Moments In Uncle History

 

Well, nothing can save me now.

As I was sitting in the passenger seat of my sister’s vehicle, my seven year old nephew and two and a half year old niece in the back seat, the adult conversation that was taking place in the front was not under exemption of being heard by the younger ones in the back.

I thought that I was having the common decency to lower my voice to a whisper, and only speaking loud enough to where my sister could hear and I didn’t have to repeat myself.

We were having a discussion about someone, and I ended my sentence with the commentary of “What a jackass!”.

To the horror of my own hearing, and most likely my sister, in the back seat came the emulation from the two year old.

The vocal response of “quack whas” that came from my niece’s mouth put my sister and I both in shock and in a fit of hysteria. But neither one of us could figure out which way to take it.

The seven year old knew better. I was anticipating his reply to be “Bad Word! Bad Word!”, but when he heard the adults in the front start to laugh a little bit, then he decided to chime in with his own rendition of “quack whas”. But his version sounds more of an impaired version of “cracked glass” instead of “jackass”.

For the remainder of the evening, the older sibling kept pushing his luck by trying to get the younger one to say it again and again and again. But THIS UNCLE was very fortunate that she never uttered the phrase again. At least not in my presence.

But to hear my two and a half year old niece try to talk is often funny at times. My sister and I often reflect on the time back in June when we were trying to teach her the word “pine cone”, and she kept saying “pine corn”.

Just a couple of months later, she does say it correctly. So now the amusement of “pine corn” is nothing but history.

Now she has a new phrase that she stumbles to say correctly. Perhaps its just a mouthful to her at this point.

“Stop! In la la la la la”. Or to us, “Stop! In the name of the law!”.

I have pondered such implications about the unfortunate English lesson that my niece jumped in on. Of all the things to teach a child, why did it have to be that she’s got the hearing of a bat? Does it show that I do not have any children?? I think it does.

One thing is for sure, as long as its not being repeated to her at home, and as long as I am not saying it again in front of her, she’ll forget all about it soon. I cannot really stop the seven year old nephew though. I’m not sure if he’s been trying to get her to say it again and again. The boy just knows that its “wrong to say” and she is “saying it wrong”.

I knew better though. And it could have been a lot worse. I could have censored myself, instead I chose full throttle language at a greatly diminished volume and she STILL caught on!!

 

Twenty-Five Years

I never would have thought that this day would come. 

I didn’t ever think that it would. But it has. And I definitely never would have been able to tell you so many years ago what I thought it would be like.

Twenty-five years ago on this day, I lost my mother to cancer. In my mind it is rather difficult to believe that it has been that long.

Sad to say that some of my memories of my mother when she was with us are starting to turn into shades of grey and white. But not all of them. I will sometimes remember certain times growing up when she was not sick.

Nevertheless, this was “the day”.

Each of member of my family remembers it in their own special way. Perhaps they don’t remember all of the finer details of that day, but we all do remember.

I wrote about it in my blog one year ago. If you care to read it, you can find it here:

https://dambreaker.wordpress.com/2011/07/25/mother/

I can still hear the voice of my mother yelling at me until it cracked. Usually that meant that I was in big trouble. And ironically it is that yelling voice in my head that comforts me to a point. Although the mental image in my head of what my mother looked like is almost gone. I personally do not own any photographs of her when she was still with us. Other members of my family however do have some photographs.

Last night, I remember feeling very cold. And there honestly wasn’t any reason for me to be that cold. That was a bit strange. But I guess that one could argue that the cold feeling that surrounded me was my mother wrapping me in her arms. Others probably wouldn’t see it that way at all.

Then I had a particular memory of seeing a photograph of my mother standing by the sliding glass door. There were no lights on and she was in her night gown. Her hair slowly starting to come back after all of the chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Half of her body was in a bright light from the natural light that  came through the glass, and the other half of her body was as dark as the rest of the house. The family dog laying at her feet, staring out through the glass door as my mother was. It was taken a few years before she would pass away. When I remembered that photograph, I cried.

Everyone handles death and grieving differently. Some cry, some weep. I tend to be the one that talks about it, over and over again.

And yet through all of the sadness and tears, I must always remember that my mother was someone who loved her children. That includes me.

There are some children in this world who have parents that don’t bother to care. I’m fortunate enough to have had a mother who did love her children very much. Even though among my two brothers and sister, we always seem to have stories or memories of our mother beating our asses when we did something wrong. Of course that is grossly an exaggeration. She did love us enough to let us have it and discipline us when we did something wrong. And now when it is talked about, we laugh… even though back then, I’m sure we all cried our eyes out when we got punished.

Today is no difference in the matters of difficulty than any other year that has passed. But I think that what I CAN remember is something that I can hold on to and nobody can take it away. I still miss my mother and I love her. It just feels strange to say that she has been gone for so long.

 

 

 

 

El Jefe: In Memoriam

“Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.”~ Quintus Ennius

In memory of my neighbor and friend.

So far I have made it through with all that has been going on. Even though my shoulders still carry a heavy load upon them.

We put to rest my neighbor and friend. His immediate family referred to him as “Jefe”, as did I.

But it has been strange and difficult not having him around. Countless times in these past few days, I’ve gone through the urge of giving him a call to let him in on what’s been going on in my world. Then I would stop and think that he’s not here any more, and calling him would be futile. I’m having a lot of trouble with that at the moment.

Yesterday, we said our final farewells to Jefe. A lot of people actually showed up to pay their respects. It was just as impressive as his own obituary was. The biggest thing that people had to say about him is that when they read the obituary, they didn’t realize just how connected to the community and all of the things that he had accomplished in life of 65 years. One of which was his military career. Leaving the United States Army as an officer rank of Major. The surprise came by people of what he had done surrounding his military career. Including a marriage of 44 years.

