Rollercoaster, and Not the Fun Kind

I know, I've written before that this year is definitely not the gold standard for most of us. But I just wanted to give you a little taste from my point of view. Maybe this will serve to explain why my writing has been so sporadic lately. As you may or may not know, it didn't take long for my 2021 to start looking like a dumpster fire. By six weeks into the year, I had become a widow. I mention this not for sympathy, but as necessary background for the rest of this post. 

There's a tawdry side to experiencing the death of a spouse, a financial side. I'm neither the first or last widowed person who will have to find a different place to live because of the loss of income. Heck, it happens to non-widowed people as well, and you all have my sympathy as well as empathy. I thought I saw some light in the tunnel in the form of assistance in paying rent. However, the waiting lists are months long, and I can't qualify anyway because I'm trying to be responsible and have a bit of money in savings. No dice. If you have savings, you can't have help. Such is life.

My train of The Lunatic's Variety of Logical Thinking ended up at a simple little whistle-stop station. If I was going to need to get rid of my money, I might as well try to buy myself a little home. While this isn't what I dreamed of when I was younger, there are tons of places, okay, several, in Florida that are age 55+ manufactured home communities. When Liz was out here on her last visit in September, I found the community where I wanted to live. It's a relatively quiet place on the shore of a huge lake. There's tropical bird-critters and squirrels, and friendly neighbors with adorable dogs. And a home I thought I might like.

I was eager to see inside this home, with its new flooring and remodeled kitchen and two bedrooms and two bathrooms. I eagerly filled out an application to be allowed to move into the community (!), and made an appointment to see "my house." It was just the right size. It also had a huge shed that contained tons of storage shelves, a full-size washer and dryer, and a double sink. The shed was even air-conditioned. A few days after Liz went back to Colorado, I received the news that I was approved by the community to move in, and made an appointment to make a deposit on my place. A few hours later, I received another phone call telling me not to bother coming in. They had left a message for another prospective buyer and she had jumped in her car with her deposit. Man.

Meanwhile, life does go on. My apartment lease had expired, but I had an agreement to go on a month-to-month plan until I had a new home. All I needed to do was let the leasing office know by the end of September if I wanted to stay past October. I went online one day late in September to pay my October rent, and the system said nothing was owing. The leasing office person said the rent amounts hadn't been posted yet and not to worry. A couple of days went by, and still no amount showing. Again I called the leasing office to be told I needed to fill out a form. September 30th rolled around and I received a call from the leasing office telling me my request to stay through November wasn't approved. Apparently due to lots of dropped balls and misinformation, I had been promised the ability to stay in the apartment through October, but nothing was put in the system. And I needed to move out ASAP. Gaaahhhhh!

I calmed down and called back to the office and they conceded that I could stay through October, which was a lot better than you need to be out of here by yesterday. I woke up  the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing - it was the office at the community where I had wanted to buy a home. The other client was unable to get her financing; did I still want to buy the home? Heck, yes, I did! I made an appointment to come with a deposit on Monday and did a mortgage loan application with my bank. By Monday morning, I had received a prequalification letter, and was thrilled to get things rolling. Until I talked to the community representative again. The homeowner, whose property had been on the market for six months already, decided that he didn't want to wait for the process of a loan approval and only wanted to sell to someone who could pay cash.

Since I don't have that amount of money just sitting around looking bored with itself, the deal was off. I am wondering if there was more to this than meets they eye. My mortgage banker informed me that for manufactured home sales in Florida, the owner needed to provide various documents in order for the loan to be approved. Perhaps he couldn't readily obtain them for one reason or another and decided to change to a different plan instead. Less than a week later, the home was no longer available for sale.

