Mission: Impossible--Retrieval of Christmas Decorations

I didn't really decorate for Christmas this year.  I put the red and green poinsettia wind sock out.  And the adorable brick snowman I bought at an arts and crafts fair is sitting prominently on the almost empty shelving  unit in the living room.  Those are the only two things that I purposely and intentionally put out to mark the Christmas season.  As I've sorted through Christmas stuff, a wooden angel and a mechanical angel have been placed on a shelf.  But that's because I want to keep them and I just set them there until I get a bin emptied.

I've mentioned before the sheer magnitude of Christmas stuff that was in this house.  Before my mother passed away, I had pulled out all of her old stuff from under the eave on the east side.  I had sorted through all that while she was still alive.  I wanted to go through it again, because now I could actually get rid of some things.

Under the eave on the west side of the house, I discovered, much of my Christmas paraphernalia had been moldering.  Unlike the east side, which can be accessed through the infamous Cubby Hole, the west side is accessed from the stairway.  Unfortunately, you need to either have a ladder for stairs (which, of course, my dad had, but was probably pilfered by my oldest brother) OR you need to be small and have some upper arm strength.

Back in the day--like 30 years ago!--I was small and strong.  After pulling out the boxes right in front, I used to hoist myself up into the storage area using only the railing (which is slanted, of course!) to brace one foot on, while depending on my upper arm strength to do most of the work.  I'd crawl in there and push the boxes to the opening.  Most times, there was someone there to pull the stuff out as I moved it within reach.  My dad used to do that or, once in a while, my sister or brothers.  When we moved back here 13 years ago, it was my daughter, then 11, who climbed in there to push the boxes to the front.

Letting my daughter do this job was like the passing of the baton.  Giving the control to the next generation.  Truly, an historic moment.

For two or three years, I put up a small, slimline tree up in my room in an attempt to keep me and my daughter as a family unit.  After my dad passed away, I didn't do a tree up here, since he had died the day after Thanksgiving and I wasn't feeling festive.  Subsequently, we mostly decorated downstairs, making me, my mother and my daughter into one family unit.  It was at that point that I stopped retrieving my Christmas stuff from under the west side eave.

The roof over that particular area was leaking.  Well, the roof was leaking in a few places, but the worst damage was over the eave where my Christmas stuff resided.  The roofers had to replace boards, which left the storage area exposed.  Oh, they put tarps over it, but wind and rain would blow under.  I knew that a lot of my stuff was ruined and I kept meaning to pull it out and see what I could salvage.

Well, since I am packing up to move into my own place, I decided I'd better go through that stuff.  I knew I had a plastic bin with ornaments that should be fine and I was hoping my nativity set was still in good shape.  Last Saturday, I asked my daughter if she would help me.  I got a grudging yes, but not until after the first of the year.  But I wanted to do it now!

So, on Sunday, I removed the cover to the storage area and pulled out what I could reach.  The first thing was my large bin of ornaments.  Great!  As I gripped the handles of the bin, I was getting excited--right up until I pulled it out.  There was black, heavy, moldy dirt covering the top of everything.  Ugh!

I tried to hold  my breath as I carried the bin down the few steps to the living room, trying to avoid tripping over Khai and only partly succeeded.  Both in holding my breath and not tripping. If the living room wasn't so filled with boxes and bins, I would've fallen face first onto that dirty, yucky bin!  As it was, I managed to get the bin onto a stack of boxes as I fell over Khai.  My chest hit the edge of the box and my breath whooshed out, blowing bits of nasty, moldy dirt all over anything nearby.  At that point, my bronchi decided it had enough and sent my into coughing spasms.

The coughing was so strong I that I was doubled over.  I tripped over Khai (again) and shuffled around stacks of boxes to get to my purse and find my inhaler.  Getting light headed because I couldn't draw in enough air, and coughing so hard I thought the end was near, the thoughts that went through my mind were incongruous.  I was worried about the bit of nasty black dirt I got on my shirt.  And I was afraid Tabitha would be attacking Bebe.  Or that she was going in the storage area and how would I get her out?  I finally got to a kitchen chair and as I started to sit down, Khai jumped on the chair.  I couldn't stop the downward motion of my derriere, so I sat on him.  He really didn't like that much.  But I won.

Just sitting helped a lot.  I was reaching for my purse, when I spotted my cup of tea.  It was lukewarm, but that was okay.  The act of swallowing helped settle my lungs or bronchi or whatever.  I do have face masks.  Upstairs.  Past the stacks of boxes, past the cats, up the stairs where it was blocked by the cover/door to the storage area.  Fortunately, I made that trip in my head before I actually got up and tried it.

After resting a while.  I went back to the stairs and the yawning depths under the west side eave.  Tabitha was sitting on the stairs, just a few steps above the floor of the opening where she could see into the gaping maw.  She had a look on her face like "I'd like to go in there, but it's yucky and I've never done it, so maybe I shouldn't".  Feline ambivalence at it's best.  She did, of course, meow at me.  I patted her head and turned my attention back to the task at hand.

There was a cardboard box that I could reach.  This time I was more careful, turning my head as the box came out of the filthy mess that was the storage area.  There were a couple more boxes that I couldn't quite reach, so I got an idea.

I remember putting one of my mother's canes with her walker behind the recliner. After telling Khai to get out of the way, I grabbed the cane and headed back to the stairs, once again tripping over Khai.  Tabitha was still on her step, watching, and meowing at me.  This time I just shrugged.

Wielding the cane like a medieval warrior, I jammed the handle of the cane into the next cardboard box and pulled it forward.  After retrieving a couple of boxes, I saw another plastic bin!  Yay!  That stuff should be okay, too.  The only problem was, the bin handles were rounded and so was the cane handle.  It kept slipping out from under the handle.  I pondered this a moment.  I looked at Tabitha and she said something in Felinian (cat language--my word).  But I got the message!  Carefully I took the cane and loosened the lid of the bin.  That it loosened so easily meant that it wasn't snapped on.  I grimaced at what that might mean to the stuff inside, but I persevered.  Without dislodging the lid, I slipped the cane handle over the side of the bin and pulled it towards me.  It was a huge bin.  When I finally manhandled the bin down into the living room, I decided I had enough to get started sorting.  When I put the cover/door back on the storage area, I made sure Tabitha wasn't in there!