Since the news of his passing early last Friday morning, I have been surrounded by the family. His wife and his children. Hell, I was even there when they were putting together his obituary. Sitting with his wife and family and going along with them through the good and bad times of the past several days.

But Jefe and his wife had always thought of me as a “son”. They had five children of their own. But it was his wife who endeared me as a son more than he did. For many years, I actually have been regarded as and even introduced as their son. Even to their own family members. It got to the point where it was explained that their five children were brought to them by stork, and I was brought to them by the mail man.

I had a lot of people come up to me and introduce themselves and when I gave them my name, they would say, “Ohh, your their surrogate son. I’ve heard so much about you. Nice to finally meet you.”

But what am I going to really do? In a place where many were mourning. Was I going to fight them? No.

I was kind of surprised when the priest had mentioned my name in the list of his children. Then again, should I have been since they had spent many years claiming as such?

I have a lot of memories of Jefe that it would be too difficult to list them all. Many times going out to eat together, or watching a movie at their home, having a few drinks or whatever.

Being there yesterday just brought back so much to my own mind. Losing my mother and other people in my life, it was definitely a difficult burden to wear yesterday.

Near the end of the service, they played an audio recording of the 21 Gun Salute as Jefe’s sons couldn’t get the approval of the U.S. military for an actual one. And then the playing of TAPS. And it was the playing of TAPS at which point, I broke down into tears. Some tears fell, others simply welled up in my eyes and did not descend across my face.

And with the knowledge that Jefe and his family referred to me as part of theirs, the neighbors were looking at me with strange looks when they saw my tears. I did not understand why they would do that. Considering how many times Jefe’s wife verbally would speak to me as if I was part of their family. But I’m just going to have to let that go.

Jefe was the one that taught me how to improve on my Spanish speaking skills. I had always feared that he would tell me one thing and as a joke, and it would mean another. If you have seen the movie, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding”, then you know what I am talking about. But he did not do that. Whenever I asked him how to say something in Spanish, he did help.

He told jokes all of the time. A majority of them, dirty and vulgar. But that’s what he liked to do was tell jokes.

However for myself and most likely for his family, we’ll go on and on with memories of Jefe. Time shall heal our wounds to where we will no longer need to mourn, but to remember. And be rejoicing the fact that I knew him and that he was a part of my life for these past few years. Knowing his pain and suffering is over. And ours one day, will be too.

 

 

 

 

 

Blog Hiatus

“Mourning is not forgetting… It is an undoing. Every minute tie has to be untied and something permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the dust.”~ Margery Allingham

So I never thought that I would be writing about this in my blog considering the fact that I have read many other blogs and the authors complaining about how they feel that they have neglected writing. And here I am writing that I’m going to stop for a while.

My brother-in-law has been in the hospital recently. His liver basically right now is gone. And with his medical condition as it is, (I don’t want to give out too much information) basically he’s going to pass away at some point. The doctors were given him just a few days because his kidneys were beginning to fail, but then the good news is that they started to bounce back. But because of everything else that is going on well.. as they say, “the damage has been done.”

I feel really rotten for my sister right now and what she is going through. There’s no way that I can fathom it. I have helped out in watching her two young children (ages 2 and 7 years old) while she went to the hospital, but then I got sick with an infection and very high fever and  couldn’t do it any more.

Nobody really knows how long this is going to last with my brother-in-law. He is coming home from the hospital, but will be in hospice care. And I can’t really say whether that’s good, bad, or what.

But I am going to do what I can to help out my sister. Especially after I start to feel better. I’m nervous though because I do have that sledge hockey tournament in Dallas, and then the week after that a weekend with SIX MINUTE CENTURY. I’m scared because what if he passes while I am gone or just before I am to leave? It’s a very difficult thing to consider or ponder.

However, I will be leaving the blog behind for a while. At least, that is the current way of thinking. I haven’t been doing it recently, because I have been sick. And yes, I know that is an excuse. But it is what it is and that’s the way it is.

Bear with me, please.

 

Distracted Or Easily Amused?

“I don’t want my body to be a distraction from my talent or my brain.”~ Shania Twain

 

If yesterday’s post was to have caused any worry or concern on the part of the reader, then this blog post will probably cause them to either roll their eyes or giggle. And maybe, just maybe, if the reader is freaky enough… they just might do both.

 

Am I in a better mood? You betcha!

 

Clearly yesterday was probably the worst day since my discharge from the hospital. I had done so much activity that it was overwhelming and I did too much that caused me some very serious and great pain. Some of which I am still recovering from today. Which is getting better for those who wanna know.

 

But today, I had gone to a birthday celebration for one of the neighbors. She is 90 years old. That’s a lot of candles on a cake!

 

This is someone that I do not normally speak to on a daily basis. We’ve had our run-ins before and disagree quite frequently. But this was a time to put all of that aside and be happy for her.

 

I had actually arrived about ten minutes early than what the posted time was for the gathering and noticed that no other neighbor of mine was present. To be honest, it was a bit disappointing as I was sure that there would be people there. How quickly did my mind turn to the negative when I thought, “Well, she has been known to piss off people so it shouldn’t be a surprise that nobody is here.” But really? C’mon! This is a monumental birthday celebration we are talking about.

 

So a little bit later I would realize that a few of the other neighbors were there and it was a decent group of people. The weather today is rainy so it may have had something to do with it. But more people showed up later on.