Luckily there was no drama with my apartment...wrong! Another phone call asking why my rent was past due and did I want to do anything about it before I was evicted. You see, they had charged me the wrong amount of rent for two months and posted the extra amount owing to the resident application but didn't notify me. Their approach was that since I use the app, I had the ability to know that I had a past due amount. Since my Gram didn't raise me to be a dummy, I quickly made them aware that I wasn't falling for that. Anyone who has paid their rent in a timely manner has no reason to check every day to see if there's any money owing. As it stands, having paid the several hundred extra dollars, I can stay in this apartment through November. I'm planning to contact a realtor to get help finding a home, and hope to find something soon. Frankly, just writing about it has me tired, so it's no wonder I've found myself both wound-up and utterly exhausted from living through it.

As you can see, it's been quite a rollercoaster ride. Not the fun kind like they have at Disney World, but the kind that could possibly leave a person terrified. I'm pleased to report that after each setback or letdown I have eventually managed to regain a calm and positive outlook while still facing reality. Now, if I could only bring that feeling into my mishaps with my grocery deliveries...but that's a different story!

p,s, Please send some positive energy or prayers or whatever you like to call it my way. Every bit of positivity helps. Thank you.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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Celebration

About a year and a half ago, when Trent and I knew that we would be moving to Florida before fall, I decided to give him a surprise for our upcoming anniversary. I made a reservation for dinner at his favorite Disney restaurant. The restaurant is in one of the Disney hotels, so we didn't have to pay extra to buy Park entrance tickets. He was thrilled that I was going to take him to dinner at his favorite place after we made our move. And then COVID 19 (or The Plague, as I tend to call it) blew up and many businesses across the country shut down. The entire hotel in question was closed, so we switched our reservation to a different restaurant. Naturally, since it wasn't the place we had hoped for, it proved to be a bit disappointing.

Time passed, and I kept checking to see if Disney was offering Annual Passes for sale again, and to see whether or not The Restaurant was going to reopen. We also were on the lookout to get COVID vaccinations to protect ourselves when these magic moments came to pass. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's came and went, and then Trent got sick. Without having gotten an Annual Pass or going to the Parks or going to The Restaurant, Trent was gone. 

Shortly before my sister's second trip to visit me in Florida, the company announced that The Restaurant was going to be accepting reservations in a few days. When I explained to Liz that it would be open on my anniversary, which would happen during her visit, she immediately accepted my invitation to go to dinner there with me. I stayed up all night when I knew the reservations would be opened up to make sure that I could book a dinner reservation. Imagine my surprise when I did a search on my computer for the confirmation email and found the confirmation from the year before, and saw that the reservations were within ten minutes of each other! It felt like Trent was giving his seal of approval for us going to this dinner of celebration, not sadness.

It was a lovely evening. The weather was beautiful, and we enjoyed seeing the geckos running around at every turn on the winding tropical path from the parking lot to the hotel. Liz, who freely admits to being a picky eater, bravely tried and enjoyed the African-themed foods. And for any of you have figured out that The Restaurant is more commonly known as Boma, I have two words for you: Zebra Domes. Actually, everything was delicious, and as an adult who has no kids and therefore can eat whatever I want and not worry about being a bad example, I will freely admit that I helped myself to several different treats from the dessert station. And ate every one of them. It sort of reminded me of being on my honeymoon years ago and deciding that since I was an adult, it was perfectly fine to eat dessert first. This time I did it at the end of the meal, but the joy and gusto were the same. 

I know that this isn't a grand and glorious story with events of mythic proportions (although I consider my dessert-eating to be a mission during which I exhibited the utmost in bravery), but I think that's okay. Having a good dinner, visiting the gift shop, and sitting in the hotel lobby to soak up the atmosphere were all great ways to celebrate the years I had with Trent, and to honor him with my happiness. I won't lie and say that I didn't feel any sense of loss or melancholy when the date was approaching, because I did. But I tried to turn it around into what I hope I can make a new tradition, going out to celebrate on our anniversary. Maybe it's an idea that you can borrow, trying to make a happy memorial out of a day that could be sad. I think that Trent would like that.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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Doughnuts and Destiny

It's interesting to me that sometimes the smallest of decisions or actions can become major events. On a mid-October day two years ago, Trent and I were out running various errands when Trent told me that he would like to get a few doughnuts from the nearby Krispy Kreme. I agreed that it would be a good last stop on our list of places to go. I had sort of assumed that he would go through the drive-through, but he said that he'd rather go in and see what was available, so we headed into the garden of glazed delights.

