You have to clean a house before you can clean it.
Men probably don't get this, but any woman who has ever had a cleaning service will tell you, you have to clean the house before it can be cleaned.
It may seem redundant, but any maid service will tell you that they waste more time stacking up loose piles of paper, magazines, whatever, when they're cleaning instead of just coming in and getting down to the gut work.
My house is almost at a state now where a maid service could be called in for the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom. And now I'm exhausted.
I have several things on my side. Perversely, there's the weather. If it's bad on the day Cousin Karen intends to travel, I will insist that she stay at home and we'll get together another day, probably after the first of the year. She may think she's intrepid, but if it turns out to be as bad as all the weather reports are threatening, I think she should plan on staying home that day. As for me, I've already got most of the ingredients for a Thanksgiving dinner in the house.
Something else on my side is that Cousin Karen is very forgiving of houses en dishabille. Apparently hers is unless she is gone and Cousin Danny comes in to clean. It would seem he's very good at it, which makes me want to have him come up here while Cousin Karen and I go down the Shore.
I haven't touched my office or what used to be the guest room and is now...just a disaster and something you might seen on "Hoarders".
There is the chance that I will catch my second wind tomorrow, if I have a second wind to catch.
Then again, I might go back to bed, where it's warm and there may well be several cats waiting for me.
Showing posts with label Cousin Karen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cousin Karen. Show all posts
Monday, November 25, 2013
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Slowly, Slowly, Climb Mt. Fuji
I am attempting to make the house bearable in preparation for Cousin Karen's arrival on Wednesday. Yes, I know I've known about this for a couple of months but there's nothing like staring down the calendar and realizing that I've got to be right quick about it.
Yesterday went well. In between well-timed breaks, I cleaned and decluttered, did laundry and threw away a lot of junk. This morning it goes not so well. I've got a load of laundry going, which is good, but my picking-up and throwing-away has been delayed by a stitch in my side and an ache in my back.
As my mother, another well-known panic-cleaner, used to say and almost made herself believe, "They're coming to see you, not your house." This is one of those comforting lies we tell ourselves to keep our pulse below our target heart range while we run around the house, calculating what we can and cannot do between now and Tuesday midnight. I can get the kitchen clean enough to eat in, but there's no way I'm getting down on hands and knees to wash the floor. I can make comfortable seating in the living room, but I'm not promising that there still won't be a few boxes stashed behind the love seat.
Priorities, priorities.
I am especially concerned about the kitchen because when I last saw Karen in May, she showed up with a plate of macarons (the French kind, not the coconut kind) and promised/threatened to bake for me when she came to visit me. I'm not sure my kitchen, even after several hours of work, would be deemed hygienically fit for cooking. Maybe she'll just make the macarons at home and bring a big basket of them. (We learned in May that stale macarons made with regular instead of almond flour are still acceptable.)
I was kidding with one of the mail room guys the other day that I would hire him to help me clean my house. He looked serious when I named a price, but I didn't follow up on it. I wish now that I had. He's young, strong, and eager to earn money. Dang. If I said, "Paulo, take the bike down to the basement", I have no doubt that he would have hoisted it onto his narrow-yet-strong shoulders and moved the thing down to the basement. I just look at it and convince myself that I can be blind to it - after all, I've managed to be blind to this for a little over three years. What's another couple of months?
A long time ago, I read a haiku about a snail trying to climb a mountain and more than once I've whipped out the last few words to move me along:
Slowly, slowly climb Mt. Fuji.
And so I slowly climb. Who wants some cocoa?
Yesterday went well. In between well-timed breaks, I cleaned and decluttered, did laundry and threw away a lot of junk. This morning it goes not so well. I've got a load of laundry going, which is good, but my picking-up and throwing-away has been delayed by a stitch in my side and an ache in my back.
As my mother, another well-known panic-cleaner, used to say and almost made herself believe, "They're coming to see you, not your house." This is one of those comforting lies we tell ourselves to keep our pulse below our target heart range while we run around the house, calculating what we can and cannot do between now and Tuesday midnight. I can get the kitchen clean enough to eat in, but there's no way I'm getting down on hands and knees to wash the floor. I can make comfortable seating in the living room, but I'm not promising that there still won't be a few boxes stashed behind the love seat.
Priorities, priorities.