 

But as I was the early bird, I went into the party room and immediately locked eyes with one tremendous piece of eye candy. I nearly fell out of my wheelchair, this girl was so cute.

 

She came right up to me and welcomed me and told me what was going on. You know, tea and coffee over here, birthday cake over there and what not. Luckily, I didn’t go into my usual “speechless” state of mind. I instead communicated with her.

 

However I had to quickly excuse myself and leave the room and go and talk with someone else. A “guy talk” if you will before I was able to compose myself and re-join the party. I mean, I had to talk this out before I just made my first entrance and then blow it. You know what they say about first impressions.

 

As I returned to the party, I was greeted by ANOTHER girl who was equally as attractive as the first. I thought to myself, “What in the world is going on and how are these girls related to my celebrating neighbor?”. It has to be the gene pool.. it just has to be.

 

I was offered coffee, and then later a piece of birthday cake was presented to me. These girls were so cute and attractive that I just couldn’t deny it, or them. If they would have offered me a plate of cow manure, I would have taken it ever so graciously.

 

After composing myself again, I noticed that all of my neighbors were sitting at one particular table by themselves. I found it so strange that even during a birthday party that they would feel that they would have to cut away from mingling with other party guests, whether or not they knew who they were. I mean, I didn’t know ANY of the friends and family members who were there, and I mingled and talked. Why not them as well??

 

Then, I decided that it was time to stop staring and start sharing. Or at the very least try.

 

I went up to one of the cuties and began a conversation with them. I would find out that both of them were my neighbor’s great-granddaughters!

 

Holy smokes!! That many lines of family and generation connected these two hotties with my sometimes sweet and sour neighbor. Wow!!!!

 

I complimented them on the jewelry that they wore. One of which, had a diamond ring. Perhaps white gold or just plain silver? I don’t know, I’m not that savvy with jewelry knowledge.

 

I told her, “You’re too young to be married!”. She laughed a bit and said, “No. I’m not married, this is a promise ring that I was given. But I am to receive my engagement ring at any day now.”

 

I was floored. A promise ring. Does anyone else remember this? First, the lady would receive a promise ring, then the engagement ring and finally the wedding ring. You just don’t see that any more. Although it is something that I would personally do if I was to be in that position in a relationship with a woman.

 

Anyways, I was curious and I could not stop myself. I again mentioned that she was far too young to be married. If I had to have guessed, I would have said that she looked between 17-21 years of age.

 

She told me that she was 24 years old. Most certainly old enough to be married, or at least engaged. In which she is.

 

The flirting had to stop, at least with that one. But the other one didn’t look too much older than that either. I never found out how old the other cutie was. But if this first one was 24, then I would have to guess 24-26 years old.

 

The other did NOT have a diamond on her finger, but she had this really beautiful costume ring on in the shape of a blooming rose. It took up all of her finger and some of the next. It was in fact… really pretty.

 

I did not have success speaking with the other one though. She just never would sit still long enough for me to sit beside her and talk with her. But golly, I am guessing that she was with her immediately family and if the woman sitting to her left was her mother, then… umm.. yeah. “Hello, Seattle!”.

 

But my time had run out on me as I had to be home to wait for the daily nurse visit. What a buzzkill. So I returned home, experiencing a new kind of discomfort and pain. And I don’t think that I have to go into what I am talking about, you know??

 

Just when I thought I knew everything there was to know about post-hospital stays and the pain and recovery, I end up with a “newfound misery”. And then again, if yesterday’s blog post was any indication of the misery and hell that I was feeling, today one would have no other choice but to admit “it is better”. I just don’t know if this was quite the distraction from all that I have been going through these past few days or if its going to be something to “add on”.

 

Good grief!!!

 

Ye Olde Christmas Traditions

“We’re kicking off our fun old fashion family Christmas by heading out into the country in the old front-wheel drive sleigh to embrace the frosty majesty of the winter landscape and select that most important of Christmas symbols.”~ Chevy Chase as ‘Clark’ in “Christmas Vacation” [1989]

It’s Christmas Eve. At least for most. Christmas Day is several hours away and we gather with family and friends to celebrate in love and harmony, not to mention in pride and avarice (for others).

Each family who celebrates Christmas throughout the world has their own holiday traditions. I know that growing up, my family sure did. But after having those traditions for many, many years- it is sometimes difficult to realize that others do not do the same thing as I have done for most of my life.

Growing up, my family did our Christmas celebrating and the opening of gifts and presents on the evening of Christmas Eve. For many years I just thought that was how it was done. Until I was much older and realized that the only reason why my parents decided to open presents on Christmas Eve, was because of the fact that my sister’s birthday is the 26th of December.

So many Decembers gone by, and I could never figure out why other neighborhood children had only had their toys and gifts for an hour or so when me and my siblings had ours freshly unwrapped overnight. I would learn after the age of ten or so why that was.

Most of my life though, and even into adulthood, I would open up Christmas presents on the 24th of December………. except for one year.

On the 24th of December in the year of 1982, our family stayed at home instead of attending Christmas Eve services. My father would go on without us and then return home. Meanwhile, a thunderstorm came through and by the time we had heard the garage door opening, signifying that my father was home and “Christmas” would begin, my younger sibling ran out the front door to greet him in the pouring rain. At that moment when the front door was opening, the tornado sirens began to wail.

Christmas was not going to happen for several hours later as the F4 tornado ripped through in the middle of the night. Two days later (on my sister’s birthday that year) we had twelve inches of snow. Go figure.

That year, so memorable. Opening gifts and drinking tiny glasses of egg nog well after midnight and practically falling asleep on the floor amongst the disaster area of torn and shredded Christmas wrapping paper and emptied out toy boxes and packages.