When we walked in, I noticed a couple with two adorable little girls, and the mother was wearing a Disney Halloween t-shirt. Now, this was a happy coincidence because I was wearing my purple Hocus Pocus Halloween t-shirt. Trent said something, and we were all courteous to one another, and the little girls were entranced when they caught sight of my Pandora charm bracelet. After everyone had purchased their snacks, we walked by their table on our way out. I stopped and asked if the girls wanted to take a closer look at my bracelet. Before we knew it, we had been talking for at least twenty minutes. Disney has a way of doing that to people. 

We exchanged contact information and they said they'd love to see Hocus Pocus with us. They needed to go pick up their other children from school, and we headed home talking about what a nice young couple they were, especially to be so friendly with a couple at least twenty years older than they were. We really felt drawn to them, and decided to contact them and see if they really meant it when they said they would love to have us over. Within days, we were headed over to their house for a pizza and movie night. As we sat around eating and getting ready to watch the movie, I looked at the twins' older sister and thought, "This little girl is going to be my friend." And when I talked back to the movie and the boys repeated what I said, I knew we were all meant to be friends.

We would come over to their home and have fun with everyone of every age. On one occasion when we were all in their car going to the local shopping center (to go to the Disney store, naturally) one of the twins asked their parents if the cousins were going to stay overnight and sleep in the basement, where there was a little apartment. I thought they were talking about some relatives that were coming over, but they were actually talking about Trent and The Lunatic! Over time, the twins kept referring to us as The Cousins, so that became our title. 

We did become friends with all of the kids as well as the parents. The little girl who had sat near me during the movie did become my friend. Any time we rode in the car with them, I sat next to my Lucy, and in front of Noelle and Natalia. Lucy is the only person in my memory that I have felt comfortable with looking through my purse. It is something she started early in our relationship, and I often got in the car and handed my purse directly to her. Everyone knew that if needed, Katrina could be counted on to have mints and at least one band-aid. Lucy almost always remembered that she was in need of a bandage when she looked through my bag, and I shared them with joy.

When The Plague, as The Lunatic calls it, fully knowing the difference, hit, Trent and I knew it would cause problems with our upcoming move. Imagine our pleasure and surprise when we were offered the chance to live in the basement apartment for a couple of months until the world got slightly closer to normal. What a relief it was to know that we had a place to stay, and a family to mingle with! I was reminiscing just today about how helpful the boys were. If we were moving something from our old apartment to our temporary one, Gabe and Eli were right there to help carry things in and down the stairs. The same with groceries or other shopping. I remember one occasion when four-year-old Noelle helped with the toting of the groceries. She slung a bag that contained a two liter bottle over her shoulder and walked in front of me toward the house. When I asked if she needed help, she gave me a confident but polite no, thank you.

We had lived with the family for a while when we learned that from the very first day that we met them in the Krispy Kreme, the twins had begun calling us The Cousins. From the very start, they decided that we were a part of their family. This ended up feeling true. We've been through a lot together, learning to know one another, moving apart, and even loss. When the twins said that they wished they could give us hugs, I got on the internet and ordered them matching pillows. On one side, Trent was sitting with Natalia on his birthday, and the other side was me with Noelle (and Trent) on my birthday. The twins can now hug us any time they want. Who knows, maybe one day I'll be able to ring the doorbell and surprise them all with a hug in person.