No, Tabitha was in the living room.  Walking on the boxes and bins.  The ones from storage.  With the nasty, black, thick, moldy dirt on them.  Which was now on her paws.  And, in pawprints, on the rug.  Thank you Tabitha Darling.

Next mission:  Sorting and Packing

I Need Apartment Hunting for Dummies

I am apartment hunting for the first time in my 50 years on this earth.  Sounds a little dramatic?  Well, it is for me.

To give a little background:  I moved out of my parents' house the first time a few weeks after I turned 24.  Just before that birthday, I had decided it was about time I got my own place.  I had even started buying flatware.  Then my sister and brother-in-law told me they were moving to Florida.  They had been renting what I optimistically called a carriage house.  Most people referred to it as a salt box.

I don't know the history of this little house for certain, but I have come up with a plausible hypothesis.  This little two-bedroom house was the original house on the property, probably built in the late 1800's.  It boasted a full basement (unfinished), a living room with a bedroom off it, a kitchen with a bedroom off it, a tiny bathroom (with a wonderful claw-foot tub, but no shower) and a small room that was an add-on some time in the 20th century.  Quite noticeable was the fact that there wasn't a square corner or level floor anywhere.  Well, maybe the basement was level.  For real, you didn't need a level or plumb line to see it.  Anyway, a much bigger house was built on the lot, leaving the little house for servants quarters, a guest house or related living.

I loved that little house.  I rented for five years.  My daughter was born when I lived there.  There were sidewalks and stores within walking distance.  I let friends talk me into saving up to buy my own place.  I--we moved in with my parents, where I tried to save toward a down payment on a house.

Another five years later and I was anxious to get my own place again.  At the time, the realtors were proclaiming that you could own for less than you could rent.  I had a realtor friend so I ventured into the homeowners arena by buying a condo on the other side of town.  I didn't want to be too far from my parents as they were my primary child caregivers.

It was a great condo--almost.  Almost 1000 square feet, two bedrooms and a decent amount of light.  On the ground floor, we had a small patio and I was allowed to plant flowers at the edge of the landscaped rock beds.  We were there more than four years when I decided I couldn't stand other people's noise.  There really was no insulation between units.  I repaired a hole in the back wall under the kitchen sink.  After I removed the moldy pieces, I realize I was looking straight into the neighbor's undersink cabinet!  Nothing but one sheet of drywall separating us!  The ceilings were no better.  When I was in my bedroom, I could hear the guy upstairs peeing in his bathroom.  (He drank a lot!)  It took 13 months to sell the condo, though, so we were there for five and a half years.

Back to my parents, while I tried to save and look for a house.  With the same realtor friend, I finally found a nice house in an older neighborhood.  However, the buyers backed out of the contract because they got a better offer.  This turned out to be a blessing as I was let go from my job just four months later.

Now, thirteen years after moving back into my childhood home thinking I was going to buy a house, I must move out again.  This time for good.  My Dad died eight years ago and my Mom died two months ago.  I also realized it would be the first time I would being living on my own since my daughter's birth 24 years ago.  I'd only had two and a half years on my own before she was born and most of that was spent with a boyfriend.

It's weird.  I'm scrolling through craigslist.com, looking at maps of various towns, cities and neighborhoods within them.  Prior to this, I knew of four neighborhoods in the city of Chicago.  Garfield Ridge, Clearing, Roseland and Pullman.  Well, five, if you count The Loop.  I don't want to live in Chicago's city limits, but rent is dirt cheap in some areas.  Except I wouldn't want to live in most of those areas.

To find cheaper apartments in the suburbs, I have to go west.  So far, Joliet would give me the most bang for my buck, so to speak.  Maybe it's the state prison that turns people off.  That doesn't bother me too much.  I've lived with the tollway as a close neighbor to the north and I've seen many strange people (and not just as in unknown) because of it.  To the south is an enormous apartment complex.  Actually two complexes.  Or is it three?  It keeps changing names.  The complex is right around the corner and is subsidized housing.  Now that alone doesn't mean there are bad people.  But the sheer volume of humanity there ups the odds of the not-so-nice and downright bad people living next door to you.  Which is evidenced by the number of sirens we hear in there each week.  If I read about a shooting in my village of Justice, nine times out of ten, it's in that complex.

This weekend, I am going to see a couple of apartments in Joliet.  I had hoped it wouldn't come to this.  I had hoped something would fall in my lap, like it did when I was 24, but oh, well.  I'll deal.  And I'll drag my daughter, best friends or whoever I need along with me!

Comfort and Joy

The sun rose today on shoppers already weary from shopping since midnight.  A few even were out Thanksgiving Day evening.  I'm all for getting a good deal, but it would have to be something really special to drag me out in the middle of the night.  And I am a night owl.

But I also like my creature comforts.  One of those basic comforts is my jammies.  Right now, it is not even 8:00 p.m., but I have on my new pajamas (bought at a Black Friday sale today).  I almost always wash my new clothes first because of dyes, sizing and other chemicals used in the manufacturing process.  Not today.  I was upset (story for another time) and all my comforting jammies are in the wash.  I figured as long as they don't itch, I'll wear them.  I don't know, though.  Certain, uh, sensitive portions of my torso, are feeling a little...roughness.  Oh well, I can change.  But I've digressed.

Ah yes.  Creature comforts.  Nothing makes me quite as happy as wearing something jersey knit, having my sun-mimicking lamp turned on, a good book (is there any other kind?  Well, yes there are actually...but another time) and something tasty.  The only thing missing is someone to cuddle with.  Four out of five ain't bad, I guess.

So for those who stayed up to get in line before midnight, well, I hope it was worth it.  For those who got up before sunrise, well, I can understand that--somewhat.  A couple of years ago, I got my benefits check on Christmas Eve day--direct deposit is great. I was at WalMart at 5:30 a.m. hoping to beat the crowd, only to find out they didn't open until 7:00 a.m.  So I went to Home Depot who had opened at 5:00 a.m.  And I still got to WalMart before it was too crowded.  Then I went home and went back to bed.

Today, I got up at 6:30 a.m.  For me, that's almost a miracle.  I went to bed early last night (12:30 a.m.) so I could get an early start.  I had to wash my hair and then I had to check the bank accounts.  Once I was online, I went to Facebook and Bebe was cuddling with me (Oh! I do have someone to cuddle with!) so it was 7:20 before I left.