Christmas traditions vary worldwide as well. Not just from American family to family. Some have already opened gifts and presents. When I was studying German in school, we learned about something called “Saint Nikolas Tag” (St. Nicholas Day). That was the time when many children would open gifts and presents. Of course in Germany, they do celebrate Christmas on the traditional days of 24th and 25th, and even on the 26th. But what we learned, Saint Nikolas Tag was the day that the German version of Santa Claus would visit and bring gifts for the children.

Now as an adult, now that I am an uncle; things have changed a little bit. My niece and nephews will most likely be opening gifts tomorrow morning as many children will in this country.

But I really don’t believe that it matters all that much on WHAT DAY we open our gifts and presents for the Christmas holiday. It’s more towards what the real meaning of Christmas is about. And being with family and loved ones.

And that’s just me.

For those of you reading this blog post, and celebrate Christmas– MERRY CHRISTMAS. May your holidays be full of love & joy.

 

Hang On, December!

“We plunged into the cornucopia quivering with desire and the ecstasy of unbridled avarice.”~ Jean Shephard

If you are reading this, congratulations. You’ve made it through the first day of December.

But it is not over yet. You still have thirty more to go.

The temperatures are getting a lot colder, shopping is become a hassle, and parking is nothing but an urban legend. Just remind yourself: “This will all be over soon.”

December is probably the most stressful month out of the calendar year than any other month. After dealing with turkey, football, and drunk relatives. You know that in five short weeks you’ll have to do it all over again. But this time, the entire atmosphere has its own feel. Those silent nights that you dream for, with snow-capped rooftops and joy and peace doesn’t come until far later.

Each one of us deal with so much more stress over the holidays, it is no wonder why people lose it by the time Christmas Day arrives.

All of the shopping, the gift wrapping, the wasted rolls of tape, and dysfunctional gift bows just can’t compete with the hair-pulling, the headaches, and the lack of sleep throughout the entire month. The candles and wreaths in the windows burning brightly through the crisp cold evenings give way to a heart-warming feeling that soon, Christmas is coming.

And with all of the things that drive us crazy, because we are running around all over town like chickens without heads, December begins a sort of unspoken season of gratitude and love towards our fellow neighbors. Well, at least it USED to!!

Children long for their wishlists to be fulfilled. Parents bite their tongues so that their secrets are not exposed. On and on and on.

Welcome to December. Welcome to the Christmas season!

Each and every one of us, I am sure, has something going on this time of year. Keeping us occupied. Planning or traveling. Or even both. Trying to reach every relatives’ house before the 31st! Those of us who are successful, ought to write books on how to successfully complete a holiday marathon.

A lot of us fizzle out before the first week of December comes to an end. Those are the ones that find themselves out of Egg Nog when Christmas comes, and they have to either continue to buy more, or serve something else and hope that nobody notices that the liquor cabinets were emptied out long before.

The others will find themselves victorious to mid-December. Just about a week and a half short of the goal. Tensions rise and all we can think about is having a “Christmas do-over”. All because great-grandfather dropped his Johnny Walker on Aunt Charlene’s 1900’s antique rug, and creepy Uncle Hank found himself up to his eyebrows in vodka and ended up hitting on your nineteen year old cousin Susanne.

Ho-ho-ho!!!

Pack up the kids, honey! We're outta here!!

What seemed to be a 3-day time of celebration to be around family ended up being 72 hours of pure misery and you can’t wait for the ball to drop before they all get the hell out of the house!

And that only feels like everyone has left a chore that will last until New Year’s Eve and you say to yourself: “I’m glad I’m not Aunt Gertude! Her New Year’s Eve party is going to be a bomb.” And then you find yourself being the life of the party a week later. With missing memories and soreness in muscles that you forgot you had.

But it is not all pain and grief. Knowing that you’ve been able to see those in your family that you don’t normally see every day becomes a sort of victory. Friends from way back when coming by and the wild amusment of Christmas Carols sang by groups of people who don’t have a musical bone in their body.

Suddenly, all of the stress. All of the money. All of the pain and heartache: It becomes worth it and you wouldn’t change it for anything else in the world. (Naturally, when it is all over and you reflect back at the next office meeting come that first week of January and that stupid jackass down in accounting will whine about how bad their holiday was and by comparison, yours was an ultimate paradise for  those last two weeks of December.)

Someone is gonna get a new car. Someone is going to get a brand new diamond ring.

It might not be you. Or it might be. Either way, you’ll know about someone receiving such an extravagant gift. Just bite your tongue because you have your health. And even though it might be totally awesome to have a new car, it is not you that has to worry about higher car insurance and new car payments.

Your health keeps you going through and through, and when the 1st of December comes again, you’ll be stronger and last longer.

Roommate Rampage

“Its really hard to be roommates with people if your suitcases are much better than theirs.”~ J. D. Salinger

For those of us who feel the necessity for a roommate, whether it is for reasons of trying to save money and cut down on the cost of living, or maybe getting a little extra help on outrageous rent, or if it is for the purposes to feed the need for socialization and not feeling alone, selecting a roommate should be a very selective and tedious process. Especially if it is you who is head of household.

One has got to do their homework and yes, even research people whom they might think be potential roommates, because you never truly know what you are going to get.

Throughout my stay on the farm this past week, I’ve seen first hand how important and just how true this really is. I entered into a house out in the middle of nowhere, that already had four people occupying it.

