. The three of us decide to meet, decide on a plan of action, split up what we saw as the problems to solve to confront dad with our concerns. We were very proud of our plan. The division of duties was fair and balanced. Mary would find a place for them to live in Houston. I would move to Hewitt from Dallas for an indefinite time to clean and sell their house. I would also coordinate the packing and the actual move to Houston where Mary and Carolyn would pick it up on that end. Carolyn would look into insurance and Veterans benefits because we knew mother needed a memory care unit. We all had our spirals and pencils. The next morning we head to the house to have our discussion. We know from our life experience that this is going to be messy and it would more than likely get ugly. There would be screaming and at one point we had made a pact to walk if got that way. We did know this much from contacting Adult Protective Services-there is very little you can make your parents do. They are all gown up and have all the rights of adults even if they are in need.

Dad was exhausted and he looked 100 years old. He could not do it anymore. Mother was in need of diapers all day, every day. She needed help doing everything and was throwing up all the food ( and I use the term loosely) dad was preparing. Dad likes to think he is a cook. He is not. He is a burner. The diet was nothing more than taquitos and sweet rolls. There was the occasional can of soup, but overall, not much more than whatever convenience food he had a coupon for. He was plumb tuckered out and ready for anyone to take over-sort of. And, he was thrilled at the idea of a project with us. This gave him a daily out from the care of mom. Mother could not have a conversation and argue talking points anymore. She could not read and understand the newspaper. The news programs just confused her. This project was a go! We got not one cross word from him. Not one argument. Nada. Zilch. This was a miracle. I begin to see a pattern here of weird miracles. First, the neighbors, then the agreement to work with us. Hmm. I was hoping I was seeing a trend. Little did I know what a huge trend it was to be.

Lost and Found

2009-01-28T08:43:00.002-06:00

Chapter 17

One day, not too long after the 3 of us got the letter, I phone my sister and let her know that I was going to Hewitt to visit. Keep in mind this was 6 months after the move so I knew I had some catching up to do. The stories would be told and I would finally get some closure to this event. Little did I know that by the time I got there, life has changed dramatically. EllyLand was in full operation-all rides were open! Dad took me on the first one. It was called Lost in the Dining Room.

Alzheimer’s affects the short term memory in a way that seems like craziness. In a split second the patient forgets the simplest things. It is frightening but my experience with Special Needs students taught me that nothing, short of Satan himself, is that scary. The less emotion you show the better for the person and I had learned over the years to hide all emotion and have a very stoic face. I am also a great liar. Really. I am. In person, I can keep that straight face until I have exactly two glasses of wine or one Margarita. Beer does not have an effect on my ability to lie--just wine and Margaritas. At all happy hours I only drink beer to keep up with whatever whopper is going on at the table.

Anyway, dad tells me about the Lost in the Dining Room adventure and since he thinks that I think he is lying (I have not a clue as to why he thought this) he decides to show me. I am not saying he is cruel but what man shows off his wife’s ailment with a game? I am thinking to myself -WTF? Am I really from this gene pool? I keep a straight face through the whole ordeal. This is how it goes down...

The new house in Hewitt was very, very pretty and if I was going to live there, this is the house I would live in. Very nice size front porch for 2 rocking chairs, master suite off to the right, big old great room in the middle and 2 bedrooms off to the left. The back yard had a verandah. Yes, a huge covered area with ceiling fans verandah. It was big enough for 2 dining tables and chairs. It was a custom job and very well built with a formal dining room. Mom wanted a formal dining room to have family meals. Did they forget they had bought this without telling the family? Exactly who was she going to invite?

After they moved in, dad was showing mother that the formal dining had pocket doors. You know, the kind that slide into the wall. They had a small recessed area for your fingers to fit in to open the doors. To slide open the door, to be exact. Dad slides the doors closed. Mother is in the dining room with not a clue as to how to get out. She is terrified and crying. He finally gets her out (thank God they didn’t lock) and realizes she is gone. The woman he knew is gone. She is in a panic state and is having a hard time knowing who he is. He finally realizes that he is all alone with this as he has alienated his daughters. Mom’s cousin had told him a few weeks earlier that mother had Alzheimer’s. He now knew she had to go to the doctor.

The meeting with the doctor is very brief and mother failed all the tests. Or passed, as the case may be. She could not tell time. She did not recognize numbers. She had no idea what city she was in and she could not remember the doctor’s name. She had wonderful social skills and that let her fool people for a long time-maybe 10 years or so. She did not get naked and wander. She replied to questions, but not with any depth. She could get dressed. So, on the outside, she looked good. That, my friends, is the story of our family: Aways look good on the outside.

She was given a prescription for Namenda and an antidepressant. The doctor was not a Neurologist or even a specialist with the aged. A simple family practice doctor, because that is all my father knew, was chosen. The doctor was not really sure what the protocol was but she knew Namenda and gave it to mother. Dad thought this would cure mother. He still thinks this will cure mother. All it does is slow the process. I am not sure how I feel about that but that is another book in another time.

Life goes on in Hewitt for a few more months. Nine, to be exact.

Get Over It

2009-01-27T11:14:00.002-06:00

Ch. 16

So the house goes on the market and they plan a move to Hewitt, TX. For five months none us knew a thing about the plan until Mary ventured over after another upset with mom and dad. She inadvertenly uninvited them to a holiday. You may think this is impossible and surely she knew what she had done. But, alas, she did inadvertently uninvite them...or so they say.

What she did is ask them to come at a later hour to her house for the holiday. Her family wanted to have alone time with her in-laws. Her father in law was ill and there needed to be as little fuss as possible. To see him in a frail state is upsetting enough and our father tends to elaborate about how he is “not there yet” . That is not what you need when visiting with an ill family member. So, she simply pushed their dinner time back. This is apparently and “uninvitation” and cause major discomposure to my parents. They did not show for the dinner. And, they decided to move and not tell us. That’ll teach us!

The move involved a cousin of my mother. She was an only child and he was a close to a brother as she has. I do not think he had the royal blood though. Oh, their mothers were sisters but I never heard anything about his being a royal. He is just a good guy and went above and beyond help with this event. Of course, he was told that we did not care and not to contact us and he did as he was asked by Elly. Years later we got that straightened out and let them know we are not the ogres they were told we were.

Why Hewitt? Mother’s only living relative was there. They had fun with her cousin and his lovely wife. And, mother wanted to go home. Hewitt had never been her home but it is 35 miles from Hubbard where she was born. Alzheimer’s patient always want to go home. They are always looking for home. Since everything is unfamiliar in the short term memory, the older places where they lived become home. However, the area has changed and they cannot find their way around. The short term memory doesn’t let them hold the thought and they are lost--again. So, they are always looking for home.

Since we were not in on this move anything I tell you is from accounts from her only living relative. They are very accurate accounts. I don’t remember every detail but I will do my best as they are the facts that finally led to the big discovery by my father. The first happened on the drive from Houston to Waco.