The first store I hit was Half Price Books.  I had a coupon, of course.  I spent two and a half hours there.  I had finally learned how to access the internet from my cell phone so I was able to call up my Amazon wish list to make sure I didn't buy any duplicate books.  So cool.  Since I hadn't eaten, I was getting kind of lightheaded and dopey.  So my second stop was Dunkin Donuts.  I know, not very healthy and not good for the blood sugar.  But I figured...all right, justified it, by reminding myself that the pumpkin muffins would be gone after Christmas.  And there isn't any better coffee.  Anywhere.  

Starbucks?  Smells like a used cat litter box.  I can't get past the smell to actually taste it.  Gloria Jean?  Too pricey and still only so-so.  Peets?  Heard of them, but haven't tried them.  Seattle's Best?  Good second choice.  Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf?  Nice place to sit and I'd rank the coffee as third choice.  It's a Grind?  Love the name, but haven't tried the coffee yet.  However, I've digressed again.

While in DD, I used my cell phone to send a message to my Facebook friends about where I was and what I was doing.  (I gloat because learning how to do that was no easy feat!)  Then I headed to Catherine's, where I purchased the above mentioned jammies.  And a pair of earrings.  That's it.  Really.

Third was Ulta.  I went there to get a gift card for my daughter.  She's been wanting--and putting off getting--a new hair straightener.  The ones she likes are the over-$100 kind.  When I got there, it was a mad house.  The check out line was a good 10-12 people deep.  So I browsed.  I went back and looked at the straighteners.  Yeah, the best were $149 or so.  I found a good one for $59, but my daughter is a prima dona.  She doesn't want to settle for less than the best.  I keep telling her that the highest price doesn't mean it's the best quality.  So I browsed some more.  I found the Rusk shampoo I like and decided to splurge on myself (like I hadn't been doing that already?!).  I found the self-adhesive fake eye lashes which were on a "two-for" sale.  So I got two, naturally.  And just a few other little things for my daughter's Christmas stocking.  I pulled out my Ulta perks card.  My card is old.  I got it back in 1989, when most of the stuff I bought there was for myself.  The card is still good and when the clerk saw it, she treated me like I was the Grand Dame of Ulta.  Funny, I always think of Grand Dames as being old.  I guess I was wrong.

Lastly, I went to Target.  By then it was almost noon.  But getting cat litter was absolutely necessary!  I'd been to WalMart on Wednesday, but they had been out of the Arm & Hammer brand.  It's not good to change litter brands.  Cats don't like that.  And cats have innumerable ways to show their displeasure.  I got a few other things, too.  The hummus my daughter likes was on sale, which precipitated a rather lengthy phone call to her about which flavor she wanted and my trekking up and down aisles looking for flatbread.  I finally found it in the bakery section (right next to the deli where the hummus was) but it wasn't the kind she likes.  Aaargh!

I was home around 1:30 p.m.  That's six hours of shopping (with the exception of the DD stop).  After I put away the few refrigerated or frozen items, I took a few bags upstairs, fed Bebe, then dumped the rest of my bags by the stairway door and crashed on the couch.  My little entourage of feline friends snuggled around me and we napped.

Except for an incident with the old cat, it was a great day.  I'm happy.  But I would never have done all that starting at midnight!

Nectar of the gods!

This & That

For the first week after my mother died, I didn't have much of an appetite.  I'd eat when I felt lightheaded or my stomach growled.  During the second week, my appetite returned with a vengeance.  Last Monday, I stopped at Dunkin Donuts for pumpkin muffins.  My favorite!  Since it's cheaper per muffin to buy four of them, I did, figuring I'd have them for a couple of days.  I surprised myself by eating two of them with my DD coffee.  Huh.  My appetite was back.  Shoot, I'd been really hoping I'd lose some weight.  Oh well, I was going to be physically active with sorting, packing and lifting.

I'd had a really good day last Monday, October 10th.  It was Columbus Day.  No mail.  No banking.  My mind was back in the day when Columbus Day was a national holiday.  I was outside in the beautiful weather, hauling the last of my stuff from the shed.  I was surprised to see the yard waste pick up truck coming down the street.  Well, that meant there would be regular garbage pick up on Tuesday.  So I proceeded to fill both of the green regular garbage containers and the blue recycle container.  In fact, the blue one was so full that the lid was nearly vertical, resting against an old, cracked Sterlite container.  I was very pleased with myself at how much I'd accomplished.  Even my daughter commented.

My energy flagged a bit after Monday.  Not that I wasn't busy.  I just wasn't doing as much physical work.  I was doing a lot of online research.  I looked into the Section 8 housing for various Illinois counties.  I researched the value of several items I wanted to list on ebay.  On Tuesday, after I went to the bookstore and sold some books, I picked up my sister from work--where she gave me a bunch of boxes--and we had lunch.

Also, on Tuesday, I finally received my optical scanner.  With it, I can scan the ISBN codes on my books to enter them in my catalog software.  OMG, I was so excited!  I'd been typing them by hand, but with the scanner I could zip through a couple of boxes very quickly.  This did spur me on to start packing the books already in my database.

On Wednesday, I made some phone calls and continued my research.  My sister sent me a text message that she had more boxes and I told her I'd get them Thursday.  But Thursday dawned gray and rainy.  I put my sister off until Friday.  I went to the library and Dollar General.  I  watched TV downstairs with Tabitha, Khai and Emmy all sleeping nearby.  When I went upstairs, I took a nap with Jessie and Bebe.  Feeling a bit more refreshed, I scanned and packed up a couple more boxes of books.

Friday was errand day.  But I didn't hurry.  It was sunny again, but cooler and very windy.  I went to the bank, picked up more boxes from my sister and went to WalMart.  This was my first grocery shopping trip since my mom had died.  It was a very difficult excursion!  I got run into by someone's cart when I stopped short in the personal hygiene aisle because I suddenly remembered that I didn't need to buy Depends!