I will attempt to break this down:

• head of household
• cousin to head of household
• boyfriend to cousin
• personal attendant to head of household

So in a sense, you have three that could be considered as “family” and one other. The head of household is a disabled person and a veteran and was in need of help. But deep down, I believe that not only did he need the help, but he needed the social interaction in his life. So when he hired the personal attendant to come live in the house, rent free… he also invited his cousin and her boyfriend to come help out as well.

The problem was that the head of household didn’t tell each individual that the other was coming. And they all lived in one house. It probably lasted less than two months in total.

I had been communicating with both the head, and with the personal attendant prior to my visit to the farm. The personal attendant kept swearing up and down that the house was a miserable place to be, and that she was lonely. The head of household kept trying to get me to come back for another visit, but I had a terrible and boring experience back in April and that just lasted a weekend.

Nonetheless, I foolishly went back. Started to have a better time just hanging out and doing whatever. But the personal attendant was not all that she had made herself up to be, and the situation inside the house was a powder keg, ready to explode.

But I took an entirely neutral stance on the situation. Whenever things were showing signs of getting heated a little bit, I got out of the way. None of this was my fight in any way.

It seemed a bit crazy in there. The boyfriend and girlfriend I thought were rather loud in the house. I thought that perhaps a little volume adjustment in their voices would behoove them, and things would become easier for everyone. They were in their early 20’s. Kids, basically.

The personal attendant though, in her mid-40’s,  was a complete and totally different story. A story of talking like one person, but behaving like another.

For a couple of days though the couple was gone out of the house. It was just the three of us for a while. It seemed more relaxed. The couple were the youngest ones in the house and it had seemed like the atmosphere had changed to a more adult and mature thing.

But what I was missing from the very beginning was the fact that the personal attendant would stay hidden and holed away in her bedroom while the couple was there. Once they were gone, she emerged. (And she said she was lonely?)

While they were gone, the three of us drove into town and went to the grocery store. There was this issue about who was paying for what and who had what money and these sorts of things. I had been told by head of household that I would NOT be expected to pay for anything because I was a guest in his house. So I intentionally left my wallet at home. So the debate of who was going to be paying for food was between the two of them.

Eventually, that got settled as the attendant took care of the grocery bill herself.

Yet throughout the entire time that she and I were by ourselves in the aisles, she would complain about the other two. How dirty they were, how they didn’t do anything to help, how lazy they were, and so on. But I DID notice that she wouldn’t say anything to the head of household, who was essentially– her boss.

I honestly couldn’t see her point of view. How was it “miserable”? She was laughing and having fun and everything in between… as long as the kids weren’t there. But once they showed up, she took refuge back into her bedroom. And honestly, I tell you, she did not come out unless she was called for by the head of household. Not even for meals would she come out to the table to eat. She had always given some excuse as to why she would not join the rest of us.

So allow me to continue. While at the grocery store, she bought FOR HERSELF, a can of pineapples. This is something that she wanted for herself. She didn’t want anyone else to have it. I heard it, the other guy heard it.

The biggest key factor was that the couple didn’t hear it because they were not there.

 The very next day, that can of fruit that only cost 79¢ ignited the powder keg. Fueled by the fact that the three of them were drinking heavily that evening.

They had taken the can and blended the pineapple into a wild cocktail. Then the head of household went knocking on the attendant’s bedroom door to offer her a drink that had her pineapple in it.

I was in the next bedroom online, and checking messages, when all of a sudden the personal attendant came up from behind me and started whispering in total anger. Her face turning red as she tried to keep the volume of her voice down low enough so that the “others” couldn’t hear.

Something was said. The shouting began. And I knew it was coming. I tried to hang on and ignore it but there was really nowhere to go to avoid what was brewing.

A few more times the attendant would storm into the next bedroom where I was on the computer and just start bitching and moaning. The others noticed this. The cousin finally called her out, drunk as a skunk.

Let me also add that every single day that I was there, whenever I was in a situation where it was just myself and the attendant alone in a room or space, she would complain about the others, mainly the couple. Always complaining about the same things repeatedly.

My answers finally were “Go talk to your boss.”, she did NOT heed my advice, at all. She kept coming back with “He won’t listen to me. But he’ll listen to you because you’re his buddy.”

I never really saw her TRY. Whenever she had some kind of worry or complaint, she came to me. I was not there to be anyone’s ombudsman or referee.

Now the cousin kept getting louder and louder, and more vulgar towards the attendant. The attendant actually never did fire back that I recall.  She just decided to keep coming into the bedroom where I was and talk to me. I didn’t care for it because my back was towards the door and I couldn’t “see” her coming. The door didn’t have a lock either so I couldn’t gain that privacy that way.

Eventually the head of household came down the hallway and I expressed that I was not appreciating her barging in on me like she was. That she needed to talk to him. So he was the one that made that move first, instead of her.

She shouted out, “I want my money that I am owed for being here, and I’m gone. I’m outta here. I’m done.” Well, there was no arguing that she had made up her mind. She had said it loud enough for everyone in the house to understand her. Then she finally took off in her vehicle and went some place. Nobody knows where.

She stumbled back into the house later around 3:00 AM. We heard the door open. Actually, the house has a pretty nifty security alarm system that beeped whenever ANY door that led to the outside was opened. You couldn’t get away from it.

I ignored her as I played video games with the others. I finally went to bed closer to 4:00 AM, exhausted… stressed out… and nervous. And it proved that I had every right to be.

I laid down on the couch where I was sleeping in the back living room. There was NO privacy at all there. Anyone in the house could walk through there. I would eventually open my eyes momentarily and there stood the personal attendant, next to the bed hovering over me. Scaring me to death!

She then climbed into bed with me. She again took another opportunity to whine and complain and I kept telling her “Talk to your boss!!”. Over and over again.

