Two Old Farts Blowing In the Wind

" I think I may have broken my collar bone", I say matter of fact to my husband, as we sit down for five minutes to catch up on the days events.
"Hold that thought, I think I hear the phone ringing."
"I don't hear the phone, what is it you hear?" I crane my neck to listen more closely.
"Never mind, it's probably just my tinnitus. I hear ringing all the time now. At work I could have sworn the phone was ringing. I kept picking it up saying 'hello, is anybody there?' Eventually someone was there, but it was more of a lucky guess at that point." Michael sighs.
"Well, funny you should mention phones. I was on a ladder putting things on a shelf..." Michael interrupts,"Is that when you think you broke your collar bone?" "No," I say half exasperated at the interruption," As I was saying, I was up on the ladder because as it turns out I am only two feet tall, when I thought I heard the phone ring." Michael looks at my tilted head. I continue, "I was running for the phone when I tripped over the old dog..."
Again Michael interjects, "Is that when you think you broke your collar bone?" "No," I answer more emphatically, "I tripped and old dog nearly wet herself so I rushed her outside, and no, that is not when I broke my collar bone either. I got her out and was rushing back in for the phone when I slipped and fell on the puddle she left behind."
"Oh my," Michael exclaims, "that must have been just awful! I can see how you would get hurt from a fall like that."
"Well, I won't lie, it hurt, mostly my ego, but that isn't it either. I went to the kitchen thinking I could grab a couple of paper towels to clean up the mess and grab the phone at the same time. I was just about to reach for the paper towels, when the food processor fell and slammed into my ankle."
"Don't tell me, let me guess, that isn't when you broke your collar bone either?" Michael smiles as he mocks my pain and humiliation.
"You are correct, Sir, that is also not when it happened. It happened when I picked up the phone."
"What happened when you picked up the phone?" Michael now looks completely puzzled. "I broke my collar bone," I say flatly and sip my cup of tea.
"Wait, you picked up the phone and what else?" Michael sits up as if he missed something. "Nothing else happened. I picked up the phone, I heard a very loud snap and now I can't move my head. That is the whole story. How was your day?"
Michael looks past me distracted, "It was OK, nothing like your day. Is that the phone ringing?"

The Lost Summer

I lost a whole summer this year. I cannot account for a single period of time this summer that had anything to do with the season. I watched as other kids went back to school, knowing my kids were going to college and starting later. All of the kids are in college. It makes my head swim, thinking of how fast it all went.
The difference in summers these past few years is astounding to me. The changes everybody has gone through, the metamorphosis of the family, seeing everyone change in a hundred different ways. Two summers ago I was writing my first book. Last summer I was promoting my published book, and this year I was preparing to start my second book. In two years I became a writer. Sometimes I look back and think it is all ridiculous.
My oldest graduated from college, my youngest boy had a life altering experience, my oldest boy made some pretty heavy life choices for himself, deciding who he wanted to be and how he wanted to make that happen, and the youngest, well, she graduated from high school, getting ready to be a freshman all over again, only this time in college.
Mike and I, didn't have time for a vacation, or to go on day trips or do anything even remotely summer like. There was no pool, or beach or camping, hiking, biking or picnics. All summer long we looked for a house, bought a house, sold a house and moved piles of boxes from one place to another. We are currently still in boxes. There is an isle way from one end of the house to the other, with boxes full of sundry stuff on either side we haven't found a home for yet. All I have written about for months is moving. Had I known the realities of how hard this was going to be , I assure you, I would have taken a time out for the nervous breakdown I rightfully deserve. Instead, I have been cautiously optimistic, relaying to the family how wonderful things will be once we truly get settled. I am smart enough to know to keep my mouth shut as to how long that will take.
I had started to do that thing where I regretted this summer. I was feeling bad about not having a summer with any fun in it. This summer was all about the work, fun would have to wait. I am and always will be the brick house little pig. I stopped myself, and Michael stopped me too, from berating myself for not being able to pull a rabbit out of this particular hat. "Baby, there is no way we could have done anything better, or even different than what we did", Michael gently reminded me. "Yeah, I know, I just wish I had more time or more hands, or something that might have made this better", I sighed wistfully. Michael looked at me, holding my face in his hands, "Look, we all did the best we could. That has to be enough."
Yes, we did the best we could with all of our unforeseen circumstances and it really does have to be enough. If I have any regrets, they are wasting time regretting things.
This will remain the Rip Van Moving summer, the lost summer, where bad things, amazing things, and miraculous things have happened. It will be the summer of growth, change and maturity for all of us. It wasn't the worst summer we have ever had, although I will tell you it is in the top 10 list, but it was hardly a summer full of joyous memories either.
We all like the new house. The kids call it cozy. No one misses the old house, which I find very odd. As cramped as we are right now, not one person in our family wishes we were more spread apart. I am fascinated that we aren't mourning the space, the pool and the finished house more, but we aren't, so I let it be what it is and isn't.
The kids rooms were finished first since they all have to start college classes soon. Michael has a clean space in the master bedroom to try and help him sleep less fitfully, without boxes staring him in the face all the time. And me, well, I am getting my kitchen sort of together so that I can cook my way out of my stress. It is my go to move, baking, frying and simmering my burdens into delectable concoctions my family will devour. My oven is half the size I need, the stove only has two burners that work and the cupboards belong in Barbie's dream house rather than my kitchen, but I have made entire dinners and even baked a pie.
It is the end of the lost summer. I look forward to pulling my dead bodies out of the attic, getting ready for Halloween. This is going to be a great house for holidays. I just feel it in my blood soaked bag of bones.