So many little things made me think of my mom.  I almost broke down in front of the dairy section.  They had eggnog!  Several brands, too!  My mother was an eggnog fiend.  Every year, while I could get it, I almost always had eggnog in the refrigerator.  I made pancakes, french toast and muffins with eggnog.  I put it in her Cream of Wheat, for pete's sake!  That was another thing I couldn't buy--Cream of Wheat.  I liked it and never minded having it three or four times a week.  It was inexpensive and I'd flavor it with Nesquik for myself.  My mother, however, was getting tired of it.  A couple of months ago, I had purchased caramel bits in the baking section at WalMart.  We put them in our Cream of Wheat and my mother really liked it.  I stood in the cereal aisle, looking up at the Cream of Wheat (they always have it on the top shelf--no matter where I shop), and trying to picture myself eating it by myself.  It made my heart hurt, so I didn't get it.  I think I'm going to get myself some instant oatmeal.  I bet the caramel bits would be good in oatmeal.

Today, Saturday, wasn't too bad.  I did three loads of laundry.  Mostly my bedding because I have an elderly cat who seems to be incontinent.  I ran to Dollar General because I'd forgotten hangers and thank you cards on my other shopping trip.  Then I carted a few boxes into the living room to sort through while I watched TV.  I got one box done and lay down on the couch with my laptop on my stomach.  I tried to play my Facebook games, but I fell asleep.  Tabitha and Khai kept me company.  Emmy stayed as long as I petted her, then left.

Poor Emmy!  She keeps looking for my mother.  It breaks my heart to see her like that.  I try to give her extra attention, but she looks so lost.  I need to find her a new home.  She's a sweet, gentle cat.  But I have Tabitha.  Actually, Tabitha has me.  If my daughter moves in with her boyfriend at his parents' house, she can't take Bebe and Jessie with her.  I may be with three cats!  And Emmy is an Angora.  She has long fur that needs to be brushed every day.  I have neither the time nor inclination to brush a cat that much.  She would also be much happier as an only cat, with a person or persons to give her lots of affection.

If anyone knows of someone who'd like to adopt her, she's 11 years old.  Her front claws were removed (before we got her) and she's been spayed.  She likes to play with fuzzy balls and catnip mice and to chase a feather teaser.  She's quiet and reserved.  She has beautiful green eyes.  In fact, her full name is Emerald--named for her eyes.

Emmy

Loss & Aftermath - The Funeral

Tuesday was quiet.  My brother took me for breakfast.  A cousin came over and the two spent most of the day together, which gave me some much needed decompression time.  I was, however, dreading the funeral.  Every time I thought about it, I felt like I was going to throw up.

Wednesday, 10/5/11, was the funeral.  My brother took me for breakfast again.  I don't recall what we did between breakfast and the funeral.  My daughter helped me pick out what to wear.  I didn't have a lot of options.  The weather was warm and sunny and I didn't want to be too hot.

When we got to the cemetery, my friends were the first people I saw.  Seeing them made me feel better.  I hadn't even noticed I was tense until I felt it ease from my neck and shoulders.  As I made my way inside the main building, I greeted family and friends.  Once papers were signed we all proceeded to the chapel.  It was the shortest funeral procession I'd ever seen.

At the last minute, Bo found a Catholic deacon in the restroom.  My mother would have appreciated that little quirk of fate.  The deacon did a short service and sprinkled holy water, which would have thrilled my mother.  She was a Catholic at heart.  People were invited to come up to the casket, but I didn't notice that anyone did.  I guess when it isn't open, it's not as interesting!  Bo let us talk a quick peek inside--mostly to assure my sister that it was indeed our mother inside.  (She has a real issue about bodies not being where they should be.)  But it also gave my oldest brother a chance to see her for the last time.

My visiting brother and I had already planned to go for dinner at a local restaurant and my daughter and her boyfriend were joining us.  My other brother and his family, along with my sister were going to a much fancier place.

I couldn't help but wonder, if I wasn't already going with my oldest brother, would the others have invited me to accompany them?  Further, if we hadn't had any plans, would we all have gone together?  I'll never know, but I did have a really good Santa Fe chicken salad at Wolf's Head Inn.  My brother got his favorite and my daughter tried flying fish (ugh) and her boyfriend had a bacon-burger.  It was very good and we had a nice time.

I tried to take a nap when I got home, but I couldn't sleep.  I brought my laptop downstairs and spent the evening with my brother since he was leaving very early Thursday morning.

All in all, his visit was good.  I surprised myself by having a small, momentary regret that he wasn't staying another day.  I think it worked out fine and I feel that all four of us siblings are a little bit closer now.

Loss & Aftermath - Monday

Less than 24 hours after my mother passed away, I made an appointment with the funeral director at Damar-Kaminski funeral home.  My sister and brother offered to accompany me.  I didn't need them in the respect of what to do and the decisions to be made.  But I sent my sister a text to meet me for the emotional support and, to a lesser degree, to play devil's advocate.

My sister deals with stress with humor.  Sometimes inappropriate humor.  And sometimes something that's not quite humorous.  But, I knew that trait would help keep me from losing it completely.  She was at Damar first and went in to use the restroom.  The first thing she said to the funeral director was "Business been good?"  Yep, that's my sis.

A little background first.  My mother was horrified at the thought of cremation.  She threatened three of her children--including myself--with haunting us if we were to cremate her.  And whether or not you believe in ghosts, we took her threat quite seriously.  My mother had strong ties to The Big Guy.  They'd've worked something out!  To me, she had also asked that she get "something besides a pine box." Ooookay.

At Damar, the first thing was to find out what her life insurance payout was.  Well, that didn't go as well as we thought.  On the phone, I had indicated what I thought would be the payout.  Not much, but should cover basic costs.  So the guy helping us--I'll call him Bo--had worked up a draft of what we could do.  I told Bo about my mom's "pine box" comment and what he had looked good.  He left that with us while he went to get an exact amount from State Farm.  I knew something was wrong when he came back in with the phone because the SF rep wanted to speak to me directly.

The payout--which hadn't been much to begin with--was less than half of what we expected.  My heart sank  As I hung up the phone, I said, "Well, I promised no pine box, so how about pressboard?"