Then she was pissed off because I would not allow her to stay in bed with me.  It was already 6:00 AM at that point when I told her to leave. I heard her say as she walked away, “I guess nobody wants to be around me.”

Well ummm.. no, not really. Not with you acting like this. Not with you just standing there over me while I sleep and then also climbing into bed while I am sleep, uninvited. Plus, I don’t know who you are!!

This was all done probably was because the night before, I was sleeping soundly and I woke up to roll over and she was right there in bed with me… snoring.

From the six nights that I stayed in the house, she crawled into bed with me while I slept four nights. And everytime- uninvited.

How terrifying to have someone standing over you, waiting for you to wake up while you are sleeping in the middle of the night!!!

By the time this fight had escalated to the level it had, all I kept saying to myself was “one more night…. just one more night.”

The fighting continued Friday night as during that day, everyone but the attendant went into town. The head of household got a money order for the attendant for the amount that she was told the VA was willing to pay her. Wrote “Final Check” on it and had given her five days to leave.

She didn’t want to leave. She kept saying that she was saying it because she was mad. But the head of household took her serious when she said she was done. So he gave her a money order. Got gas for her vehicle too so she could make it into town to fill up.

But she really didn’t want to leave. Again, she slipped into my bed to wake me up and complain about this, when she should have complained about it to someone else. She vowed that she would “fix everyone in the house”.

The guy’s parents (my neighbors) were coming and I would return home with them. That was supposed to be Friday morning. They didn’t show up. Instead, they arrived Saturday morning. But I thought that I would have that buffer to get away from her while this guy’s parents were there.

For the most part, she stayed in her bedroom on Saturday. Not all day, but most of it. I took advantage of the fact that she was holed up in her bedroom and took a nap. She had stolen so many hours of sleep from me those nights just keeping me awake so she could complain.

Around 3:00 PM, I heard thunder. Actual thunder. I stirred in bed and then I heard the rain just pouring!! And because the entire state is in such a drought… I ran outside and sat in it. Yeah, I probably could have gotten sick but I obviously didn’t think about that.

I was just enjoying it so much because I had not seen it in so long that I went out into a field and stripped down naked. Yep. B A R E – A S S E D   N A K E D ! ! !

(Some of my blog subscribers are probably blushing right now. And a few others are probably attempting to get a mental picture. You’re welcome!)

It rained for a while. A couple of hours I would say, it would let up but kept raining. We all had noticed that the attendant had left. She didn’t say a word to anyone. Just left. And by that point, truth be told that nobody cared or mentioned it or questioned it either.

By 11:00 PM, my neighbors had gone to bed. The cousin was sleeping. The head of household and the boyfriend to the cousin were outside on “an armadillo and snake hunt”.

I was at the kitchen table using a laptop. Then I heard a knock. The doors were locked for the night and it was the attendant. So, I let her in. She then began to tell me this tale about how the father had sexually assaulted her in her bedroom.

PRETTY SERIOUS ACCUSATION.

She said she was scared to even be in the same house as the man. But then I thought about this:

• There are two steps that are built in a corner to gain entry to her bedroom.
• The details of her story of where it happened exactly kept switching from the desk in her bedroom and the closet in the back of the room.
• The man she was accusing of doing this to her, is in his mid-60’s and needs the use of a walker for mobility and his health is fading pretty quickly, especially this past year.
• The time of day in which this had happened, everyone was in the house but she said that nobody else was in the house.

Very weird.

How could he have gotten up those stairs without being detected? He’s pretty slow. WHY then didn’t she scream when he came after her?

Never made much sense. Until I remembered that night of the fight where she “promised to fix everyone”.

Whether it was a plan for her to really cause a stir and try to divide one against the other, or it was actually TRUE that it had happened, I took it upon myself to go outside and tell the head of household that she was accusing his father of this action.

It was over. The guy went back into the house, around 12:00 AM and knocked on her bedroom door as she was sitting there like she had been for days and nights. He started to scream “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!”.

She looked at him like she didn’t know why he was screaming. She reminded him that he had said she had a few days to get out. But he changed his mind because of this accusation. He kept screaming “GET YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!”.

It woke up a lot of people. Then he went into the bedroom in which his own parents were asleep and informed them that she was accusing the father of this action.

The argument between head of household and attendant didn’t transpire for much longer as she left the house. When she did, he called the law enforcement and had them send out a county Constable.

Naturally it took him a while to get out there. But by the time the Constable arrived, she had returned to the house with a neighbor from down the road and dragged him into this situation. She even lied to him about WHY he was there in the first place.

She began to gather her things and move it out to her vehicle. One piece at a time. Nobody helped her. The Constable ended up speaking to the head of household, the unsuspecting neighbor, the attendant, the father who was verbally being accused, and me!

Actually, I was the second person he spoke to. And I told him what had been happening since the moment I walked in the door that Monday evening. The roommates simply could not get along was the meat and potatoes of the entire situation. And I spoke of the creepy things that she was doing, like standing over me in bed.

The last two people that the Constable spoke to was her and then the father. But then the Constable called for me again. And I thought that she was going to try and drag me down as well. Scared me to death. But he only asked me what happened during a situation at lunch, which was nothing compared to what was going on already.

Finally, the Constable assisted her in removing her things from the house. He followed her out. I saw and read the copy of the report. She signed it and it said that she understood she was never to return back to the property. If she did, she could be charged with criminal trespass and in this state, that means that she could spend up to 1 year in jail and/or pay a $4,000 fine.

I was home the next afternoon.