We do all sorts of things at all sorts of times. Sometimes they're routine, sometimes eventful. And sometimes destiny shows up disguised by a doughnut. May all your surprises be sweet.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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Frantic

You know, I get the ideas for my blog posts the way everybody gets ideas. Sometimes it's about my past or present or my hopes for the future. Sometimes I have an experience that just gets me thinking. I might be thinking about ice cream, or it may be something incredibly serious. One never knows what simple things will lead us onto the deep-thoughts train, but it often takes us on an unpredictable ride. A few days ago, I had a simple thing take me right to that train station.

I was catching up on my life, the world, and the New York Times crossword puzzle when my phone gave me a notification. If I placed a free delivery order from a convenience store through a certain we-deliver-food-and-stuff-to-you app, they would give me a discount of ten dollars. I gladly took up the challenge to find more than twelve dollars worth of snacks and beverages, quickly going over the minimum purchase amount. Have you noticed how much easier it is to spend extra money on items from convenience stores when you know you'll be getting a chunk of it back? Ah, the fun games our minds and pockets play.

I was notified fairly quickly that my order was completed by the store and on its way to my home. Woo-hoo! Kettle style chips and diet soda for the win! I fiddled around some more on the phone, waiting for the notification to get my things from outside the front door. A phone call came in from a number I didn't recognize, so I followed my usual pattern of not answering it. Before I knew it, there was a message from the delivery driver. Call, it said. Of course I knew that the driver was a little bit lost. 

This poor nervous fellow was beside himself. Frankly, it was hard to get a word in edgewise, as Gram used to say. Even then, I'm fairly certain he didn't pay close attention to my directions, because he called again saying that he was lost and couldn't find my building. I tried to tell him it was across from where he was parked, but he was going into a meltdown. I told him I would come outside, put on my fabulous tie-dye Crocs, and headed out to the parking lot. I phoned him again and saw his car head toward the turn into my parking lot. Turn left, I said. He did, but at the next building. He decided to go back to his starting point at the mailbox, and even though he had mentioned certain landmarks on the first trip into the maze, he still was sure he couldn't find me.

"I don't know what to do, I can't see you!" was the poor driver's cry. I told him that I could see him coming. Again, he couldn't see me, I wasn't in the parking lot. I said he couldn't miss me, I was quite big. So here I was in my pjs and Crocs, phone in hand, and waving my arms over my head. He was a wreck, and I told him patiently that everything was fine, and started walking back home with my bag of snacks, As I walked past the gigantic shade trees toward my front door, I thought how sorry I felt for the driver because he was nearly hysterical. And then I felt like a real jerk, and my brain was at the train station.

I'm not sure that enough people know that hysterical or variations like hysterics are fraught with extremely negative origins and meanings. I don't want to give the idea that they are just kind of mean. They are flat-out misogynistic. I didn't intend this post to be a lesson in semantics, but sometimes it's good to know where the words we use come from. Misogyny, for example, means dislike or prejudice (or even hate) against women. Why is hysteria misongynistic? It's pretty simple, really. Its Greek root is hystera, which means uterus. Yes, this word for uncontrollable emotion that can have physical manifestations is based on the Greek word for a uterus.

The concept of women being unable to control their emotions, and this actually being a disease, dates back possibly thousands of years. Women were seen as unable to control their emotions. As far back as 1900 BC/BCE, there exists documentation of the belief that if a woman was having a health problem, it was because her uterus was wandering in her body.  Eventually this turned into a belief that the uterus wasn't wandering, but it was still causing problems. In fact, these problems with the uterus may have been the work of the devil Call your priest or your friendly neighborhood exorcist! Eventually, hysteria became known as a brain or mental health issue. And don't even get me started on the treatments used over the centuries. Suffice it to say that they were often sexual or reproductive in nature.

It has been demonstrated again and again that doctors still seem to have this bias against women and their health issues. If a man has a pain, it is tested and addressed quickly because they are so strong and stoic and if they complain there must be something seriously wrong. If a woman has the same type or intensity of pain, it's often attributed to women having a tendency to whine or complain or be unable to tolerate pain. A common missed diagnosis is endometriosis, because women are seen as too weak to handle the minor pain of menstrual cramps.

