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...