We spent the next 45 minutes or so going over the options--which were few.  Even my sister's humor was faltering.  It looked like we'd have to cremate.  One of the biggest costs by far was the opening and closing of the grave.  The plot had been paid for when my dad passed on, but the cemetery fees were steep.  Bo and my sister were looking to me to say yes to the cremation when, exasperated, I said "Even if we could put her in a pauper's grave, just so she wouldn't be cremated."  When I looked at Bo and asked "Do they even do that anymore?"  I could see he had thought of something.  "You're mom's Catholic, right?"  My sister and I both nodded.  A hesitant smile played across his face and he said two words.  "Catholic Charities"

After that, decisions were made quickly.  Bo called the CC and we worked up (yet another) draft.  There was more humor, as we felt much better about the whole thing.  When we went to look at the casket, my sister's humor kicked into overdrive.  I fed off of it.  I think we both felt so relieved that we got the giggles.  My sister and I, touching the cloth-covered casket, looked at each other and said simultaneously "pressboard!" and burst out laughing.

I looked around the display room and said "It's not as creepy in here as I thought it would be."  My sister said, "Well, there aren't any dead bodies in them."  I responded, "They could use mannequins."  Bo grimaced.  As we were leaving the display room, my sister set off another round of bad jokes by saying they should put buttons in the caskets with recordings so during a viewing you'd hear "Don't I look like myself?"  I went further with "motion sensors" that could say "Does this casket make me look fat?"  And "How's my hair look?"  Bo beat a hasty retreat back to the conference room.  I can't imagine why.  But it's a very good thing there were no wakes going on at the time!

My sister took me to lunch afterwards.  When we got to the restaurant, she said "We forgot about an obituary!  That's another $125 or so." and whipped out her cell phone.  Thinking about how word had spread so quickly through Facebook and email, I said "Do we really need it?  Look how fast the news got out through Facebook and email."  She closed her cell and said, "You're right."

After lunch, I tried to take a nap, but as emotionally drained as I was, I couldn't sleep.  My brother was coming in from North Carolina that evening so I just tried to relax.  I made some phone calls and put out emails and Facebook messages about the funeral arrangements.

My brother arrived early at about 5:45 p.m.  He offered to take me to dinner, but I'd had that big lunch and wasn't hungry.  I made it clear from the start that the food in the refrigerator was Brittany's.  I handed him bread, lunch meat and cheese and let him make himself a sandwich.  I was a little surprised that he wanted to stay at the house.  He'd have to sleep in my mother's bed, which, although I had changed the sheets, was kind of creepy to me.  I was able to escape upstairs about 8:30.

I'd have to say Monday was almost as stressful has Sunday had been.

Loss and the Aftermath - Sunday

My mother passed away Sunday.  It's been very difficult.  Not only was she my mother and housemate, she was my job.  I was cook, nurse, maid, chauffeur, and companion as well as part-time pharmacist, pet groomer, launderer, and all around gopher.

Not that I've had much time to be at loose ends.  When I got home Sunday early evening, my daughter made sure I was okay.  She brought me food (Thai!) and sat with me for awhile.  I was very appreciative of her and I love her all the more for taking care of me.  When she mentioned she had been planning to go out, I encouraged her to go; I needed time to myself.  She checked on me a couple of times, which was nice.

I was exhausted and planned to get to bed and maybe--just maybe--get some sleep.  Wasn't happening.  I finally got up and went on the computer.  I sent emails and posted info on Facebook.  I got responses almost immediately and anyone who asked if they could help were told to contact the members of their immediate family who weren't on Facebook or for whom I did not have an email address.

Much later at night--closer to midnight--I could feel myself falling into a deep, dark funk.  Too late to call one of my bf's, I tried to play Farmville or Zoo World, but I just couldn't get into it.  At that point, one cousin living in Oklahoma came up on chat.  She and her two sisters were closer to me than many other cousins, simply because we were of an age together and had spent many summer vacations together.  When she was older, she took care of our grandmother for awhile.  So did my mother.  We had a really nice chat about that and our respective health issues.  We caught up on what else was going on in our lives.  We chatted for an hour and a half and when we signed off, I felt much better.  She helped me through a potentially bad time and I knew God was taking care of me.

Phyllis M. Peto
1/7/32 - 10/2/11
We Miss You!

I Need A Hero...

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.  ~Ambrose Redmoon

Today, Americans everywhere honored those who lost their lives or were injured in the horrific events of 9/11/01. The men and women who died in, or bear the scars from, New York, Washington D. C. and Pennsylvania will always be considered heroes.

As will those who worked the rescue and recovery during the attacks and in the aftermath.  And the officials who had to notify families of their loss.  And those who combed through the ashes.  And the people who cleaned up the ashes and rubble.  And the insurance investigators, claims processors, psychologists, etc. who helped those remaining try to get on with their lives.

 In my view, there are two kinds of heroes:  those who are victims of circumstance and those who jump into the fray.  Oh sure, the firefighters, police and other rescue teams get paid to put their lives on the line.  But how much is a life worth?  And what about the "civilians" who leaped into action to help?  Like the co-worker who dragged his colleague down seemingly innumerable flights of stairs to safety?

I remember reading about one survivor of the Twin Towers attack who, because of injuries, had to sit in a stairwell and wait for someone to help him.  He said a couple of people ran right by him--one of them he knew from work.  The third person who came by, helped him down the stairs and out of the building--just seconds before it collapsed.  The Good Samaritan--turned Good New Yorker--2000 years later.

There are lots of heroes really.  Smoke jumpers parachute right into the line of fire to help stop, contain or prevent wildfires.  They save all kinds of lives--human, animal and plant.  Honestly, in my opinion, death by fire has to be the worst way to go.




 And there are heroes who face dangers in their jobs to provide food and other necessities of life.  For instance, fishers who battle temperamental oceans to bring seafood to our tables.  Well, not my table.  Blech!  But you get the point.  According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, fishers and fishing workers ranks as the 3rd most dangerous job.  Logging workers and aircraft pilots are 1st and 2nd, respectively.

Now, these are truly the most unsung heroes.  Refuse collectors/recycling workers ranks 5th as most dangerous job.  Not dirtiest (sorry Mike Rowe)--most dangerous!  Kind of gives you a little different perspective, doesn't it?


Heroes come in all shapes, sizes and colors.  To the Little League player, Daddy or Mommy is the hero for making it to the ball game.  Considering how Corporate America requires a person to give their lives to the company, that parent probably is the Greatest American Hero.