Unpacking the Boxers in the Pack

I was thinking this morning about how far my family has come from just 10 years ago. It constantly amazes me how much change occurs when we aren't looking. A mere decade ago, my kids were still considered little. I worried about everything back then, well, I guess that much really hasn't changed that much. I still worry, but now I spend much of my day convincing myself it is a bad idea. They are old enough to know better. Whether they act on that is up to them. My oldest child was 12 years old, while my youngest was a mere 8. They have indeed grown up right in front of me, ready or not. Even the dog got older, and is trying to enjoy her golden years.
Beyond the 1,200 miles we have traveled, we have matured in so many unexpected ways. The learning curves for us have come up time and time again, in ways we couldn't have possibly imagined a decade ago. My heart breaks when I see one my children make a mistake, where the costs are so high, but the benefits are often one more step to true understanding of who they are, and what they are made of. I made plenty of mistakes, back in my hey day. I lived to talk about them too, or at least write about them. I had so hoped that my kids would not make the same mistakes I did, in order to grow up and expand. Sometimes they do and sometimes they make whole new mistakes, I find jaw dropping. Either way, they tell me things that make my hair want to fall out. It's my good news, bad news conundrum. The good news is my kids still talk to me. The bad news is they tell me, honestly, the things they have done they have learned from. Ouch! I sit, trying to keep the "Oh dear God!" look off my face while they are telling me their story. I remind myself that staying non-judgmental is the key to keeping them close. Kids ARE their most unlovable when they need love the most.
Years ago my kids, mostly due to their closeness in age and the death of their father, traveled in a pack. I watched as they clung to me and each other, as if they might blow away in the wind. If I went to the bathroom, they went too. If one of them went somewhere, the others expected to follow. It was extraordinary to witness. My husband, Michael, noticed it first. "You guys always stay so close to each other in proximity as well as emotional attachment." "What do mean?" I asked sincerely puzzled by his observation. "Well, whenever we go somewhere, you all stay within a two foot radius of each other. When you get up, they get up, when you go to another room, they follow. It is like watching a pack mother and her cubs."
Up until that point I hadn't noticed what he was talking about. After that comment I began to watch my kids very closely, but without them noticing it. Sure enough, we did exactly what he said we did. We traveled in a pack. My kids had learned to protect each other and me, by staying close. Everybody had the others back. I suppose much of that was due to the insecurity of having lost their father so young. Nothing could ever be the same after that , so they all felt the responsibility of picking up the pieces, guarding each other from any harm that might come in to the fold. It stayed that way until recently.
This is the summer of the malcontent. The kids are growing and need the space to screw it up, do it over and be plain, old different then who they were. It is extremely tough to change, when you are surrounded by family who know all of your deep, dark secrets and fatal flaws. One needs to break free of the stereo types one has set for themselves in order to be different. My limited understanding of the growing psyche of my kids, had me at a loss for what was truly going on in my household. Now, later than I would have liked, I get it.
My kids don't even like each other. Their need to strike out in the world and be their own person, away for the pack, they have been a part of so long, has come due. They fight constantly, attacking the very character traits they all share. They find the others distasteful, beating feet to get as far away from them as possible. At first I lectured that we are all family and owe each other loyalty. I sat appalled at the amount of emotional betrayal between the children I raised. The truth is, they need the break. For years, they and me were all they had. For years, they protected our family unit even to the detriment of their own independence. Now it is time for them to truly move on and away from the family unit, so they can figure out exactly who they are as individuals. It is my job to let them.
"I hate her!" " He is a pig!" "What a loser!" Where I corrected the latest angry child/adult from negative speak before, now I simply say this, "Yes, I get it, go ahead and hate them." They won't hate each other forever. But maybe they need to hate each other now in order to live their own life without fear, guilt or recrimination. Parents get that they and their children start to dislike each other for awhile in order for the child to make their break. At least, I understood that much to be true. I hadn't seen that they needed to break from each other, as well.
The moving we have done this summer has been all about letting go of the past. We have donated, sold and gotten rid of hundreds of pounds of extra stuff that didn't fit our lives anymore. Toys were donated, bedding was thrown out, furniture is being sold, all in the name of streamlining our lives in order to allow good things to come to us. We are making room for good fortune. My herd is thinning also. My pack is unpacking in order to become. They need to thin for the extra room required to become who they were born to be and not what others expect of them, even me.
So there it is. The next phase of family life for the family. Growing hurts more than any injury, breakup or torment. It is the single most painful thing we, as humans endure, and yet, we will die from the inside out if we don't. This summer was my reminder, I am still discovering so much about all of us. It was the wake up call I needed to let my kids figure some things out on their own, without my "help". Now, what to do with all of my extra free time?