In spite of my close relationship with Doctor Mike, I saw this affect our interactions. I think that at times he forgot that I had at least a modicum of intelligence. I also pushed through fatigue even though it was difficult, and had a notoriously high threshold of pain. Seriously, I fractured my tibia and drove myself home, climbed the stairs to my third-floor apartment, and walked into his office the next morning under my own power. I'm also in tune enough with my body to be able to tell when I have pneumonia or pleurisy or just costochondritis. So I found it frustrating when I tried to tell him that there was something wrong with me. I'd bring up the weakness and near collapses and he interrupted, dismissing it as low blood sugar. I finally caved in on one of my visits and told him not to say it was my blood sugar, because it wasn't, and to listen to me instead of dismissing me. And it wasn't my blood sugar, it was my heart.

I get these ideas in my little noggin, and sometimes I get passionate about them. First off, nobody knows your body and how you feel as well as you do, so let your voice be heard. Make your voice be heard. Second, I'm going to try to remove the word hysterical from my vocabulary and replace it with something like frantic. Unless, of course, my uterus is raising a ruckus and really bothering me.

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

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Gecko Wreck - Oh!

My subject tonight is dear to my heart - geckos. I am in no way an expert on these adorable little creatures, but I've learned a lot about them since moving here a year ago. About all that I knew about them before I got here was that they are cute little critters who eat bugs and run very fast Their racing around amuses the child in me. When I walk down the sidewalk outside my front door, dozens of them scurry around, racing to hide in the flower beds from the two-legged giant. For right now, every time I see them running away, I think of Trent. He was so sweetly indulgent with my declarations that I felt like Godzilla because geckos flee before me! As I walk down the sidewalk alone, I think of those moments and chuckle because I want to say, "That's right, geckos, flee before me!" I daren't say it aloud, though. I'm a resident of Orlando, not Crazy Town. I do think they're both in Florida, though.

Something I didn't know about geckos is that they seem to have a compulsion to get indoors. I don't really know why, because it's not like there's anything indoors for them. Maybe they're just intrepid explorers embarking on the gecko version of international travel. They may not speak the language, but they are excited for the sights they may encounter. The tragic thing is that this international gecko travel is an almost certain death sentence. The environment indoors is too dry for the little creatures and they end up dessicated. Yes, like someone stranded in a desert, they die of thirst. Even though I freely admit to being The Second Meanest Woman in the World, I don't generally mention that under this hard exterior lies a core of soft marshmallow. It really makes me sad to think of these little creatures suffering.

My own first experience with this came when I spotted a very large bug on the floor next to my living room wall. I remember thinking something along the lines of what the heck kinds of crazy bugs do they have in this state? I was on edge, because I do not like bugs, and this thing was bigger than a quarter. I saw it wasn't moving, and went closer, to see something that looked almost like a frog. But it had an itty-bitty tail. It was a dried out gecko. Not many days later, I walked into the bedroom and spotted a gecko on the wall. With the help of a plastic drink glass and a stiff piece of paper, I was able to capture the gecko and release it in a flower bed. This movie has played several times, and while it may be a tiny thing to save a gecko, it's a big deal for the gecko.

In the time leading up to Liz's visit in July, I happened to notice something skittering around on the floor. After my Raiders of the Lost Ark moment ("Indy? Why does the floor move?") I was determined to capture this super tiny baby gecko. I followed it as it ran around the bed, cup in one hand and paper in the other. I kept saying in a soft voice that I wanted help it, not hurt it. It stopped for a moment, and I put the inverted vessel down on the floor. Right on the little guy's teeny-tiny neck. I felt horrible. I tried to tell the little guy (and myself) that at least its death had been a swift one, but that didn't make me feel any less like a murderer. When Liz brought me home at the end of her visit, there was a tiny gecko in my kitchen sink. She asked if I could just catch it with my hand, and I remember telling her to go for it. She learned that day about the lightning fast reflexes of these critters. I did manage to save this one, so I did feel a bit of redemption.