If you have ever been in the car with a “short-cut” taker you are going to so understand this. Short-cutters love to find the shortest line on the map to a place. It is definately not the shortest time to a place; that is an illusion on the map. It actually takes two to four hours longer due to the fact that you drive through every dinky town in Texas and the speed limit is 35 miles per hour and there are at least 5 stops along the main street. My dad loves small town America. He thinks the sights to see in small towns are absolutely God sent. I have seen big balls of twine and alligator farms. I have seen barbecue pits--literally pits-- and every historical marker in Central Texas. Hours and hours of my life have been spent on roads that are not even on maps but dad thought it was a shorter line as the crow flies. And, if we were crows, it would have been great.

The day of the big move dad had mother drive her car and follow him. He was going to watch in his rear view to make sure she was behind him. Mother’s “map” was highlighted to take her through a small town to the south east of Waco should she get lost. She would then come out about 5 miles south of the exit for her cousin’s house in Hewitt. Whatever she did, she did not go this way. Dad arrives in Hewitt a full 2 hours before they find mother. At one point in the search I know horn honking was involved and the view of a sunset.

Dad is trying to call mother on her cell phone which she cannot use with any proficeincy and, of course, the typical scream fest begins. When he gets upset, he screams at you. You cannot remain calm due to the fact that he is screaming at you at the top of his lungs. And, you cannot understand a single word he is saying. He and mother’s cousin finally find her in some unknown town square about 30 miles off the track. Had they stayed on the main big highway, she would not have made the wrong turn at a four way stop. This, of course, was none of my dad’s fault. She was wrong for not remembering what to do, where she was going, and how to read a map. It scared the peejeebers out of him. He never let her drive again.

Six months later, when we finally learned of the move through a letter copied and mailed to each of us, it was a most auspicous occassion. Three little words that sum up our relationship- GET OVER IT! and a map to the new house.

I Got Your Gift for Free!

2009-01-23T12:38:00.003-06:00

Ch. 15

Ah! Life in a gated community with 55 and over! Sounds like paradise-no children, no bicycle in the front yard, no riffraff teens zooming up and down the street. I personally wanted to be there so bad. I went down way too often. Every trip had some sort of gala going on in the community.

Fourth of July was an eye opener. My parents had been living there for 2 whole months and to my observation were getting along and getting adjusted. So naive. Since I thought it was bliss, I simply ignored what the real deal was. The events at the pool during the Fourth of July Gala and Barbecue led me to believe that something may be amiss. Mother was pissy. That is the only term to describe her attitude. She was mad at the women prancing around in swimsuits, she was mad at the food, she was mad at the sun; let’s face it she was just mad. At one point she went to the restroom, which by the way was more like a spa, and did not return for 15 minutes. This is when dad sent me in to look for her. Well, rather I stopped him from going in to look for her, so I went in. Heck yes! I would stay in there for 15 minutes-it was great! I finally find her in the clubhouse. There is a door that exits to the clubhouse but the number one rule posted in BIG GIANORMOUS LETTERS is no swimming attire. And, there she is, wandering through in her swimsuit. I tell her she needs to come with me and we toddle out to the pool. She was mad because someone stopped and told her the rule. Uh, mom, did you not see the GIANORMOUS sign? No , she did not and it did not mean her. Translation, she saw it but ignored it. And, she was lost and scared. She wouldn’t admit it but when I found her she was crying a little. It was that little lost girl cry my daughter would get in the superstores.

This event so embarrassed my dad that he then started nit-picking everything. The music was planned to play songs from the 40’s from 10 to 12, songs from the 50’s from 12-2, songs from the 60’s from 2-4, and kick ass great rock and roll until 10 that night. I saw the logic; the older generation would be fast asleep by the time the good music started. WooHoo, baby, I was ready to par-tay! Dad got mad at the 60’s music and so we had to pack everything up and leave. He hates the Beatles except he owns all the instrumental Beatles made. Also, mom was acting weird and that embarrassed him. Uh-dad-everyone here over 70 acts weird. Chill. Nope, not the McGowans- we had to pack up and leave in a huff. So I take it all is not well on Fantasy Island? Shoot, I was so loving this as my vacation home.

Back at the abode, I get the full story. There is some sort of rules committee and governing board much like small town city councils. My parents served on a few of those boards in the 60’s so naturally they knew everything about Roberts Rules of Order--from the 60’s. Since some changes may have been made, Joe and Elly would never have known it because what was good in the 60’s is good enough for 2002. Therein lies the first problem with paradise. They did not like the rules or the committee or the people who served on the committee. And, they never would.

Then there was the birthday list. The July birthday list left my father’s name off. The lists are printed in advance and he had yet to pay the homeowner’s association dues. When he did pay, the list was already posted and his name was not on there. This caused major consternation in his life. He went so far as to write in his name. Not a problem, no one seemed to mind but they did not print a new list with his name typed. So his name was only handwritten and not typed what is the big deal? I guess it is an Army thing, but, when I looked at the list, the very first name you noticed was his. It was different. He wanted the same and if it wasn’t typed then it wasn’t official. His birthday, by the way is July 6, and they have the cake on the last day of the month EXCEPT July. They celebrate the cake thing on the 4th when everyone is there and can sing Happy Birthday. Well, remember we left? That is when they sung and had cake. Strike 2 for paradise.

Strike 3 came when 2 events took place. The first was with my sister Mary. I was not there so this is my interperation of the Tattle-Tale Zone Game. I am sure she will forgive me if I get some facts outta whack. I was laughing so hard while she was telling me and knocking back a bottle of wine. It was better than a comedy club. The only problem is that I miss some of the good stuff. It could have been the laughing but I am sure it was the wine.

Dad calls Mary-she lives about 40 minutes away. The other sister is 10 minutes away but her job was way to important for her to leave it. I think her job has something to do with either rocket science or stuffing envelopes. Either way, she was desperately needed at work so they never bothered her. Little did we know that if you told them how important you are to the way the Earth rotates, then they would not bother you with piddly assed phone calls. Mary on the other had nothing to do except raise 2 teenage girls, deal with her dying father -in- law and help her husband run his business. The other sister has dogs.

Anyway, back to Mary’s trip to the Zone. She goes there because Dad calls her and immediately on the other line is mother calling her. They both have their own cell phones and Mary was on speed dial. Now mother can work a cell phone!

Since the conversation was a little convoluted, Mary dresses and rushed to Paradise. I am not really sure what the argument was about but the back and forth was ridiculous. Mary actually had to sit them in separate corners and point to them when it was their turn to talk. This took about 2 hours. When she left I think she grounded them and sent them to bed without supper.

It had to do with mother’s delusions and hallucinations. She imagined all kinds of weird things were going on and she had lost her red umbrella. She accused dad of having an affair and actually had gone to the grocery store to yell at the teenage checker. Finally, when all was calm, mom remember none of this and was wondering why Mary came over at all. It was like a little blackout episode and they were coming way too frequently.