This totally long and lengthy story should serve as a warning for those who have potentially put themselves in a situation where roommates do not get along with one another. Always be sure to check out the people whom you are considering as a roommate. Find out more about them before you commit to it. Never allow yourself to be uncomfortable where you live. Especially if it is YOU who are the head of the household. And even if you are not, do not allow yourself to be bulldozed by those who are. Make sure you can get along peacefully with one another. Do not be ashamed or scared to actually do a search on them prior to giving them a set of keys. Find out if they have a past and it will save you so much grief in the long run.

I was no referee to anyone. But I sure was an eyewitness to everything.

Humor Fired For Effect

“Now I may be an idiot, but there’s one thing I am not sir, and that sir, is an idiot.”~Peter Griffin in “Family Guy”.

This story is too funny not to share, I think.

I went out to dinner a few nights ago with my sister and her family. For whatever reason, there was a spike in activity upon my cell phone with text messages from sea to shining sea. Why exactly at that point, I’ll never know.

So as we’re driving along and trying to find a restaurant that was not closed, these flurries of text messages were coming in. Finally, when we selected one place to eat and we were getting out of the vehicle, my cell phone began to ring. I knew exactly who it was without the need to look at my phone. And I said to myself, “Ohh this will be good!”.

I didn’t begin with the opening salutation with the common response. I did not say, “hello?”, I did not say, “hey there!?”.

I answered the phone with “Hey baby!!”. My sister almost had an immediate reaction with confusion piled on with intrigue. Her husband started laughing because he doesn’t hear me talking like that a lot.

I said to the person on the other line that I was with family, having dinner and that I would call her back later. Then my ending salutation was “Love you!!”. And I hung up.

By this time, my sister went into 20,000 questions mode. Her husband still laughing and yet curious as to why in the world I would talk like that. The rest of the night, the two of them kept on and on. Relentlessly asking questions about who it was that I was talking to. I only had answered one question and that was whether or not the person I was speaking with, was my girlfriend. No, she isn’t my girlfriend.

I think that only fueled their curious nature and definitely confused them. Why in the hell would I say that to someone who wasn’t my girlfriend??

I LOVED IT! I gave a text message to the one who had called me and was laughing about it, explaining that I had given them “shock & awe”. But my female friend is used to that kind of banter and talk coming from me. We’ve been friends for years now.

I am just the kind of guy that will tell my friends that I do love them. At least those whom I know will be able to handle such a sentiment without having to Google it, and trying to define what it is I am saying to them or insinuating that the intimate expression is implied with more meaning than its face value that I am offering. Although to be fair, I don’t always use the endearing term, “baby” with them a lot either. Once again, something of banter and I know she’s used to it and doesn’t go overboard taking it too much to heart.

I realized that for one, my sister and her family don’t really know too much about what’s going on with me because they are not around me a lot to understand who it is I associate with and how it can be that I would speak to people in such a way. Besides, I don’t understand all of the time the things that they say and do either. So what one glove will fit a hand, the other will fit as well on the other.

Yet I knew all of this was going to happen as soon as the cell phone began to ring.

I’m sure by now, the gossip has spread amongst the rest of my family that I had done this. And that’s just too bad. They don’t have to like it.

And if people do not like the way that I speak or communicate with them, then they either need to make me aware of it in a kind and mature manner or they can walk away.

I am who I am, and not even the great confusion of family who grows an opinion of what they think I should do or say is going to change that. Everyone in my life is there for a purpose, and I love them for whatever purpose that may be.

I just knew that this was going to happen. So I pulled the biggest joke on my sister and her family that I ever had in years. And still was remaining true to myself and how I behave.

Still though, it was pretty funny!

 

Mother

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness.”~ St. Paul

The 26th of July is a date that is no more absolute in my mind and in my life than Christmas or my own birthday.

The words within the quote of this blog post are the ones written on the tombstone, of my mother.

My mother died of ovarian cancer over twenty years ago and each time when this date arrives, I am reminded of the sorrow, the loss, and the pain that my entire family and I went through on that day.

Some of you who have been keeping up with this blog already know. Some of you don’t. And for those who do not, I had promised that I would write my story of that horrible day so that you may know and understand. As difficult as it is to think about and experience through memory, here it goes.

She battled with it for about four years. I have memories of doing what I could to help make my mother feel more comfortable by massaging her feet because I have very strong hands. Most of the time, it worked. So the story really begins That Tuesday and Wednesday before, mainly Wednesday.

I was called away from the dinner table for the second evening in a row. Interrupted from eating, and called into the bedroom of my parents, to actually help give my mother a back massage. Everywhere I had massaged, my mother claimed that it hurt. She was weak and unable to breathe. My father called the local doctor and asked for him to have oxygen brought to her. The doctor replied that oxygen could be brought into the home, but it would be brought by the following day OR my mother could go into the hospital where she would receive oxygen almost immediately.

I think that for my father, it was a no brainer decision to take my mother into the hospital. I had a terrible feeling about it, but was glad that she was going to get oxygen so she could breathe. Also, I was inwardly happy that I would be able to finish eating that evening, unlike the night before on Tuesday by the time my arms were so exhausted from massaging my mother’s back, it was time for bed and food was gone.

I pleaded with my father to allow me to return to the dinner table to finish eating. He allowed it and I told my mother “I love you.” She replied, “I love you too, sweetie.” in the most shallow of breath I have ever heard anyone speak. A common whisper would have been louder by comparison in volume.

Wednesday night, my mother was admitted into the hospital. She would never return back home. My sister shouted out the same thing as my mother was being helped from her bed to the car to go to the hospital. Almost at the last possible second of being heard, she shouted out, “I LOVE YOU, MOM!”. That time though, I did not notice a response.