This morning, I was in the bathroom thinking, when I saw the floor move. Another baby gecko on his backpacking trip through Europe. Surprisingly enough, he listened when I told him not to go anywhere. After I washed up and went to the kitchen to get my trapping supplies, he was still waiting on the bathroom floor. I was still a bit nervous after the Notorious Gecko Murder Incident, but I managed to catch him in record time. In less than a minute, I had finished my rescue mission. I'm glad I was able to save the little fellow, and glad that I was able to feel better about myself at the same time. Run, little gecko, and eat lots of tasty bugs. And quit breaking into people's houses, it's dangerous in there!

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

https://www.paypal.me/TheLunatic 

Keeping the Peace

Hello, my friends. I'm ashamed that it's been so long since I've written for you. I've had a couple of weeks that have been too full of memories, some good, some bad. There have been some other challenges as well, which seems to have stifled my will and ability to write. But here I am again, ready to let my fingers tippy-tap on the keyboard. 

I am sure that some of my memory and emotional glut has to do with a few things. Of course, there's those two unwanted guests, Stress and Worry. They come in whenever they wish and refuse to leave when asked nicely. I shan't bore you all with the whys of their companionship, but I will say that their visits leave me exhausted.

Another thing happening a lot lately is thinking about family, and remembering things that I haven't thought about in ages. In some cases, they're things that I haven't thought about at all, and they jump into my conscious thoughts and surprise me. I have more time for reflection these days, and maybe that's why so many things are starting to surface. Since I've lost my number-one cheerleader and supportive sounding-board person, these memories often bite deeper than they would have when Trent was still here.

I've been thinking a lot about Gram and some of the dynamics of her family. By that, I mean her three children, Alice, Jackie, and Harold. I remember some of the stress they added to my life, and can only imagine what the stress was like for Gram. You see, all three of these offspring were very jealous of any bit of attention Gram paid to the others. Frankly, it was aggravating and exhausting. It also, I think explains a few of the ways they (especially Alice) interacted with, and judged, me.

I learned very soon after moving in to Gram's house that the management of her adult children's feelings was an important thing to her. When I grew a bit older, I remember her referring to something called keeping the peace. As I entered adulthood, it was often combined with snide or cruel comments that were meant to reinforce her belief that her family came from far superior stock than what Liz and I sprang from. As an example, I grew pretty adept at doing minor household repairs. I could replace the flushing mechanism of a toilet or install new light switches, or even repair the cranking window mechanisms in the house. Sometimes, though, she didn't want me to do these repairs. She wanted it to be left for her son to do, apparently so he would feel needed and wanted. I would offer to do the repair or pay for someone to do it professionally, but she wouldn't hear of it. Her son would want to do it, and it was important to keep the peace in a family. If you didn't keep the peace, a family would be broken apart (like mine). So we lived in a house with windows that wouldn't open, and various other problems, because her son was busy and we had to make sure he kept feeling good about himself. And when she had her final decline in health, he raged for hours about the number of repairs that I had allowed to pile up. Of course it was my fault.

And the jealousy amongst the three of them, especially between Alice and Jackie, over Gram spending the least bit of time with any of the siblings was horrible. If Alice wanted Gram to go to the library with her and Liz or I stayed home, we were given strict instructions. If Jackie or Harold were to call while she was out with Alice, we were to tell them that she was out, but not with whom. We dreaded the phone ringing any time she left, because if one called while the other was out with Gram, a screaming match or temper tantrum was certain to follow. Heaven forbid that she might enjoy a bit of time spent with one of her own children. And preparing for major holidays was a nightmare. I can't even face talking about it right now. Maybe I need to do another post about that, perhaps with a title like My Holidays in Hades.