Dad, in his infinite wisdom, begins to double his intake of alcohol. It may be craziness around there but he was going to enjoy it. At one point Mary, Carolyn (the other sister) and Dad meet at the Carolyn’s house. Both tell dad that mother has Alzheimer’s and she needs a doctor. He says he knows something is wrong. He never takes her to the doctor. Carolyn makes an appointment but he did not keep it. There is not much you can do because they are in charge of their fate. That is, until you have them declared incompetent and that is a legal mess. They were no where near that. And, they did not like anyone messing in their business. They came up with a plan and a dilly at that. The drinking caretaker and the woman with Alzheimer’s hatch a plan to put the house on the market and move. They would not tell us, their children. They would just do this on their own. It was mother’s idea. Alzheimer’s patients and the caretakers will do what is called desperation moves thinking that a new place will be a new beginning. It isn’t. And, they keep secrets. Alzheimer’s patients are great at keeping secrets and covering up their ailment. Since at the time there was little written about the disease, we were clueless to the signs and what might happen.

And, 3 "a" to the Paradise insult, no one came to the November birthday party. Mom’s birthday was the same day as Thanksgiving that year. The party was held on the day after Thanksgiving just because it fell on that day. Mother and dad thought it was directed at them personally. Just one other couple came to the cake celebration. Everyone else was out of town. I mean that place was shut down--every car and travel-trailer was gone! That was the final straw. No one stayed to come to mom’s birthday party. Forget about the other 2 people who had November birthdays. This was a direct insult to them. They were going to show the world how they felt! They would move.

My sisters did get Christmas presents just before the move. We find out a year later that mom and dad had stolen books-on-tape from the free exchange library at the clubhouse. They felt it was the least those people owed them.

Finding My Way Home

2009-01-21T11:33:00.003-06:00

Ch. 13

Several weeks after the move to the retirement village, and a few terse phone calls over dad not being nice, I decide another trip is needed. I make it from Dallas to Pearland in 4 1/2 hours flat. No stops. A tremendous amount of traffic and I 45 is always in the state of repair. It still only takes half the time to get there. When I arrive I get the usual response, how did you get here so fast-you must speed! No, I just drive and do not stop for 2 meals and a snack taking the scenic route through the very scary parts of a city.

We get all our howdy-do’s done and then it begins. The bizarre adventure in to the Tattle-Tale Zone. Actually this becomes the only form of communication for the next 6 years, but I digress.
Mother starts in on dad and his hitting her-huh? Dad drags me into the garage (still left open 21 hours a day and now in the front) to let me know that all mother does is scream. I am thinking-well if you are hitting her...

Mother drags me back into the house to tell me he is crazy and is stealing her money. He drags me back to the garage to tell me she does not cook or clean anymore. She is hiding around the corner and the fireworks start! I separate them back to their respective areas and call Mary. "What the hell is going on", I asked. "Oh, the tattle tale game?" she says. “Just let it go and they finally calm down.”

I am thinking this is crazy land (I had not quite reached the gates of Ellyland yet) and something has to be done. So, mom and I go shopping. That is always the solution to any tense moment with mother. Spending money seems to calm us down much like eating will too. Which explains a) my skimpy savings account and b) my wide ass. She decides to drive. It is the last time she drives me anywhere. In fact, I drive us home from the mall. In the mall parking lot I realize that something is really wrong. She cannot find her way through the lot and passes many open spots to park. I am thinking that maybe since it is a new area, she is a little lost. But then she says it, the words that open the gates to EllyLand.

“Linda,” she says, “I don’t know where I am.”

“Mom, you are in the mall parking lot.”

“No, I don’t know where I am. Where am I?”

“Mom, do you mean what city?” Now I am really concerned.

“Yes, what has your father done? Why did he take me away from home?”

Now I get it. I see what is happening. I do not panic because I knew in the first stages of Alzheimer’s the episode will pass. I tell her to park in the next spot and we go in the mall. She has no idea where she is and does not recognize a place in the mall or a store. This is her 5th time to this mall in a month. We stroll for about 45 minutes and she gets head around things again so we leave. She is exhausted. I am unusually calm.

When we get back to the house I tell dad what she has said. He said, “That’s funny. She got lost in the Target parking lot last week for an hour. She couldn’t get out of the dividers and just made circles in the lot.” He was worried because she was very late getting home and didn’t answer her cell phone. Come to find out, she did not know how to answer her cell phone and never learned.

When I tell him she needs a doctor, he emphatically says no. He thinks this is stress from my oldest sister disowning the family the previous year. I call my sister Mary and tell her what I have discovered. I have to leave to get back to work in Dallas. She will be left with this and it won’t be pretty. It may be funny at times, but overall, it won’t be pretty. It is the first time I ask God for help in this. Little did I know that He has a sense of humor. And, little did I know, that the answer "no" is sometime the best gift He can give to you.

We’re Poor Little Lambs Who Have Lost Our Way

2009-01-20T10:06:00.001-06:00

Chapter 12

I have previously mentioned the big move from Ft. Worth. It was not as smooth as it was told to Mary and me in the beginning of this tale. The youngest sister’s, live in boyfriend, was chosen, by a method unbeknownst to us, to be the official mover. Honestly, I was under the impression the old man was hiring PROFESSIONALS to move all this precious cargo. I mean, for pity sake he couldn’t even cull the crap, but he lets a group of accountants do the move? Oh wait, I think one turned out to be a lawyer so that makes it all right.

So the day of the Big Move, as everything is a production with my father, is kind of overcast. For those who know Texas weather, that means anything for shady to tornados. The day turned out to be closer to the latter-tornado-ish. Definitely rain was involved but that did not deter our mighty accountant movers. They loaded the truck right through the storm not realizing that once sun hit that truck and the 100+ heat of Texas, a major amount of stem will occur thus warping and splitting even the finest of wood furniture. Not to mean that the mold wa not important; it certainly had an impact on the odor of the warped and split furniture. Now I know why old people have that musty smell-they must wet the furniture, steam it, load in a heated petri dish/van and let it go for a couple of days while they are moving to the retirement village.

To make matters worse (as if they could be) the truck that my dad had rented was 10 feet too short. After the entire moving van-truck-thing was loaded (I was not present but I have a clear picture of what he thought he could get by with), they had to unload the entire thing, take it back to the rental center and rent a longer one. This made an 8 hour delay and would entail another 2 cases of beer. After reloading into the longer truck, the last thing to go on was the refrigerator. Little did any of these learned men realize is that you have to throw out the ice from the ice maker and let it drain. Dad, in his infinite Scottish money saving best, chose to save the ice. They may need it on the trip. In a 100 degree truck. For 8 hours . Which turned into 2 days.