The following days my siblings and I tried to go on “life as usual”. We were used to my mother being in the hospital because of chemotherapy and doctor’s visits and tests and what not. Sunday, the 26th was a day that was out of the ordinary.

My father was not in the pulpit, my siblings and I were not a part of the congregation during Sunday morning. It was just “weird”. Instead, we had gone up to the hospital to see my mother. When we got there, all I could see and hear were the sounds of normal routine hospital life. Machines running and beeping. My mother’s pulse and heart rate was terribly slow, but it was there and that’s all that mattered to me at that point. If it was beeping… she was alive. I feared the long steady drone beep while we were there, I just didn’t want to hear it.

My mother lying in her hospital bed, her eyes closed. I gazed upon her chest to watch it move slowly up and down, up and down. All the indications that I needed as a child to be assured that everything was still okay.

My father called out to my mother using her first name. She jumped. Her eyes opened for about a second, then her eyes looked about the room to see all four of her children standing around her in the room. Her eyes shut again, and it was back to slow breathing and machines beeping.

Some of us started to cry. By “us”, I mean us four children. I started to as well. A nurse came in and saw that I was sobbing and she attempted to console me. She actually removed me from my mother’s hospital room and escorted me down the hall, turning the corner and placed me into an empty hospital room where I could be all by myself to cry as much as I wanted…. telling me it was okay to cry.

When I noticed my family had walked by the room in which I was sitting, I sprung up and chased after them to catch up. My father scolded me for running out, but I explained that I was brought there. He then soon apologized.

We had lunch as a family, then came home. My elder brother having to go to work at Wal-Mart that afternoon. The rest of us, who were too young to be by ourselves were kept company by a woman who had a knack for entertainment that we found dreadfully boring in our youth. The board game, “Rummikub” and the card game, “Phase 10”.

These two games whenever I see it, inwardly reminds me of that day when I lost my mother. Even though now, I do play Phase 10 from time to time with my neighbors.

By the evening of the 26th, my younger brother and I were in a fierce battle of Phase 10 with the woman who was there to watch over us. It was coming down to the wire and the game finally came to a conclusion. I thought deep in my mind, “Great! We’re done with this long boring game, and my brother is coming home and so I don’t have to play this stupid game no more!!”.

I was right. My brother came home from work and before he even had time to set down his keys, the telephone rang. By that time, I had got up from the table and refused to clean up the cards and was heading to the bathroom to use it.

For my older brother, it was like he didn’t miss a step. He walked in, kept walking and headed straight for the telephone. By that time, I was making my way down the hall to do what I had to do. But he hung up as quickly as he answered the telephone and shouted, “Everyone. Dad said ‘let’s go’.. so let’s go!”.

Then he looked at me and kind of snarled a bit for going in the other direction. I told him what I had to do, and he let out a sigh of frustration. So I went and did my business.

My older brother and I will talk about this from time to time and he honestly has no memory of coming down on me for having to use the bathroom, and profusely apologizes to this day.

After that, we got into the car and sped like crazy. My older brother ignoring most STOP signs and only pausing for one red light before reaching the hospital.

I remember staring at my sister while riding in the back seat of the car. Her face a completely blank slate. Her mind had to have been racing, just like mine was. But no emotion she showed. Just sitting there breathing softly to herself.

We flew up to the elevator and getting off, we passed the nurse station and was met up by my father who quickly pulled everyone of us four children into a conference room. We did not find this fair at all because my mother’s room was just two doors away from the corner.

My father stood there, ignoring random questions. “Where is Mom?”, “Is she okay?”, “Where have they taken her?”– and so on.

When everyone was sitting down in the room and the doctor walked in, my father announced that my mother had gone into Heaven.

Nothing but grief, pain, and tears could be felt or heard for several minutes.

I asked my father, “When?”. He told me several minutes had gone by when she had died. I looked down at my digital watch that was on my wrist and counted it off. She had died at 7:24 PM.

The doctor that was standing there suggested that we all go in to see her. Two at a time. But I was so scared. I had never seen anyone that I loved dead before. I didn’t know what to expect, so terrified of what I might see. But the doctor was encouraging and eventually I did go into her room. I went up to her side and touched the bed, accidentally I had touched my mother on the arm. I was expecting her to move. I wanted her to jump just like she had when my father called out her name that morning. But she did not.

Even a few days later when we would view the body at the funeral home, I kept hoping and believing that she would wake up.

When we came home, everyone was in tears. My younger brother and I went to bed, staggering to get ready. Filled with grief. He and I shared a bedroom and even slept in a bunk bed. I remember listening to the sounds of my younger brother on the top bunk crying his heart out, it was unnerving. I had never heard him cry like that before and haven’t since.

My mother’s battle with cancer was finished. She also was no longer with us. I had no idea that young, what it would be like without a mother. She was a stay at home mother because of the special needs of me having a disability. She did everything for me. And I mean, EVERYTHING. It took my older brother almost a year after that to teach me how to tie my own shoes.

For many years, I would always think that “If I only didn’t have to pee, things would have been different…”, however that would take a long hard lesson to know, that was not true.

Personally… I was utterly lost and alone. Everything would change. My father would pick up where my mother had left off, because he felt he needed to. My father would eventually re-marry and I would grow and learn as I would need to.

Still, with each 26th of July that passes, nothing in the world surpasses the moments where I will think about my mother. Even after so many years that this happened, it is like it happened just a few days ago.

I will listen to the song that my mother & I would sing together whenever we would hear it on the radio, and think of her fondly.

I’m still here, mother. I love you.