It is surmounting difficulties that makes heroes.
Louis Pasteur 

Weeds are nature's graffiti. ~Janice Maeditere

A few days ago, the temperatures dropped into the 70's.  The first day or two, my allergies and asthma flared up and I wasn't up to doing anything.  But on the third or fourth day, I took a notion to go out and do some weeding.  There was a section of front yard under an evergreen that the lawn service didn't mow.  I guess because a third of that area has Tiger Lilies growing.  Anyway, I grabbed my gardening gloves and my pruners and headed out.

The weeds were near 4 feet tall.  And there was quite the variety there.  It bugged me a little that I didn't know the names for most of them.  I worked for a good solid hour or more on a patch of land about 7 feet by 4 feet.  It felt good to be productive.  I ached for two days after, but it sure looked nice!

But not knowing what those weeds were still nudged the back of my mind.  So I looked them up.  Oh, I knew some of them: thistle, clover and creeping charlie.  I love to learn new things and research them, so this was not work for me.  I found the names for the following weeds:

Henbit: a cousin to mint

Mallow:  Hollyhocks evil cousin

Ragweed:  'nuff said

Wood sorrel:  a member of the shamrock family

Black Medic: a thrifty little yellow-flowered clover

Cocklebur:  One of the hardiest weeds known

I had never seen Cockleburs in our yard before.  There were only two plants in that weedy mess, but they were the worst to deal with.  I was so glad that I was wearing my super-duper gardening gloves!  I was able to easily pluck off the few burs that stuck to my gloves and shirt.

An interesting little project--at least from my point of view.  With Autumn moving in upon us, I also cleaned the dead lily stalks and cut down the dead peony stalks. I think I left my summer daze behiind me--for now.

I always think of my sins when I weed.  They grow apace in the same way and are harder still to get rid of.  ~Helena Rutherfurd Ely, A Woman's Hardy Garden, 1903

Summer Daze

I've been lazy.  The past three or four weeks have just been a haze of computer games, reading, dozing and an incredibly strong and unusual craving for ice cream.  Every once in a while, I'd get a mild burst of energy.

During one of those groggy bursts I went out to the shed and brought three boxes inside to sort through.  I stacked them in the back room and there they are still.  Tabitha likes to lay on top of the stack.  And it's a good place to pile the grocery bags while unloading the trunk.

During another somewhat more gumptious burst, I finished organizing my books!  Yay!

This is the beginning.  The door is just to the left.  Obviously, I want to paint.  Lime green walls and charcoal ceilings are not my colors of choice!

This is the middle.  The west wall under the slant.  As you can see, I had to "double park" some of the books.  I mixed it up a little, setting some stacks on an angle.

This is the end (for now).  The window is just to the right.  My lamp has a gooseneck, so I can adjust it and point it almost anywhere.  The book rack on the right revolves.  It was my mother's and had come from Bombay & Co.  Remember that store?  I loved that place.


When I was done, I felt like I had really accomplished something for myself.  It was a great feeling!  Then I went in my closet.  And I remembered I had boxes of books stacked in the corner.

That stack consists of four good sized boxes of books (unread).  They are covered in plastic bags to prevent any feline, um, bodily fluids from getting on them.  It also protects them from bugs.  Unfortunately, when I was moving my books from my bedroom to the storage room, I discovered some of the books on the floor had bookworms.

Yes, there are actual insects called bookworms.  Actually, they are the larvae of certain beetles or moths that bore through wood or wood products.  I was going to put a picture of it (from the internet) here, but the images really squidged me out.  *Shudder*

Since the book project is finished--well, the books that are not packed, anyway--there isn't anything I want to work on right now.

A lot of the little bit of energy I have has been expended on Jessicat.  She's 17 years old and has been having trouble with her, uh, digestive system.  Not only is she on canned cat food, she's on the expensive canned cat food.  Fancy Feast.  Not the most expensive, but pricey enough.  She's also extremely fussy.  The Gravy Lover's line of Fancy Feast is her favorite.  Then there are the flavors.  No beef.  Unless it's mixed with chicken.  She might deign to eat it then.  If it's the Gravy Lover's.  Anything chicken is good, but she doesn't like to eat the same flavor twice in a row.  Turkey is only slightly more tolerable than beef.  Salmon is a notch above that.  Again, if they are mixed with chicken, she will take it under consideration.  I get the feeling she'd love it if I cooked her some chicken and chicken livers and chopped it up finely.  Not ground up, though!  Oh, and she doesn't mind duck.  I found some Purrfectly Chicken that has a chicken and duck flavor.  She liked it.  There's also the whole problem of keeping Bebe from eating Jessie's food.  Fun.  NOT.

Maybe if we get some cooler and/or less humid weather, I'll get some oomph back.  Until then, I'm (relatively) content in my summer daze!

Awful Offal

The other day I was washing dishes and cleaning the sink when I noticed there was still a...smell.  So I put baking soda in the garbage disposal and added vinegar.  I love when it froths up, and it's suppose to clean real well.  After I rinsed, well, there was still that...smell.  I had to dig further.

Time to pull out the drain guard.  That rubber insert that protects you from debris when you run the garbage disposal.  I've cleaned this before--even ran it through the dishwasher.  It's very difficult to clean.  I guess it had been awhile since I'd last cleaned it.  Disgusting would be an understatement.

I worked it out of the drain and turned it over.  Ugh!  I couldn't take a picture (no camera).  I don't know if I'd want to post that anyway.  It was like old Jello--thick, jiggly and slippery.  It varied in color from tan through brown to black.  It was fascinating in a "car-wreck" kind of way.  Yeah, yeah, I'm weird.  I also like to look at forensic shows and medical mysteries.  But I digress.

I let the thing soak in bleach, which did absolutely nothing.  Then, in a moment of silliness, I poured salt on it.  Salt chases away evil.  Yes, I know--weird.  But this stuff was even weirder.  I was about ready to buy some lime.  No, not the fruit.

Lime is a general term for calcium-containing inorganic materials, in which carbonates, oxides and hydroxides predominate. Strictly speaking, lime is calcium oxide or calcium hydroxide. --Wikipedia

This is the stuff murderers use to destroy dead bodies.  You can get it at a garden center, but it's not cheap.  So, not an option at that point.  I was going to have to do this the hard way.

Gritting my teeth, I got some paper towels and started wiping the drain guard.  The pieces started falling and jiggling.  Really gag-worthy.  Fortunately, I don't gag easily.  Although, when a piece fell off the paper towel and I was tossing it in the garbage, I almost lost it.  Bloody thing bounced!  I must have gone through a dozen paper towels.