I am especially concerned about the kitchen because when I last saw Karen in May, she showed up with a plate of macarons (the French kind, not the coconut kind) and promised/threatened to bake for me when she came to visit me. I'm not sure my kitchen, even after several hours of work, would be deemed hygienically fit for cooking. Maybe she'll just make the macarons at home and bring a big basket of them. (We learned in May that stale macarons made with regular instead of almond flour are still acceptable.)
I was kidding with one of the mail room guys the other day that I would hire him to help me clean my house. He looked serious when I named a price, but I didn't follow up on it. I wish now that I had. He's young, strong, and eager to earn money. Dang. If I said, "Paulo, take the bike down to the basement", I have no doubt that he would have hoisted it onto his narrow-yet-strong shoulders and moved the thing down to the basement. I just look at it and convince myself that I can be blind to it - after all, I've managed to be blind to this for a little over three years. What's another couple of months?
A long time ago, I read a haiku about a snail trying to climb a mountain and more than once I've whipped out the last few words to move me along:
Slowly, slowly climb Mt. Fuji.
And so I slowly climb. Who wants some cocoa?
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Update on Cousin Karen
Here's the good news:
She finally started going to an endocrinologist with a brain in his/her head. Said doctor has changed around all of her medications and now I can actually talk to Karen again. She doesn't appear to be foggy or sleeping all the time or dealing with insomnia. Oh, the right drugs mean so much!
And the bad news:
The evil mortgage company has denied their second appeal/mediation. They're going in for a third time.
My cockamamie scheme:
I thought they owed the Evil Mortgage Co. about $2K. And this morning, I thought - hey! I've got $2K. I could give it to them. Checking with Karen, I learned it was more like $8K. I could still do that. I went to the Mole, who is very savvy in the ways of mortgages, foreclosures, and trying to save one's ass from a sheriff's sale.
Quoth the mole:
Okay. Let's say you draw up a contract with Danny and Karen. What's their collateral? Oh. Um...probably Cousin Danny's Jeep but let's be honest. If push came to shove, I would not take Danny's Jeep.
Again, quoth the mole:
If you do decide to give/lend them the money, make sure have you a certified check made out to the Evil Mortgage Co. Brilliant.
And then:
What happens if you do all of this for them and still end up with them getting chucked out of the house? What then? You'll be $8K poorer, you know you won't take the Jeep, and then what?
Lastly, quoth the mole:
You need to take care of yourself, first and foremost.
And I realized for all my good intentions, The Mole was right. I also have my mortgage with Evil Mortgage Co. and it would singe every last hair off my body if I just forked over that amount of money to them with nothing to show in return.
Karen said last night that now she's feeling so much better, she really wants her house, she really wants to keep it. I told her gently that it looks like that won't be the case and she should started thinking of her options. I repeated my offer for her to come and stay here again for as long as she needs to, to get back on her feet. I also told her that she should look into Section 8 / HUD housing in Richmond, as well as apply for welfare and go on food stamps.
She says she has the possibility of a job in Richmond, but I realized this afternoon, what happens if she:
- Suddenly decides to stop taking her meds
- Has a Lupus attack or relapse or episode or whatever you want to call it, because she almost certainly will
- Has another stroke
She'll find herself back in that black hole she was in all of last year, except she now has better health care. Still, it would effect her ability to work.
I pondered this all day.
Now Dylan is here and is demanding his dinner.
She finally started going to an endocrinologist with a brain in his/her head. Said doctor has changed around all of her medications and now I can actually talk to Karen again. She doesn't appear to be foggy or sleeping all the time or dealing with insomnia. Oh, the right drugs mean so much!
And the bad news:
The evil mortgage company has denied their second appeal/mediation. They're going in for a third time.
My cockamamie scheme:
I thought they owed the Evil Mortgage Co. about $2K. And this morning, I thought - hey! I've got $2K. I could give it to them. Checking with Karen, I learned it was more like $8K. I could still do that. I went to the Mole, who is very savvy in the ways of mortgages, foreclosures, and trying to save one's ass from a sheriff's sale.
Quoth the mole:
Okay. Let's say you draw up a contract with Danny and Karen. What's their collateral? Oh. Um...probably Cousin Danny's Jeep but let's be honest. If push came to shove, I would not take Danny's Jeep.