My Darling Christine

Our daughter is graduating from college tomorrow. I find myself drifting back when she was a baby. She still has blond hair and big blue eyes. She has the same smile and the way she tilts her head and looks at me as if I were completely insane. When she was an infant she had this thing called a a Johnny Jump Up. It hung from the door frame where she used her tiny legs to get it to swing her around and bounce up and down while I cooked dinner. I can see her in my mind as if it were happening right in front of me at this very moment. That is how it is for me. I still see all of her life regardless of where she is today. Every picture of her in every stage is ingrained in my mind and available at a moment's notice. I miss the days when the sun rose and set for me. I miss the day and nights when I was the most important person in her world.
I have waited for many years, 22 to be exact, to get to this point. I wished, prayed and worked so she could have the opportunities she has had. Tomorrow she will fulfill her end of the bargain. Christine Hope will don her cap and gown, walk across the stage and grab firmly on to her diploma that she she worked so very hard to get. I am so very proud of her. I never graduated from college and it remains my biggest regret. She has come right through me and allowed me to share in her joy and accomplishments.
I have packed plenty of tissues for the time when the tears stream down my face as I know they will. I will toast my child, our daughter, as she begins her real big girl life. The world is hers for the taking. I was watching The Colbert Report and his guest was Chuck Close the artist. He is Christy's and my favorite. My Walmart bill was the same as her date of birth.All these little signs to remind me how lucky I have been to have her in my life. I didn't just get pennies this time either, I got quarters and dimes from her father as the reminder that he too is aware of her graduation. Having Christy as a daughter has been an embarrassment of riches.

