Sorry to have gone AWOL there. I've been dealing/negotiating/fighting/processing all things Mom and aging and change. It's been funny but not been fun. I'm currently in my Grandmother's house in Pebble Beach. Don't get excited. It's not a fancy Pebble Beach house. It's a basic ranch that they built themselves in the 40's with a bit of help from the government and Evil Grandmother (what my Grandmother called her Mother-in-law.) My Grandmother died 20 years ago. The house hasn't really changed despite having had my Grandmother's friend and Mom's Guy living here since. The toys we played with are still in the cabinet next to the fire place. Mom's shell collection from her school project still tucked in another cabinet, albeit now heavily covered in dust and spiders and their dinner leftovers. And I'm tucked in the tiny bed in Mom's childhood bedroom with a whole host of memories- and spiders and their dinner leftovers. It's funny but not fun. Yesterday, I cleaned out the hallway closet and found a receipt from 1996 in the pocket of one of Grandmother's coats along with a fragile tissue. Also in the closet were the TV trays she ate off when tennis was on and a parasol of my Mom's from when they were stationed in China. Oh, and a very large pissed off Black Widow who had happily been living in there for years - likely the 20 since it was last opened. This purging of life is... depressing and difficult and downright creepy but doing it along side a woman who is very slowly losing the memories of that life... well, I thought I knew pain with Broken Ankle. This is worse. So if I'm AWOL off and on for a bit know it's not because I don't have anything to say. It's because the words are covered in feelings too raw to form sentences. And I'm often too teary to find the funny, small moments that we/I need. Small moments like this: my Mother is currently trying to find a doctor who will perform her colonoscopy without knocking her out. Because she wants to watch. Apparently it's very difficult to find one who will willing shove a tube up your bum while you're awake and watching and commenting as you round the 'corners' or stop for pictures. My Mother - taking the control part of control freak to another level. Silver lining to all this, I'm in California. And this beach, Spanish Bay, is where we took our Christmas Day walk every year. Of course, it's a lot colder and less populated on December 25 but it still doesn't suck. Forgive the sideways video. I'm on my phone with spotty internet because Grandmother's house stopped evolving when she died.
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One of my favorite, absolutely FAVORITE things about Nashville, Tennessee is the wildlife. I mean, in the last month we’ve seen a Bobcat stalking a Woodchuck, Owls hunting Pepper the Wannabe Cat for dinner and even two young Red Tailed Hawks playing morning tag in our backyard. Love that! What I don’t love about Nashville, Tennessee is that along with the awesome wildlife, we have a plethora of bugs and things that creep and crawl. Like, for example, the massive Spider that made a big sticky web in front of the patio door this weekend. The massive sticky web I found and removed on Tuesday BEFORE I stepped into it but didn’t realize he’d rebuilt it and proceeded to step INTO it yesterday FACE FIRST. Luckily I saw said gigantic, probably poisonous and totally deadly, Spider on the wall after I did the “Eeeek!!! WHATTHE HECKIT’SONMYFREAKIN’FACE!!!” dance, so I know she isn’t now nesting in my hair, laying eggs that will emerge during the middle of the night to swarm my body and bite me for food. Even luckier, Husband’s security camera caught the “Eeeek!!! WHATTHEHECKIT’SON MYFREAKIN’FACE!!!” dance, and subsequent de-webbing for your viewing pleasure. Add in your own soundtrack of screeching as you enjoy these blurry security camera pictures of my pain. And don't feel so bad for Spider. She built the damn web again last night and almost got me again! UPDATE: She's back! Night four of web making. This isn't the actual size of the spider. IT'S BIGGER THAN THIS!!!
It’s time for Husband’s Annual Violation as he calls it. The time of year when the man I’m married to - who subsists mainly on pizza and hamburgers and eggs goes the doctor and comes back with cholesterol numbers that are so low he can rub them in my face - has to drop his y-fronts and get "Violated by a woman!" And what does that Annual Violation mean for me? Well, I get to hear about the drama and trauma of the whole experience for days and days and days. And then, to add insult to his injury, his father comes into town tonight so we’re in for a lovely couple of weeks of Husband and his emotional roller coaster. Yay me! Sigh. But it’s not all bad because I’m driving again! Of course, I’m driving like an eighty year old man in a large boat car with bad reflexes and a grudge drives but I’m driving. Sadly driving means I have to put on Stupid Boot, clomp down to the car, take off Stupid Boot and put on the one very old big shoe that fits on Broken Ankle Foot, drive to wherever, take off very old big shoe and put Stupid Boot back on and repeat for every single errand. It’s exhausting! BUT, I’m driving. And just when I’m free to wander the world outside of my window, suddenly things get exciting in the backyard at home. First Woodchuck moved in and we’ve spent the last week watching him dart around the yard and back into his hole at the bottom of our patio wall. Then yesterday, while I was sitting on the couch and Husband was looking out the window he spotted a Bobcat sitting right outside Mr. Woodchuck’s new home waiting for him to pop his head out and become dinner. A BOBCAT!!! Because bobcats eat small animals occasionally - though not the damn chipmunk that is currently sitting right where Bobcat was yesterday - I sent the pic to the local news station that has its studio in our neighborhood and we made the news. This is us above a dead body found. I’m so proud. Who knew fame would come in the form of a furry beast?