Once it was clean I had to wipe the the drain.  Not any more fun than cleaning the guard had been.  After I reinserted the guard into the drain, I had an epiphany.  Next time, I'm going to just buy a new drain guard!

Relief, Interrupted

Tabitha Darling likes to come upstairs.  She doesn't come and lay by me.  She doesn't come in my room very much at all.  At least, not when I'm awake.  If I happen to fall asleep when she's up there, nine times out of ten, I'm awakened by caterwauling, hissing and spitting.  Because cats know when their humans are sleeping.  And Tabitha is nothing if not opportunistic.  She'll come in my room and pick a fight.  Usually with Bebe, but sometimes Jessie.  Whichever opportunity presents itself first.  Monday I had let Tabitha come upstairs and she was very well behaved.  I fell asleep for 45 minutes or so and, when I awoke, she was still in the storage room.  So Tuesday, I felt kindly toward her and let her come upstairs.

Now Tabitha is not stupid.  In fact, that cat seems to understand most of what I say.  She just ignores the stuff she doesn't want to hear.  When I bring her up here with me, I tell her "Be nice."  It's not the words, but the tone of voice I use.  It's partly remonstrative, partly soothing.  When I say that and use that tone, she proceeds very cautiously up the stairs.  If she gets up here without me, well, she flies up the stairs and makes a beeline for a cat to pick on.

When we came upstairs in the afternoon.  I said the usual "Be nice" and she proceeded slowly, and went directly into the storage room.  A quick look showed me that Bebe was in my room already.  I assumed that Jessie was under the chest of drawers--her most recent hidey-hole.  I needed to use the bathroom, so I closed my bedroom door to keep Tabitha from going in there.  If I know one of the cats is not in my room, I take Tabitha into the bathroom with me and close that door.  Most of the time, I leave the bathroom door open.  Especially now, since I'm up here alone.  It's an old habit, formed from years with cats and having a small child.  Cats hate closed doors as much as any two year old child.

Right across from the bathroom is my closet.  So I had a ring-side seat, as it were, for events that began to unfold as soon as my, er, guard was down.

Tabitha was in the hallway--right in front of my closet.  What possessed Jessie to emerge from said closet right then, I have no idea.  Didn't she see/hear/smell Tabitha?  I mean, all those senses are supposed to be so acute in animals.  I know Jessie's senses still work.  I also know she's old.  Maybe she has feline dementia.  It was, at the very least, a very stupid thing to do.

Tabitha, knowing I was, um, temporarily incapacitated, immediately attacked Jessie.  With my bedroom door closed, Jessie had nowhere to run.  I started yelling at Tabitha to stop and tried to finish my business quickly.  Tabitha backed off a little and I was finally able to stand up.  Before I could get my capris pulled up, she attacked Jessie again.  I yelled again, reaching down for my pants, and started toward the two cats.  With my pants still around me knees, I managed a quick shuffle out of the bathroom and, jerked my bedroom door open, while holding onto my pants with one hand.

Jessie flew into my room with Tabitha hot on her tail.  With another shuffle-step, I managed to push the bedroom door closed before Tabitha could get through it.  She got clipped in the nose by the door, which gave me a small measure of satisfaction.  With the two cats on opposite sides of the door, I was able to--finally!--pull my capris up all the way.  Not taking the time to button and zip, I chased Tabitha down the stairs, scolding her all the way.  The little hellion hissed at me!  Me!  I grabbed the stairway door handle with my foot and pulled it closed.

Taking a deep breath, I climbed the stairs, buttoning and zipping.  I finished my ablutions and opened my bedroom door.  Jessie was nowhere to be seen, but Bebe was sitting by her food bowl.  Now it was my turn to be scolded, as the fracas had delayed her afternoon meal!

Return to the Great Clean-Out & other stories of mischief, madness and mayhem

Back in March, I received a card in the mail for the Epilepsy Foundation.  They were offering to pick up donations.  I went to their website.  The next pick-up date was too soon, so I scheduled a pick up for the end of April.  I don't remember why, but I had to change that to mid-May.  When that was coming closer, I was sick.  In the first throes of it, too, when I was miserable.  So, I changed it again.  The next date was June 29th.  I was just getting my strength and stamina back, but the piles of give-away were threatening to overwhelm the back room, so I left it for the 29th.

I spent the four days before the 29th working my, ah...fingers to the bone.  My fingernails to the quick would be more literally accurate!  I did some final cleaning out of the space-behind-the-other-closet.  AKA, the Cubbyhole.  It seems that at some point during her high school days, my daughter decided to clear the unwanted memories of Jr. High by tossing everything into the Cubbyhole.  Then, when she broke up with her first boyfriend (that's a great story, but I don't think I could tell it here), it appears she shoved all the momentos of her time with him also into the Cubbyhole.  Then--in a moment of pure ditziness--she dumped her hamster cage (sans hamster) in there.  WITHOUT cleaning it first!  Ugh!  There were pine shavings and hamster terds (hamsterds?) everywhere!  The capper to all this?  Because the used shavings and hamsterds were in there, some cat (probably Jessie) used it as a litter box, er, hole.  You get the picture.

Actually, there are no pictures.  My camera has evanesced.  Decamped.  Disappeared.  My suspicions are that a cat, in their sprawling on my table, knocked it off into the garbage.  I, obviously, didn't notice and disposed of said garbage.

 

Odds are 50/50, it's either Bebe or Jessicat.  (Above pics were taken using my CyberLink YouCam.  On my laptop.  )

I still need to wash in the Cubbyhole, but it's been much to hot to crawl around in there.  Then, I get to pull out all my parents' old Christmas decorations.  Who feels like doing that during the dog days of summer?  Not me!

Um, back to the donation pick up.  "D-day," as I'd come to think of it, was closing in fast.  The evening prior, I hauled everything to the driveway by the corner of the house.  Note: I hauled it. Me and myself.  I had very carefully read the acceptability reqs for "small" furniture and there wasn't anything there that I couldn't move by myself.

D-day dawned bright and clear.  We were breakfasting when the truck came, so I didn't run out and watch.  When I did go out there, I was flummoxed.  Perplexed.  Vexed.  The driver had taken all the boxes and bags, a mirror and...nothing else.  The lackwit had the audacity to pull the rocking chair pad out of a bag and leave it with the rocker that he refused to take!