Us Old Dogs Have To Stick Together

My dog and best girl friend is sick. Asti, my whippet, shepherd mix is in the hospital tonight after being diagnosed with vestibular neuritis. I found her this morning sick as a dog. She was unable to walk, vomiting profusely and her eyes were rattling in her head like nothing I have ever witnessed in animals or as a nurse in humans. Her head twitched uncontrollably as she looked my direction trying desperately to focus on my face. I had thought when I first saw her symptoms that she might be having a stroke. I was a geriatric nurse for over 20 years, so my experience with anyone of age was limited to humans. I was out of my league and knew I needed help.
Michael was at work, the kids weren't up and I was shaking like a leaf. I knew the first thing I had to do was to try and calm myself. I closed my eyes and took a single deep breath. My girl was depending on me to do the right thing by her and I was not about to let her down. I got dressed, woke the kids, while calling Mike. I looked up the number for the twenty four hour animal hospital, telling them all I had seen and that I was bringing her in. I carried Asti to the car, whispering to her to hang on until I get her help. Driving, the tears ran down my face. My greatest fear was that I was going to have to let my best friend go. I had thought about this situation for a while now. My girl is 14 years old, 98 in human years. We had been so fortunate that she had always been such a healthy animal requiring only vaccinations and being spade. She is the pack leader in the house and had been since the day she was brought to us. The other dogs, Schnitzel and BoBo paced, circling around us while we were in the apartment. They sensed something was terribly wrong. They are both in love with Asti, vying for her constant attention.
Asti is not a hugger. She loves being petted, wallowing in affection, but is intolerant of being held. I knew instantly that when I picked her up she was really sick because she rested her head against my shoulder, seemingly grateful for the help.
I got Asti for the kids after my divorce. I had bought a house and the kids really wanted a puppy to love,protect and play with. Their world had been turned upside down. I had pulled them from the only house they had ever known. I had moved them out, away from their father without their consent. They were trying to adjust the best they could and I agreed that a puppy might be just the thing to help us all.
I contacted a number from the newspaper for a dog that had been rescued. We agreed to meet at my new house. Asti was quiet, shaky and nervous. She settled in by curling up on a pillow I had gotten for her and she didn't really move much for several weeks. She slept more than any other four month old puppy I had ever seen. The kids would go up to her, petting her, talking to her and still she didn't move. I took her outside to potty, fed her special treats as she continued her narcolepsy.
The kids pouted, "She doesn't do anything. You got us a broken dog, Mom. Why doesn't she move?" Perplexed I watched our new family member, pleading her after the kids were in bed to try and be more fun. "C'mon girl, just try and play tomorrow. The kids love you. Can't you at least try and walk around a little bit?" Asti's tail would wag, as she looked at me with her big brown doe eyes. Soon enough, Asti was running circles around the kids in our backyard, herding them in, keeping a watchful eye on my brood. She became the Nanny, like from Peter Pan. No one dared enter our house or yard without her approval. Her total devotion to her kids kept strangers at bay. I never worried about the kids playing in the yard as long as Asti was near them. She was my better half.
When Danny died the house felt dark, dank, depressing. Asti felt the heaviness, guarding us all the more. She stayed near the kids and me, lying at our feet, at the ready in case we needed her. So often we did need her to remind us to keep living, breathing, smiling, even when it seemed so much easier not to. She was my only friend on the nights when I felt like I wouldn't survive the grief, fear and anxiety. Asti kept me going when I felt like giving up.
It is my turn to be there for my girl, like she has been there for me a thousand times before. I will be at her side until this is resolved. As my tears flow for my girl, I feel so lucky to have a dog like her. She has been exceptional in loyalty and love. I can't imagine my life without her, but I will guard her life, her dignity and her legacy, knowing if it is her time, I will pull from the strength she has shown me for 14 long years. Today when I went in to look at her, as she laid in her hospital kennel, I whispered it would be alright. I watched her, careful not to upset her, as she needs dark, quiet and rest in order to have a fighting chance to heal. She can't focus on anything right now for any length of time, but she looked at me until it was too painful for her to continue. She wagged her tail and then laid her head down to rest, spent from the strain. I willed my strength to her. My heart pushed hard against my chest, radiating the love I feel for my loyal friend. I call every few hours to check on my girl. There is very slow progress, but I need to be cautiously optimistic.
I know what real love is. That is the greatest lesson my girlfriend had taught me, back when it would have been so easy to give up on love. That is truly her legacy, the ability to teach this old dog a new trick.

Red Letter Day

Yesterday was the kind of day where all I wanted to do was find the people who were making my life so hard, when it didn't need to be, tie them to a chair, playing Christopher Cross songs at high volume until they cracked. Yesterday was an all day affair of idiocy. Simple solutions were right there in front of every one and for the life of them, they couldn't see them. It was the kind of day where I became more and more frustrated by the banking system, leasing system and dissolutioned that anyone in charge has a brain in their head. One of our kids is being "attacked" by all this as well.
It was a ridiculous day where I felt my temper get the best of me. I began seeing red. That used to be a metaphor for me, but now that I am aging and the blood vessels are popping in my head, I believe it to be more of a symptom. I was angry. I am usually pretty good at stepping back and looking at the bigger picture, but yesterday, I began to lose sight of anything but the amount of unnecessary garbage that had been heaped upon my head.
I am not a fan of this summer. Somewhere there is a giant "dislike" button and I am going to find it and click it telling all who know me that this summer has been a giant disappointment.
It didn't have to be this hard. There is no real reason for all of the stuff we have had to sift through to happen. In the great scheme of things this will fade away into one of the many crevices in my brain never to be acknowledged again. I do know that it will all go. But, for now I am having to restrain my want, not need, to go kick some verbal butt.
Our apartment complex is giving us a hard time about moving out. They are turning it into a hostage crisis. Our mortgage company is giving us a hard time over paperwork they "need" or have or want or, heck I don't even know anymore. What I do know is the processor has bobbled this account several times and sounds like a 15 year old girl when she talks. I like, need, like,..." You get the idea. If she has a degree from some college, she should sue, because she obviously hasn't learned a thing.
Between bad neighbors at Apartmentistan, wild dogs, relentless paperwork,kids who need help, cramped quarters, heat stroke, and a constant battle against bugs I am pretty sure are from the dark ages, Mike and I have had quite enough, thank you very much. There is much more, but if I continue to list it I may have to be secured in a padded room.
I feel slightly uncivilized. I am surrounded by an insurmountable heap of indecency, ignorance and arrogance. When that stuff comes from my young adult kids, I forgive them because they are figuring out their coping skills and still learning.But when it comes from people who are in business, I find it hard to understand what the hardship is, in being a professional.