Why two days you ask? Because, once the truck was loaded which took over 16 hours (see above paragraph), the world turn dark; night came and surprised the lot of them. And, it started to pour rain. Not just the gentle rain they had all day while loading/unloading/re-renting/reloading, but a massive summer severe weather, “threat of tornado” storm. So after two hours, they have to stop and get a room. There are four of them and dad figures if they sleep together one room with two king beds ought to do it. The thought of this creeps me out a little. And, it was a $6 a night motel. That is even creepier. They arrive the next day, 26 hours late.

The two sisters in Houston come to the house and wait. And wait and wait and wait. When the truck finally arrives it is all hands on deck to unload. The door opens and water pours out. thinking it was a hole in the roof, they prepare for a mess but there is no hole. It is the water from the melted ice in the refrigerator, which was forgotten as the motel had an ice machine to cool down the 2 more cases for the road. As the king mattress come off the truck, my sister notices that is is soaked. Guess what dad used to pad the refrigerator?

Next is the refrigerator. My sister Mary opens it when it is finally installed in the kitchen. Now remember, water + heat + two days in a truck = well, you guessed it. She cleaned it for 3 hours. We never ate anything from the frig that was not fully cooked after that.

The day is done, they are in their jammies, everyone is back at the respective house in which they live. The truck sits in the front of the house for one more night which, of course, makes it late on the return. And dad pays the fee, grumbling all the way. Later we find out he also pays $2,000 for the move. After all, they were not family, only a live in boyfriend beer drinking buddy. Did I mention my dad has a drinking problem?

The Move and Other Living Things

2009-01-18T12:25:00.002-06:00

Chapter 11

After a tremendous and painstaking amount of thought, my father, in his infinite wisdom, lowered the price of the house for one buyer. He claimed to be a man of God. Dad dropped the price by $45,000.00 for him and God. Later we learned that The man of God flipped the house in 6 months for a $70,000.00 profit. Dad felt betrayed. None of us were surprised. His daughters dealt with the real world and watched all the current television shows related to home makovers. He did not even know the term “flipping a house”. He wanted his money, the difference that is and asked if I knew a lawyer. After I told him how much one would cost, he changed his mind.

The truck is loaded and it begins to rain. Texas, in 2003, had not seen rain for a very long time. Today, it decides to rain. I take this as a good omen only to remember that rain on a wedding day is good luck. Not on a moving day. However, the truck arrives in Pearland safe and sound. Little did I know there was much more to the moving story...more on that later. Unloading involves one last military movement. And, cases of beer.

Within a week, all the daughters that are legal converge on the house to take mom to the first event at the community center. High Tea was to be served in the new clubhouse with a fashion show. It was very tongue-in-cheek and a good time was had by all. We laughed and mom seemed so like mom. A little stand offish, but she can be like that; all the royals are. This was the last normal day in all of our lives. Luckily we took a picture and it is one of my favorites. We all looked so cute and young in that picture and it seems eons ago. We all left to our respective abodes and thought how wonderful life is. Hah! We were so fooled.

All of the daughters would call and call often. Shortly after the move in, the calls became screaming matches between mom and dad. If dad was on his new cell phone, mom would go off the deep end. She had her own new cell phone but refused to talk on it or even take it with her on outings. On a weekend trip to the new place, I asked her about the phone. She told me it made her hear voices. Cautiously, I answered this one. Hmm, it is a phone and that is what it is suppose to do. It lets you hear voices of the people who call you.

The problem was she could not recognize the voices on the phone. At the time I did not understand that a face has to be with the voice in Alzheimer’s. The radio bothered her in the same way. In reality, these things were scaring her to death. She knew she should be comfortable with these things. Other people in her life were using them but she simply could not put the voice with the device. Her mind was entering the Ellyland Express Rollercoaster. The climb up was ok, getting the phone was ok, but going down, using the phone was a whole ‘nuther event. My mother does not like roller coasters. Never has and never will. Nor does she like water.

She did like her red umbrella. Dad gave it to another woman. I never did get the skinny on that story. I do know that mom had decided that every woman in the community was after Dad. Maybe it was his spreadsheet that gave it away. I truly, in my heart of hearts, would ever think that any woman would “go after” my dad. He is a nice guy but he has no money. Strike one. And, he is 80. Strike two. We never saw a woman look at him twice. He is very friendly and not bad looking for 80. He can dance, sort of. I tried it once at the “oldest” second wedding. He had moves you would not believe or recognize. Or follow, for that matter.

Did I mention the stroke he had? Three strikes, you’re out!

Anyway, it seems the red unbrella in the car disappeared. The tremendous amount of $1.00 was spent on the thing. Evidently this was some special red umbrella. The red umbrella kept her dry. It was her red umbrella. If it seems I say red repeatedly it is because that had some significance. As it turned out, it was the only color that my mother could remember the name. Everything, including yellow, was now worded as red. It is not what she meant to say but it was all she could say. Blue, orchid, green had no meaning. She knew things were different colors but the only word available to her was red.

I made red aprons for the Thanksgiving dinner. She was thrilled because she knew they were red and she would not be embarassed by using the wrong word.

We never did find the red umbrella or the other woman. A side note to the other woman: Mom wants her umbrella back. You can have dad now. He won’t let her drive anymore anyway so she is done with him.

When are troops deploying, sir?

2009-01-16T09:45:00.002-06:00

Chapter 10

We return to Ft. Worth to pack and sell the house. Dad goes after it like a man on Guam in W. W. II would. Trash packed? Check. Junk packed? Check. Contract on the house? Not yet.

Clothes packed? Check. Contract on the house? Not yet. All food disposed of except mayo and mustard; this they would move. Check. Contract on the house? Not yet.

They are living out of boxes in the garage. Hundreds of boxes. I am not kidding. He had wrapped every dust mite for safe travel to Pearland. Dad is not a person who throws things out. He is a saver. Most penny pinchers are savers I have discovered. My husband falls in this category. Savers also think that they stuff they save is very valuable. It is only valuable to them. They will not live long enough to see the money it may one day bring. Just because the thing they are saving was the last doom-a-flot-gie made does not mean it will ever increase in value. Little do they know that the non-savers are throwing out their stuff a little at a time.

This much stuff was not moved to Iraq for a war for Christ’s sake! Slow down! You still have to eat, sleep, and dress everyday. I am very curious as to why the house hasn’t sold. I decide to ask Sgt. Dad about this because nothing in the area where they lived stayed on the market for longer than a few weeks. The listing was now two months old. I call mom and she is not sure why the house is on the market. I tell her she is moving. She demands to know where. This should have been the big neon sign that dad would recognize I am thinking to myself. Surely, with all these packed boxes and she has no clue where she is going or what they are for, he will get it. Nope, he was busy planning the garage sale.