We called.  The lady said that it was left to the drivers' discretion.  I told her there was nothing there that I--a fifty year old women--could not move by myself.  Any reasonably healthy adult male should have been able to handle it.  But then, I stopped myself and said "I'm not going to argue with you.  I'll call someplace else."  And I unceremoniously hung up.

I lugged the rocker, two end tables, head- and foot-boards, rails and slats for a twin bed, a sewing chest (which I could lift with one finger--use your imagination as to which finger) and some other odds and ends, into the garage.  Just when you thought it was safe to go into the garage.  Well, easier to go in there, anyway.  I haven't yet called Salvation Army (the only other place around here with furniture pick up), but I will.  When they come, they'll take the love seat and dining table and chairs that are in the garage, too.  Maybe even the buffet and hutch.  Wow, maybe, someday, I could park in the garage!  Huh.  Well, I can dream.

The overhang over the backyard door is still...hanging over it.  I need a reciprocating saw.  AKA a 'sawsall'.  Today I was outside and my northerly neighbor waved and asked me how my mom was.  We got to talking about all kinds of things.  Very suburbanite--talking at the fence.  We were looking at the overhang, which now lists sadly.  He said I should tell my southerly neighbor that I needed/wanted it down and it'd be down in no time.  I hadn't thought of that.  That was the neighbor who helped cut up the half of a tree that lightening knocked down.  I don't want to impose, though.  But...I thought maybe I could ask him to borrow a reciprocating saw and tell him what I want to do.  I'm sure, being male, he'd think I couldn't handle it (which is questionable) and offer to do it for me.  If not, well, I'd have the sawsall and would just start cutting the darn thing apart!

Yeah, baby!

Over the last few days, I worked in the storage room.  I finally assembled the last bookshelf.  Tabitha came up to help.  Bebe hid under the spare bed in there.  I brought a fan up, removed the floor register and placed a piece of the old hamster cage over the vent, set the fan right by the register and turned it on high.  It was tolerable to work in there.  Once it gets to mid-afternoon, it becomes too hot.  But, after the last bookshelf was put up, I was rearranging books mostly.  Trying not to let myself get sidetracked reading the backs or flyleafs of the books took some willpower.

Today, as I mentioned, I went outside.  It was hot--about 88 degrees.  But there was a steady breeze and I was just checking the yards.  I pulled some weeds.  BIG, tall weeds!  About 4 feet tall.  No kidding.  I got the bypass loppers out and...  No, really!  That's what they're called!

Bypass Loppers

Anyway, I cut down the suckers growing by the fence.  Suckers?  You know, when a tree or bush has shoots growing near it?  Yeah, those.  I lopped them off and hauled them to the front.  Tomorrow is yard waste pick up.  No time like the present!

When I got back inside, I poured myself a full 16 oz glass of water, added a splash of ReaLemon and drank the whole thing in just a few minutes.  I had really been sweating.  Since I had done such hard physical labor and had sweated so much, I figured I deserved a treat.  So I did what any hard-working, middle-aged, menopausal, chocoholic would do.

I made chocolate chip cookies.

And, since they were warm and I didn't want to raise my body temperature I...  What?  Wait until they cooled?  Why?  I like my cookies warm and mushy.  Just past pudding-like.  Besides, I had ice-cream with them!

Well, I have virtual crops to harvest and cyber babies to feed!  Til next time...

Keeping On--Part Three: Surmounting Obstacles and Set-Backs

Six weeks from when I first got sick.  I'm a lot better, but my energy ebbs and flows.  But it's my eyes that keep bothering me.  They're red and itchy.  Some mornings they're still gooey, too.  The photosensitivity is the worst, since I love the sun so much, and it makes me feel so much better.


Not that we've seen the sun as often as we usually would in June.  So much rain has made it difficult to get anything out of the shed.  I really wanted to go through more of that stuff and get the space cleared so Brittany could use the shed for her stuff.  And, when it's not raining, it gets to 100° heat index.


Then, our washing machine broke down.  Again.  This time, it was the transmission.  To fix it would cost as much--or more-- than a new washer. It died 11 days before my payday.  That was a loooooonnngg 11 days.  A week later, I acceded to cleanliness and went to a laundromat.


It'd been 25 years since I was in a laundromat.  The number one thing I hated about laundromats was that they were so dirty.  The floors, walls, even the exterior of the machines were messy.  The bill-changers were usually broken and the soap dispensers empty.  Now, I knew there were nicer places, but I'd have to drive quite a ways to find them.


My brother told my mother about a place he used when he would travel.  It's a drop off & pick up place, but also a coinless laundromat.  It was clean (relatively) and neat.  So I went there.  Holy rip-offs, batperson!  It cost $3 just to get a card!  Then you had to load it with money to operate the machines.  The double-capacity front loaders were $2.89.  Dryers were 39¢ for ten minutes.  I was going to wash AND dry, but I ended up having three loads instead of just two and I was out of money.  Ah, so I had to lug three double-loads of laundry home to dry.  Well, I should've known when I saw that the place had a website and several locations.  On top of that, I forgot the laundry detergent and had to buy some at Ace Hardware.

But I had to keep on keeping on.

I can keep my eyes fairly comfortable with allergy eyedrops.  I change my pillow case every day and the pillow cover every other day.  And I have an appointment with my ophthamologist at the end of July.

There is little I can do about the weather, except pray.  I try to take advantage of any break, but I've resigned myself to leave the shed for another pick up time.

At the Soap Opera Laundry, the clerk was very polite and accommodating.  The clerk walked me through buying and loading the card, gave me tips on the best machines and the best deals.  The washers took about 30 minutes.  After I had loaded the wet laundry into the bags, I realized how heavy they were.  I left them on the cart and wheeled it to the front, intending to get the car and bring it to the door, since there was a sign that said "Carts Must Remain Inside".  The clerk, however, said I could take it to the car.  That was very helpful.  And when I brought the cart back to the door, the clerk came out and got it.  It was also a pleasant day.

Sometimes, just getting up in the morning is an achievement.  Keeping my mouth shut when I want to scream is an accomplishment.  And--sometimes--keeping on is...

...a monumental effort.