What to do, what to do. Well, at my age if I get mad and go off on somebody I could possibly cause bodily harm, to myself not to them. If I keep it all in I could give myself a coronary, burst a blood vessel or worse, such as take it out on inanimate objects that we own. I like our stuff and we have worked hard for it, so that won't do.
What I am currently doing is praying all day everyday. Some cynics will think this does nothing. For me what it does is give me an occupation so I feel like I am doing something. I also think it gives God a chance to come up with a better solution than I ever could, obviously. I handle what I can, and pray about the rest. My verbally abusing people won't help and will ultimately be as a satisfying as a sneeze.
I have watched karma at work. I have actually seen it take place, reducing others to a sniveling puddle of drool. Since I have witnessed such things, I know I have the patience to wait this out. I also know I am accountable for what I say and do, and that karma knows where I live too.
I am allowed to feel the burden. I am allowed to feel angry and hurt and overwhelmed. I am allowed to wish people to grow up. I am allowed to do this, so I shall. What I need to do at this point is to breathe, check my temper at the door, be civil, and stand up for us without leaving us open to a plateful of crap to be dished out by karma at a later date.
Yesterday was a red letter day in that I only saw red for about 4 hours. I will say, that in the midst of chaos I was able to look at my kids, my husband, my pets and feel real gratitude that nobody is hurt or sick or worse. Yesterday was bad, but not as bad as certain days I have lived through before. I woke up today just happy that yesterday is merely a memory and a story that I have the ability to tell.

I'm Feeling a Little "Wicked"

There is a comedienne I happen to like who is coming to town. Michael graciously offered to get tickets to see her for me, even though she is not his particular cup of tea. We'll call her Snarky McSarcastington. Snarky's tickets were for two days and two shows. Here is where I almost swallowed my tongue; for two tickets for an early show it would cost us $175.00, not including parking and gas money!
"Are you kidding me?" I gasped.
"No, that is with tax and stuff, but those are the cheapest seats"' Michael said disheartened. I could tell Michael was almost half afraid I would still want to go.
"I am not going to pay that much money for anybody, I don't car who they are" I responded indignant. "We spent that much going to see a Broadway show downtown with dinner afterward. This is outrageous!" I continued on my rant about how arrogant it seemed to charge that much for a one person show without so much as an orchestra backing them up.
I had been a fan of Snarky's and thought we had some things in common. We are both attractive gay men with boobs. We both have Irish catholic families. Snarky had always seemed more fan based than fame based, but I see now, I stand corrected. No good gay man worth his salt would extort that kind of money from his supporters. Every good gay I know can stretch a dollar, paying for their impeccable taste, until George begs for mercy. This seemed to me to be heresy.
I passed on the tickets, even though Michael and I haven't been out on the town in ages. The Broadway show we had last seen was "Wicked". I loved it, savoring every note, every moment until the last curtain call was over, lingering in the lobby reveling in the epilogue that continued to play as we left the theater. I love the theater. I suppose it is partially because I had thought as a child one day I would be in a theater performing somewhere. I had been a singer for most of my life and participated in many musical productions. I played musical instruments, mostly the trumpet all the way into college. Performing was as much a part of my upbringing as being raised in a small town. To this day, listening to the orchestra makes me cry.
Although I am missing out on the chance to see Snarky in person, I believe I am a better gay man for it. I have my principles, mind you. I would much rather take all that money and go to another Broadway production and dinner making a night of it, than have to search through the couch cushions, scraping together parking money the night of Snarky's show.
As any good gay man can tell you, it's not about what you spend, but whether or not you look and feel fabulous when you are spending it.