She thinks the move is to her childhood hometown of Hubbard. I find that charming due to the fact that she probably has a warrant out for her arrest in Hubbard. She stole something from the museum recently under the pretext that she was “borowing” it for her daughters to see. Whatever it was (I do know but I’m not telling) at one time it belongs to my grandmother ( the royal side of the family) and my mother had sold it in a garage sale. The fact that it was sold in a garage sale is hilarious since it is probably the only thing that was actually worth any money but we did not “save” it. The thing is now part of the “estate to be returned” to the rightful owner. I explain to her that she is not allowed back in Hubbard and to have Dad call me.

I get the first of many phone calls. Mother is not helping with the packing. Dad has to do it all. The realtor is an idiot. At one time my parents had real estate licenses and mother got her broker’s license. They let them expire in 1980. In 2003, they still thought were experts in the field of real estate. After all, they had a new computer. A short visit with realtor #1 and hearing why he was quitting the contract, I spoke to realtor #2. I promised him I would occupy my father so he could show the house. It seems as though dad was following the people around and telling them if it was a good “fit” for them. He was asking personal questions about their finances and discipline techniques with their children. What one had to do with another is a question for another time. I guessed a child must have touched something like a wall. One child had the audacity to run in the backyard.

He made fun of the way the clients talked. Dad can be just a little like that old guy in the sitcom in the 70’s who was in New York and a little on the racist side. Oh, who am I kidding, he was awful and embarrassing. He is exactly like that guy on television.

I suggest he should have a garage sale to keep him busy. That event should take days and keep him as far away from potential buyers as I could get him. He unpacks the boxes of trash and junk to sell. Mary, the good sister, comes into town for the big sale. I drive over from Dallas. We are ready to help and arrive early in the morning of the big sale day.

The first help this man needs is pricing. He had prices from the store on the junk and trash. I mean, he went right to the supercenter store, got the price for a new item, and wrote it on the stuff he was going to sell. This junk was 30 years old. My husband didn’t even want it and he is as bad a "saver" as my dad. It was for sure never going to increase in the antique market. His excuse was he had not only the instructions but the 30 year old box too. What a deal! A 30 year old set of leaking electric curlers that did not even work with the box would bring, oh, I don’t know, a nickle? I was willing to pay the people who had the nerve to stay to take an item.

This was going to be a disaster but he was leaving the realtor alone. He was driving me crazy but he left the realtor alone. I began to doubt the day would ever end. He would not take any less than what was marked. If the customer did not speak English, he simply put an “o” on the end of a word. "You look-o for-o a-o good-o chair-o?" unless of course they were Asian and then it was and "y" ending to everything-y. I was dying of embarassment out there. Finally, at one point late in the day, he told me what did not sell was going to be donated. He could get a great tax write off. He could also get jail time for fraud. He did not get my joke.

A New and Improved Life or Cheeseburger Paradise

2009-01-15T07:08:00.002-06:00

Chapter 9

We look at a beautiful gated retirement community in Pearland. You have to be 55 and older; I am ready to buy into this place if I wasn't so "young". It looks like romantic Italy, only new. It has a better gym than any I had seen in my little suburb and the cost is included! You do not have to mow or landscape as this is all done for you. You get to drive golf carts around the community. They can get you a deal on a golf cart and personalized the plates, too. The pool is so beautiful, very Grecian and sparkly. They have a club room, library, computer room with what seemed like hundred of computers. There were actually closer to 25 but still, free computer and internet? What a deal! They have an auditorium for community plays and such. I am thinking this is a year round vacation; how could anyone not like living here?

They choose a house and complete all the paperwork to buy a house. Dad, being cheap, selects the smallest of the floor plans and the best “deal” in the community. I already see a problem with that. Mother, being royalty and all, will never go for the smallest of anything. The house was in the final stages of completion and none of the color choices would be theirs. Dad got a deal because the original purchaser had backed out at the last minute due to a death. Her death, to be exact. Dad was very proud of the deal and told me many times how lucky he was to get such a low price on the price of the house and how the deal occurred. Many, many times on the 9 hour drive back to Ft. Worth. He relished the fact that the woman that died had no heirs and he got to scoop any that may come out of the woodwork.

Actually, he was more concerned that a woman was buying this house. He was always amazed at women who could hold their own. That just wasn’t done where he came from. I wonder, dad, where the widows go, to a home? I think independent women are like space aliens to him. They just do not compute in his brain. And, they scare the peejeebers out of him.

Before they left the beautiful serene gated retirement community a mere 18 month later, he had made a spreadsheet, hand written of course, with the number and ages of the women who lived there. This was freaky to me because it was kind of what stalkers do. I guess it is what stakers do. I have never personally known a stalker. But, I do watch those crime shows. At least he did not have names and addresses. He never could figure out how those women could afford a house in the beautiful serene gated retirement community. As a side note, they had to leave as they did not add to the serenity of the place. Alas, I digress. More on the antics of living in a community with actual people and trying to get along later...

The 9 hour trip back and why 9 hours? Well, in 275 miles there were 3 stops- snacks, lunch and dinner, one for gas about 3 blocks from his house. When we got there I immediately left and in 20 minutes I drove 40 miles from their house to mine where the good liquor was. This is the last time I ever let him drive me anywhere in his car. My sanity is way more valuable than having a good relationship with old crazy guy. By the end of this trip I was so close to bitch slapping him into reality I literally sat on my hand. Inside of my lips? Yes, blood from biting to keep my mouth shut. I knew that it was either staying out of the car when he is in it or taking a load of tranquilizers. I wound up taking the tranquilizers anyway.

Get On With It

2009-01-14T09:11:00.002-06:00

Chapter 8

Dad decides they need to move out of Ft. Worth. He and mom would start over at 79 in a new city close to my other sisters. In the same state, but 300 mile away from me. This is not a great idea in my opinion, but he is one stubborn man. He insisted the move would be a lifestyle change something to equate with training for a marathon. They would go to the beach and take long walks. They would eat healthy fruits and fresh veggies. I really expected to see a loin cloth and spear at any minute.

Dad wants me to drive with him and mom to Pearland, Texas. This, let me tell you, was the most excruciating 8 hours of my life. If you search a map online, you will see that from Ft. Worth to Houston is only about 4 1/2 maybe 5 hours if you stop for lunch. And, we would stop for lunch. Those two never miss an opportunity to eat fast food.

Little did I know we would stop for a treat, too. My mother had never passed by Corsicana, Texas, without going into the bakery. This bakery is an icon for the fruitcake industry. As far as fruitcakes go, they make the best. The reason I know, I got one every year from mom. Once, in a real need to help get dad’s coffee down (that is another chapter), I ate a slice. Every year since then my mother would replenish me with a new fruitcake. I will not tell you what became of the fruit cakes she gave me. But somewhere, in a teacher’s lounge, lurks the fruitcakes. The bakery also makes great cookies and, of course, we had to get 2 dozen for the 3 of us.