Maybe this will take distract Husband from the trauma of his Annual Violation. Who am I kidding? I can hear him whingeing already… Because of Broken Ankle, the dogs getting let out the front door more often than the back door, an unusual amount of rain this summer, the usual amount of humidity, the lack of lawn care due to lawn guy getting fired for running over the light and generally making a mess of the yard, and my inability to do anything yard related, this guy has moved in to the patio wall. Though we delight in yelling “Beaver” every time we see him, this is not a Beaver. This is a Woodchuck or Groundhog. (For size reference, that's Pepper the Wannabe Cat's chewed up frisbee bottom left.)
Right now Mr. Woodchuck is cute and shy and runs every time he sees our shadows watching him from the den window but one day soon, the dogs will find him and the digging will begin. And when the digging begins, the yelling starts and when the yelling starts the neighbors will hate us. Not to mention our wallets can't handle any encounter our dumbass dogs are likely to have with Mr. Woodchuck. Especially since we know dogs will not win. So, as entertaining as we find our shouts of “Beaver!” Mr. Woodchuck’s eviction notice will have to be served. Since I am still incapacitated, I nominate Husband to do the evicting. He did such a nice job with the 5ft Rat Snake last summer. I’ll stand by with one hand on the video record button and the other on 911. Either way it goes, it’s sure to be a story worth telling – especially if any or all of us end up in the ER again. Until that day, we will continue to entertain ourselves by yelling; “BEAVER!” at the top of our lungs and then watching the dogs go mental and Mr. Woodchuck scurry away. We’re really just children in overgrown bodies… This morning, when I went to grab a glass out of the cabinet for my morning chug of 10oz, the cupboard was empty. “That’s right,” I said to myself, “The dishwasher hasn’t been emptied.” So I grabbed a smaller glass from the cupboard and drank twice as much. Then, after letting the dogs out to do their thing, I came back into the kitchen to empty the dishwasher and found that Husband had already put the silverware away. All of the other clean dishes were still tucked in their little spots in the dishwasher but the silverware was nestled happily in their slots in the drawer.
Why did he put the silverware away but nothing else? Likely because when he went to make his breakfast yesterday, he needed a butter knife and the butter knives were all in the dishwasher so he pulled out the silverware caddy, put them all away, grabbed his butter knife from the now full slot in the drawer and went about his day not doing a thing about all the other clean dishes who wished to go home. I’m sure, if I were a psychologist, I could label him and ensure me that putting the silverware away but nothing else was not a conscious thing and not a dig at me. Whatever. I think he does it on purpose. I think he thinks, “Hum… ej hasn’t had much to ponder or complain about so why don’t I only do one part of a job and leave the rest for her.” And then giggles to himself manically while buttering his bread. I'm some psychologists would have something to say about my interpretation of Husband's actions but they can bite me. Why? Because normally this would send me into a rant. I’d build up the silly dishwasher inconvenience into an irritation and fan it until it turned into a fight. But today I’m choosing to see it as this: I’m healed enough for him to quit his Nurse Shrek job and just be Husband again. And so, instead of waiting until he woke up to launch into a list of things he’s done wrong, I covered Boot in a pillowcase, strapped that sucker on and went out and weeded the front yard. I didn’t last long. And I’m pretty sure I just pulled the tops of the majority of the weeds. And Broken Ankle is now swollen to the size of my thigh – the good fat with muscles thigh - BUT I am no longer Whiney Useless Patient ej. I’m back to being mostly me. Albeit I list to one side and have a very big fat purple foot and I won't be moving the rest of the day but I’m ME again. Half full clean dishwasher and badly weeded patch of garden aside, it’s a good day! |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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