In retrospect, I believe that Alice's adamant refusal to allow me to perform in school stage productions, even though the drama teachers really wanted me to, was a reflection of her jealousy of her sister Jackie. Jackie was an accomplished dancer who toured with the USO. Gram showed me a picture of Jackie in Stars and Stripes with the caption, "Hey, boys, here's Denver's Darling, Jackie C-----!" She was lovely in the photo, wearing a dance costume that showed off her legs. And since I'm able to do basic math, I was able to figure out that when she got married, there was a little bun in her oven. I never said a word about it to Gram, but it perhaps sheds a little light on the whole litany of insults employed to explain away why I wasn't allowed to audition for choir or be in any plays or even do a sleepover with my cousin. Acting was a rough life. Choir went on overnight trips (also a sleepover excuse), and people who didn't sleep in their own beds were tramps.

Jackie was a whole 'nother kettle of fish. I think she still thought she was the prettiest girl on the block long after her youthful beauty faded. She also wanted to be the wisest as well the sharpest knife in the drawer. She was one of those people who might say something in your house about your neighbor and whisper when saying it, and ask if we should shut the windows so the neighbors wouldn't hear what we said. She was also one of those people who would keep predicting something dire for years and years so that she could say she told you so. 

Let's face it, we're all going to die some day. If you predict someone's death often enough and long enough, you will eventually be proven right. Around 1978, Jackie started quietly whispering to me that Gram looked terrible, and that she wasn't going to last much longer. That was when I quit being able to sleep well. I was always listening in case something went wrong with Gram. If I heard her shuffle into the bathroom during the night, I had to wait for the shuffle back to her room and the sounds of her settling back into her bed before I could relax again and sleep. Jackie kept up with her doom and gloom predictions, and was eventually proved right. In 1997. After only 19 years of predictions of Gram's imminent death, Jackie was finally right.

You know, Jackie used to say such nice things to someone's face and then turn around and say something really crappy when they were gone or she thought she couldn't be heard. Obviously, the women her sons chose to marry were completely unworthy of her boys or the rest of her family. There were many times that she told me that she liked me or that if she had ever had a daughter, she wished that she would have been like me. Once, I was invited along for the long ride to a neighboring town to visit her older son and his new wife. Since I was eager to hear gossip, which absolutely was going to happen, I faked being asleep not long into the car ride home. Imagine the sting when Jackie looked in her rear view mirror at me seemingly unconscious and said to Gram, "It's asleep." IT. I guess it was a good reminder that even though the daughter-in-law was hated, I was still genetically and socially inferior to the rest of the family.

Over the years, Jackie tried to maintain her delusion that she was hip to everything, and that there was very little she didn't know about. She felt free to correct doctors whenever they might explain something. She  would tell Gram things about her or her husband's health conditions that occasionally made me laugh out loud. Seriously, I couldn't stop myself. When she told Gram that her husband had been tested and found to have sleep apathy, I really busted a gut. Think about it for a second. Instead of telling her mother that he needed a CPAP, she essentially said that as far as sleep was concerned, he just didn't give a CRAP. 

The biggest one related to me had to do with my diagnosis of systemic lupus. As you probably know, lupus is an autoimmune disorder, and systemic lupus can cause someone's death. While I was still in the hospital, Jackie had to phone Gram about my diagnosis. I bet that even though I was in the hospital, Jackie still whispered on the phone. While I was in the hospital with twenty-five pounds of water retention, kidneys beginning to fail, and blood pressure high enough to categorize me as being in imminent danger of a stroke, Jackie made sure Gram knew what was wrong. Keep in mind that this was before home computers. Heck, it was pretty much before most businesses had computers. But Jackie told Gram that she had "looked into it" and the reason that I had lupus was because I didn't wash my face properly. I'm grateful that Gram came to me for the truth and believed me instead of her daughter that time around.

I feel really bad about spilling all of this because it makes me seem like a horrible, hateful relative. But I truly loved these people. I didn't always like them, but I did love them. Despite the sayings, though, loving people does not make you automatically blind to their faults. And I'm still not a fan of lying to keep the peace.