The next hour would bring us to an all-you-can-eat buffet. At noon. In a small town. On Friday. On the 15th. Payday. Two hours later we are back on the road again. Mom ate beans. And okra. And bread. And greasy chicken. Two stops later we were in Houston. I have never been so thankful to set foot on the ground and breathe fresh air even if we were at a gas station built in 1955. I swear you could see the gas fumes in the air. The gas pump had no stopping mechanism. That apparently made many of the customers overfill the tank on their car and create the most beautiful puddle to watch while you filled up.

Dad is notorious for having a car in some state of disrepair. He is what you would call an artistic man, sort of renaissance man. So, naturally, the gas gauge was not working. He did not tell me this fact until we were on the outside of Huntsville about an hour from Houston. Dad is also notorious for only putting in the amount of gas needed for the trip. Sometimes, this is only a quarter of the tank. The gas tank showed full but we were so empty.

As he tapped endlessly on the gauge trying to “fix” it, I had a big picture in my mind of being stranded on I 45 in rush hour traffic with these two. We stopped just on the outskirts Houston for gas after I told him I was car sick and needed to drive. Now you would think if I was in control of the vehicle, I would stop where it made sense and was safe, right? No I had a navigator and I think he is related to Patton. We did this like an Army maneuver. And by God we were going to get the last drop of use from what little fuel we had left. I do believe that if you put gas on top of gas it mixes and you get to use it all. I could be wrong as I am not an engineer.

Keep in mind that dad is not the one with the Alzheimer’s. We still did not have a diagnosis on mom but we always worried about dad. He marched to a different drummer. My sisters and I always thought he would have the problems with his memory. Mom just embellished life, dad misinterpreted it. Just like the gas station where he chose to stop.

Yep, we were right there in the middle of what can only be described as scary. Probably it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but I watch the news a lot. I watch the Houston news even though I live in Dallas. My sisters lived there and I was curious if they had a better lifestyle than me. By the looks of this particular station, they did not.

Dad leaves the keys in the car, leaves it running, and begins to fill up. He props the handle with the gas cap so he can run into the store. As he walks into the store to get his beer for the night, I look around and mom is talking to a homeless person who needs money. She is HANDING him her wallet.

I am seeing all our lives flash before my eyes. I take a deep breath and in what seemed like the slowest motion ever, I turn off the car, take the keys, lock the car, top off the tank, and grab mother from her new friend.

I drive the rest of the way to Pearland, amere 30 minute drive. With Patton navigating, we arrive 2 1/2 hours later.

I Was Blind But Now I See

2009-01-13T18:59:00.003-06:00

Chapter 7

The official day of departure for Ellyland is very clear in my memory. I thank God for that memory. I hope I never board the train to Ellyland. If I do, I know that I will be just fine. Everyone else will have the problem. I will like Ellyland. I will like it because I will know what needs to be remembered. Not the simple things like when my bra goes on and where my bra goes on, but the past memories that made me who I am. I will remember the events that had long been buried. And, as simply as I remembered, I will then forget. The most precious part of Elly’s Alzheimer’s is her catch phrase: I forgot to remember.

Now that we are deep into the disease, we can look back and see the events leading up to the big announcement. Little, insignificant details in life became the bricks that built the wall around her memory. Luckily, Elly has social graces. By that I mean, she probably will not strip in public. That can actually happen. That is the bad news. The good news is, you don’t know you have saggy boobs or cellulite.

“Your father is having an affair”.

What did you say, mom?

“Your father is having an affair”.

Have you looked at him lately? He is 70 years old and he smells from working in the yard. He is blind in one eye. He wears plaid shorts and has mosquito bites on his lily white legs. He wears black sock with his tennis shoes. He uses hair cream he had since 1963. He drinks cheap beer. Who wants him?

One of the first signs of Alzheimer’s that we noticed was an irrational fear or jealousy. We did not realize it was Alzheimer’s until many (like 10) years later. My mother was convinced that Dad was out having an affair. He was playing golf. How one translates to the other I cannot figure out. Had I known , I would have taken her to the doctor to get checked immediately. I know now that when the family is confused and can’t figure it out, there is a problem.

I had my own problems. I was going through menopause at 38. Ok, so two crazy women are talking to each other... . I am not telling a joke, although it is a great start to one. There is not a manual for menopause in 1993. Not really one for Alzheimer’s, either. I was the only daughter living within 30 minutes of Mom and Dad. I had the “responsibility”. I was sharing that responsibility with the oldest until she got out of town. I like calling her the oldest because it will drive her crazy if she ever reads this book.

Every day or two I would get a call or I would call mom and dad. I would call to make sure no one had broken in and hurt them. Dad had a very bad habit of leaving the garage door up all day and sometimes all night. In addition, he left the door to the house unlock. If the door did get locked, there was no need to worry. The key was right beside the door on a peg.

There the equivalent of a neon sign over the key. You could not miss the key unless you were blind and then the buzz from the light would guide you to it.

He was very proud of the fact they had a side entry garage. You could not see if the door was up if you were directly in front of the house. I know of very few criminals who park in front of your house to do their dirty deeds. If a bad guy walked down the sidewalk in the back of the house, it was a quick and quite trip to the garage. No one would ever see them from the front of the house. I never did convince him to close the door. They thought it was fun to be surprised by people just simply walking in the door and shouting for Elly.

Mom is telling me the same story in every phone conversation, sometime twice in the same phone call. I think I am losing my mind. I know I have heard the story just five minutes earlier. When I tell her this, she repeats the same story again. Doe she have a hidden meaning? What am I not hearing?

My father begins trying to appease my mother in any way he can. Money is spent on new stuff for the house. She buys a gold couch and gives me the yellow one. She buys all new make up and clothes costing thousands. She accuses the people at church of making fun of her. And then, she falls and has a serious injury to her chest. Through all of this, Dad never takes her to the doctor.

One of the things I have learn about the “greatest generation” is that they fear doctors. My mother was born at home. You go to doctors if you are very sick and need a hospital. Also, no news is good news. If no one tells you there is a problem then it simply does not exist.

“Your father is yelling at me”.

What did you say mother? He never yelled at her a day in her life. Not that she didn’t deserve anyway.

“He is yelling at me and I think he is hitting me.”

Do you have bruises? Show me the bruises. There are none.

“He hides them after he makes a bruise”.

With what mom? That new make up because you sure aren’t wearing on your face!

“I can’t remember how to put on make up”.

I finally convince mother she needs to go to the doctor. Something is not right. I never mention Alzheimer’s because I don’t want to scare her. I know she is of a different era. Alzheimer’s could mean a “Home”. Only the very old and unstable go to the “Home”.

Yes, victory! The doctor visit is over! And, she has a prescription! For Davorcet. Huh? Mother had told the doctor that she had fallen and her ribs hurt. Yes, she did have broken ribs. What about your mental state? She forgot to tell him. So her first cure for Alzheimer’s was pain medication. I could see the future. I started looking at rehabs instead of assisted living. One of us is going to become addicted to something I feel sure.

Randi runs away...at 50

2009-01-12T12:08:00.000-06:00

Chapter 6

We have been disowned. My oldest sister has left the family. We have been notified by official registered mail that we cannot see nor talk to her or her daughter. We cannot speak her name. We cannot try in any fashion to contact her. She left 5 years ago. Her ex-husband still does my taxes so I can find her if I want to. I don’t.

We, the remaining siblings, have decided we want to run away, too. This getting old thing is for old people. WE are entirely too young. WE still have kids at home. Why do we have to deal with the assisted living facility, Dad’s eye surgery, Mother’s Alzheimer's? What did the oldest know that we couldn’t see?

Twisted Sister and Other Siblings

2009-01-10T12:36:00.002-06:00

Chapter 5

I must mention that I am not alone in this journey. I have sisters. The “oldest” as she will be called. For legal reasons, that is all I can say. I think I can say she is quite a bit older. I am still in my 50’s. She is not. She is not my whole sister. She has a different father. So, therefore, she always introduced me as her half-sister. I am half royalty and half sister. I am also Irish Catholic, Scottish, French and of course the infamous Swedish royal blood from the movie “Queen Christina”.

I am my father’s first born. That is important in Irish families. It was more important that I was a boy but that didn’t happen. Honestly, I believe I was raised as close to being a boy as my gender would allow. Not that I was a disappointment to my father, but, I am not sure he knew what to do with a girl. So I mowed yards, changed oil, painted houses and worked with tools. I learned to be independent of men. I learned to work from a man who worked throughout the depression. He also walk to school in Queens in snow to his knees. He moved to Texas at 12 and after teaching middle school I realized the knees on most 6th graders is only 10 inches. I stop feeling sorry for his life at that time.

All of these experiences has come in so handy in my life. So, I raised my daughter the same way. The tool part did not take...the independence did. She learned men love to do the tool stuff for women. It gives them purpose since they don’t go slugging after prehistoric animals and enemies. My husband slugs golf balls.

The next sister, Mary, was born 14 months and two weeks after me. You do the math. Oops child, yes. She is the girl. All girl. All American girl. Drill Team, Prom Queen court, Fundraiser Mom. She dresses right and always has nails that look like a girl. She can sing and dance. She is thin. I hate her. Not really, but I could hate her. Except all that fundraiser training in her life and the Miss Congeniality thing has made her the convincer. We have to convince Mom and Dad to move right now. She has that burden in life. They are moving down the street from her. For that, I love her.

The baby is 10 years younger. Carolyn is only in her forties and still has so many good years. She was the perfect child in our parents eyes. She was the perfect teenager. She got a car at 16. We did not. We both hated that. Looking back, in 1980, Mom’s old Delta Royale, 4 door sedan was not a hot car. In fact, it was downright embarrassing. And it was yellow. My mother apparently loves yellow. We have had yellow couches, yellow chairs, yellow bathrooms. She even sold real estate for a company that had yellow jackets. That is why Mom had a yellow car. Carolyn drove it and made it cool to drive a “mom” car. Mary and I could have never pulled that off. We hate yellow. It clashes with our skin tone.

Dad gave Carolyn a nickname. He announce on the day of her birth that he named he Prunella Clydene. She still goes by that but has shortened it to Prunie. Dad did it to aggravate the “oldest” who could not stand her given name. The “oldest” had a beautiful, archaic name from Shakespeare and from my maternal grandmother. She changed her name unbeknownst to any member of the family. For a while it was George, then to a name I am not legally allowed to use. It remains that name to this day. I will explain further the legal complications of this relationship later. Lest I say something to jeopardize any impending lawsuit, I will tell you that what I call her, well, it rhymes with witch. That is not the cute nickname she choose to use, just one that fits much, much better. (Winkie Winkie smiley face)

A-counting of Degrees

2009-01-09T09:33:00.001-06:00

Chapter 4

Elly has a degree. Depending on who is in the room and the college attended, Elly has a degree. Not a real one, the one you get in Ellyland. U.E., University of Ellyland, student enrollment: one. I call it a university due to the fact that U of E has many colleges. If you have a degree in accounting or business then Elly has one in business administration. If you are a teacher, she is a teacher but not in your field. If you are a C. E. O., she is on the board of directors.

Many times I have heard about her degree(s) at open house for the school which we attended. She even told my Spanish teacher she had a degree in Spanish. So, Senora Morris asked her where she went to school. The only problem was she asked it in Spanish. Mom never went back to that teacher and I had her for three years.

Now that I have taught school, I know she was the type of mom who only visited with a teacher one time and only one time. The story was hard to keep straight. Mom could have benefited in the 60’s from a computer to organize the stories. All they had were spiral notebooks back then. I remember one teacher that actually asked me about mom’s bookkeeping business. She had my older sister in class years before and had heard the story. The only bookkeeping done by mom was the yearly attempt at taxes that dad finally finished. Mother just got it all in order. The documents were then passed on to the assistant, that being dad.

Mom did go to a business school right after high school. She graduated at 16, or so the story goes. Come to find out, quite a few people graduated at 16 in 1941. I guess it was the war and all. Or, the fact that she was “double promoted” so many times. We have no actual documentation for proof of that “fact”. Royalty does not have to prove anything apparently. She then went to work for Republic Pictures. She was the president, or vice-president of production, or a bookkeeper depending on the audience. Hell, she could have been the receptionist for all we know.

She did not meet any movies stars except John Wayne. She did not like him. I think it was because she was skinny and he did not pay any attention to a 17 year old skinny girl. She said it was his political beliefs. Who knows? I have serious doubts John Wayne discussed his politics with Elly on a promotional tour. I have serious doubts she actually met him.

2009-01-08T20:05:00.000-06:00

I am not artist but I copy very well. One of my outlets is scrapbooks and card making.

This is the most recent card I made for Mother. It is her pin in the center. I try to send her a card every week.

I have to give credit to Amazing Paper Grace for the idea. And, when I learn to link, I will place the link to her blog here!

2009-01-08T19:24:00.000-06:00

The last Family photo taken 6 months before Mom went into the Memory Care Unit.

I am writing a novelette about my experiences with Alzheimer's and my Mother. However, this is a warning before you begin reading it: I am a little jocular with my viewpoint. I do not take Alzheimer's light so please do not misunderstand. My sister and I have had quite an experience the last 5 years and have learned and seen more than children should concerning our parents. We each have our own way to cope. EllyLand would be my way so I hope you enjoy.

Why don’t I get to teach the honor’s students?

2009-01-08T18:34:00.003-06:00

ELLYLAND

The Adventure Guide to Alzheimer’s

Chapter 1

You are not going to believe this. With all that is going on lately, I am worried about the size font I am going to use. My God, my mother is dying a little bit every day and I worry about the font. Well, I can justify it in a sense. I am 53 years old. I can’t see without readers. I figure anyone reading will be in the same boat. Also, I just need life to be easy right now. I can control the font. I can’t control my parents.