 

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I Got Jokes

I have a confession to make. Or maybe it's just a disclosure, I'm not sure. I have a tendency toward smartaleck-iness. That's not necessarily a real word, but I'm using it anyway, because it's honest, and it works. I suspect the SAness may be due to a genetic predisposition, but I have nothing to back up this opinion other than my own not-privately-funded field research. Additionally, I prefer to use kinder, more user-friendly terminology and say things like I think on my feet or I'm quick-witted, the second being far preferred over my childhood designation of being half-witted. (Naturally, it has occurred to me that being told repeatedly how thick I was probably spurred the development of the aforementioned quick wit, like the creation and placement of a vital tool in my survival kit.) It could just be that I like to laugh, and make others laugh as well. One of the great joys of my marriage was our ability to make each other laugh.

Today my friend Julie reminded me of a lovely moment when we were in Paris along with Liz and my friend Marie, who is also Julie's sister-in-law. This led me to remember a moment when Julie and I had quite a laugh and became those loud, gauche Americans, and we did not care. We had spent the day at the palace of Versailles, and as a student of History, it was quite an experience for me. The vastness of the palace, and being able to see the artwork and furniture that were there more than two hundred years before was an incredible experience. Both Liz and I were having camera problems, so we relied on our friends to take photographs of all of the splendor. After a lot of walking and a tasty meal, we were back on the train to Paris.

Julie and I were seated together catty-cornered from Liz and Marie, who were facing our direction. Marie was showing Liz the photos she had taken in the palace, including many "pictures of pictures." I heard Marie tell LIz, "Oh, no! I cut her head off!" Well, Ms. SA piped up and said, "Huh. Must be Marie Antoinette." This of course tickled Julie's and my funny bones, and we commenced to giggle. Marie responded, "I can't tell who it is, because I cut her head off." That was it for us, the giggles turned into uproarious laughter, and we turned into gauche, loud Americans. I still love that memory. (I know you may be wondering, so I'll tell you that the headless woman in the painting was the Empress Eugenie.)

I guess maybe the relaxed "I'm on vacation" vibe sometimes frees us to be a little more sassy than we are on a daily basis. I am of course the exception that proves the rule, see first paragraph. When Liz was visiting we had numerous bouts of uproarious laughter. The best times were when one of us caught the other unexpectedly with a witty comment, leaving both of us dissolving in laughtears. Hey, I just gave birth to a new word! I hope it catches on, but since my name isn't Stephen King, I doubt that it will get a great deal of exposure. Liz's funniest moment is unfortunately not suitable for a family program due to mild language. Har-de-har!

On the same day, I managed to sneak up on her, humor-wise, twice. We were driving back from a really lovely visit to the beach. Liz kept rubbing the corner of her eye, so I asked her what was wrong. She said she thought maybe she got a bit of sand in her eye at the beach. Now this is when I wish this was vlog instead of a blog. Of course, if that were the case, it would be less spontaneous because I'd have to brush my hair, make sure there wasn't any spinach in between my teeth, and do boring stuff like sit up straight. But you'd be able to hear the genuine and loving concern in my voice when I said, "Oh, no, that's too bad. Did a big, mean bully kick sand in your face while you were at the beach?" (If you're too young to understand why we were so hysterical, ask your parents or grandparents to tell you about the Charles Atlas ads in comic books.) We continued on our relaxing drive. Life was beautiful, we were happy, and I was thinking of  everything that I had experienced that day. I told Liz that the beach visit had really touched. me. I was feeling almost poetic, and my creative juices were flowing. She was duly impressed and said how cool that was. I blandly replied, "Yeah, I think they have special underwear for that now, but I don't know for sure." Touchdown!

Until next time, remember to laugh, it's good for the body and mind, and it's just plain fun!

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The Tip Jar:

As always, I am happy and honored to write for you. It brings me great joy, and I hope that it gives you joy and/or food for thought. If you'd like to support the cause, please visit:

https://www.paypal.me/TheLunatic