I am not a writer. My sister, Mary, is the writer. She is hilarious when she writes. And, my daughter Amie. She is serious when she writes. I will get her to proof this. After all, that degree in advertising/English needs to be repaid. I am a teacher. I am a retired teacher. I did my time and still feel guilty about not going to school everyday. I chose to stay in the classroom and not go into administration. I liked the teenagers. I did not understand the middle-schoolers but I liked them anyway. I loved the preschoolers. I got the special ed. students.

Let me explain. I do not have a formal degree in Special Education. I have a degree in the course formerly known as Home Economics. I will call it Home Economics until the day I die. I know the changes lately to “Human Sciences” or " Family and Consumer Sciences”. It does not matter. I think we, as Home Economists, decided we needed the public to know we do more than cook and sew. I have 5 areas of concentration and more college hours than my daughter. I am sure the name change to Home Economics in the 1930's affected the Domestic Science graduates in the same way.

I am proud to be Home Ec teacher. Due to the fact that everyone agrees that what I teach is important but the “honor” student will never need it, I got an unforgivable amount of the Special Ed. students. And, I was good with them. That area of Child Development and my master’s work in geriatrics came in very handy.

I always felt sorry for the honor’s kids. I mean, what, like they don’t have to eat, dress or have kids? Do you know they pay to learn to be a parent or cook now? They pay to learn manners and about nutrition. They hire interior decorators. They have entire channels on cable dedicated to what I taught for free. I will never understand honors' parents. Oh, by the way, I am a parent of an honors' student.

My point being, that the journey that I did not understand while teaching in the 70’s and 80’s (and 90’s and 00’s), took me exactly where I needed to be for my mother. She is very much a Special Needs Person now. I have always known that “the plan” for life is unknown, but who could have thought I would travel to Ellyland.

This was not the retirement trip of my dreams. Teachers retire and travel. I was really excited and could not wait to get those discounts on cruise ships to places I really did not want to go. Teachers are cheap and we take any deal whether we want it or not. We can use anything later on a bulletin board. My trip was to go to the places in America I had never been. Any place north of the Mason-Dixon line would be great! I wanted sun and sand and thin thighs. I wanted drinks with umbrellas and cold beers. I wanted adventure. I got Ellyland.

Now let me explain Ellyland for those of you who don’t know what Alzheimer’s does to the brain. I am not going to get scientific. Although I could due to the ungodly amount of literature and internet research I have done. I guess that is the teacher in me. (Yes, we had research papers in Home Ec.. I know what you are thinking) I have note cards and bookmarks. My brain hurts from all the information. What I have not found is the humor. I know it is in there. There has to be a funny side to this. Otherwise, you will find yourself losing the desire to laugh. Take a deep breath and prepare to be shocked. I laugh in the face of Alzheimer’s!

It seems that all the fancy research declares that the person is “lost” and, in fact, the person we knew as “mom” is gone. She went to a place I call Ellyland. And, in Ellyland, everything is fine. The visitors to Ellyland seem to be the people who are confused. Eleanor Rose Huddleston Lawrence McGowan, age 82, is the inventor, owner and operator of the rides. She is my mother.

Chapter 2
Elly

Eleanor Rose, or Elly Rose as I often heard her friends call her, is of royalty. She is a descendant of the King of Sweden. That story should have been our first indication that something was not quite right with her. I later heard the same story in an old Greta Garbo movie Queen Christina. You have to trust me. I am not making this stuff up. It is a true life adventure. It may also explain how I got to Ellyland.

I am an old movie buff. My fantasy is to be the guest host on that old movie channel. I can not discuss any movie making with a degree of sanity. I just like old movies. So one day, just a few months ago, I am scrap booking and listening to an old movie. All of a sudden I heard my mother’s voice and a story from long ago.

Now, I am a little psychic. No, not psycho, psychIC. I do have “visions” but this was not one of them. Mostly I don’t pay attention to the “visions” but I have freaked some people out before. Anyway, it turned out that the voice was Garbo's and the story was the EXACT same one my mother had told me as a child. I have heard her tell this story to complete strangers in the grocery store. I believed I had royal blood. At least on her side of the gene pool. Dad side was another story.

So, my mother was a princess and n e v e r let us forget it. Daily we were reminded that she did not do “work”. Other did. By other I mean me and my sisters. We were her “little genies”. My sisters and I were paid with “Yankee Dimes”. She fooled us every time. All we heard was “dimes” and thought “whoohoo, money!”.

It turns out Yankee Dimes are kisses. It must be a 1930’s thing. I could research it but I would only wind up at another web site for her disease or assisted living facilities.

By our ‘tweens we had figured that one out and had a new little sister. We let her have the Yankee Dimes. We left home before she figured it out. She tried pay me one time with those damn things. I pinched her really hard.

We did the house work. We cooked the meals. We did the laundry. We hated it. We were royalty - at least half anyway. The other half had to work. From the work we learned to resent both our parents. Don't get me wrong. I am not a bitter person anymore. My parents are of a different time and generation. they are depression kids. Work is expected to be able to live. Everyone worked, including the children. Everyone worked really hard and I am guessing that play was not an option. It wasn't an option for us
anyway.

Dad insisted that no disrespect could be aimed at Elly. No one, and I mean no one, could disrespect mother. The second they did, mom was on the phone to dad relating the highly objectionable offense. Then there was hell to pay! Mother always felt vindicated. We always felt resentment.

Chapter 3
What is normal?

It is important to tell you that we had what could only be termed as an abusive upbringing by today’s standards. In the 50’s and 60’s it was what we termed normal. Not Beaver Cleaver normal, but normal. Everyone got a swat and yelled at. Try to do that today and see what you get! My husband had the abnormal family. His mother actually made his breakfast and warmed his shoes. Yes, I said warmed his shoes in the oven so his feet would not be cold. He grew up in Dallas, for pity’s sake, not Alaska.

We, on the other hand, had a W.W.II vet for a father and a sergeant at that, barking drill instructions and playing John Phillip Sousa marches at top volume on the hi-fi to wake us up. We were served the equivalent of brick mortar blatantly called oatmeal for breakfast. I am sure he had made it several days before. Sugar was rationed. I am not kidding you. It was 1970 and he rationed sugar. Forget fruit. That cost money. You will eat it and like it - sir, yes sir. By the way, we had no brothers. We did not understand the army life. We wanted the Barbie life.

Keep in mind that royals do not make breakfast. They are served breakfast. Elly got eggs over easy, toast, and fruit. Oh, yeah, and mom had orange juice to drink. I believe , if memory serve me correctly, we were told that orange juice was an adult drink. Maybe that is why my sister Mary mixed orange juice with bourbon. Adults drink bourbon. I am sure she threw that mixture up because she was not an adult. I was smarter. I waited for that concoction until I was college age. I did not fare any better than she did. Later I learned the mixture was not a normal drink. Adults mix the o. j. with vodka. I mix it with champagne. After all, I am royalty.