Again, quoth the mole:
If you do decide to give/lend them the money, make sure have you a certified check made out to the Evil Mortgage Co. Brilliant.
And then:
What happens if you do all of this for them and still end up with them getting chucked out of the house? What then? You'll be $8K poorer, you know you won't take the Jeep, and then what?
Lastly, quoth the mole:
You need to take care of yourself, first and foremost.
And I realized for all my good intentions, The Mole was right. I also have my mortgage with Evil Mortgage Co. and it would singe every last hair off my body if I just forked over that amount of money to them with nothing to show in return.
Karen said last night that now she's feeling so much better, she really wants her house, she really wants to keep it. I told her gently that it looks like that won't be the case and she should started thinking of her options. I repeated my offer for her to come and stay here again for as long as she needs to, to get back on her feet. I also told her that she should look into Section 8 / HUD housing in Richmond, as well as apply for welfare and go on food stamps.
She says she has the possibility of a job in Richmond, but I realized this afternoon, what happens if she:
- Suddenly decides to stop taking her meds
- Has a Lupus attack or relapse or episode or whatever you want to call it, because she almost certainly will
- Has another stroke
She'll find herself back in that black hole she was in all of last year, except she now has better health care. Still, it would effect her ability to work.
I pondered this all day.
Now Dylan is here and is demanding his dinner.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
A Lot About Nothing
Usually at this time of the morning, I'm dressed for work and getting ready to go. But since we're enjoying a pea-soup fog, I'm waiting until it's vaguely daylight outside.
Cousin Karen Update
I've been thinking about this hard, the whole situation. I realized that part of my initial enthusiasm in lending a hand was selfish. I have a hard time admitting when I'm lonely. It's just background noise at this point. I remembered that it doesn't take much for my gregariousness quota to be full. I'm not sure this would work on a long-term basis.
I also realized that my Cousin Danny is legally her next of kin. So I started texting him the other day. He sounded far more rational than she did. (It's not her fault.) He sounded fairly confident about the loss mitigation/mediation program they're going through, but I got no other details. I haven't been able to reach him to actually speak to him.
----------------
Emma Update
Emma had been ill for over a week, unable to keep anything down. When I talked to her Monday evening, she sounded like she was at death's door. Sven was at home, so I told her to get dressed and let Sven take her to the tiny emergency room they have in Podunkville. Astoundingly, she did. They gave her IV fluids and sent her home with anti-barf meds.
---------------
Boris Update
Friends, he is slowing down. He's no longer grooming himself, but he still has an appetite and still loves to cuddle. He has a jones for Whiskas Temptations. He likes to get brushed. So he gets all of these things in abundance.
Everyone else is A-OK, although I suspect Dylan has arthritis in his front paws. It's hard to realize that the youngest one, Blue is 10 this year. And kind of scary, too.
-------------
Me Update
I'm tired of being tired. I'm very grateful for finally achieving a balanced mood, but the balance has to be carefully watched, all the time. One side effect of all of these drugs is to make me sleepy and/or fatigued. By the time I get home, I'm lucky to pour a bowl of cereal for myself and dole out cat food for the kitties. I get into my jammies, watch a movie, and fall into bed.
There has to be and is a better way. It's all very simple. I need to make myself a cup of coffee around 3 - 4 p.m. Good coffee, not that in-the-office bile. And while I normally take coffee black, in the afternoons it has to have some 1/2 & 1/2 in it. This is sketchy at work, although the company graciously provides milk and 1/2 & 1/2. I go in at 9 am and the fridge is full. I go in at 3 pm to the kitchen and there's 1/4 of an inch of skim milk left. The easy and rational solution is for me to take my own but disguise it so no one will think she can "borrow" it and no one will mind.
There is a serious misunderstanding at work of what's yours and what's mine, especially when it comes to the contents of the refrigerator. And if this is the biggest problem I have at work, I am truly blessed.
I have projects and things I want to accomplish at home but I'm getting exactly nowhere with them because all I do at home is sleep. At this point, I doubt Cousin Karen will come to live with me, but I still want to sort out the house. It's needed sorting for a couple of years now and I want to do it. Before, I didn't care but for some reason (head meds?) I care now. I see what needs to be done, have a reasonable plan in place for doing it, but when I lift a hand, it's usually to change into my pajamas. Wake up, Becs, wake up!
Cousin Karen Update
I've been thinking about this hard, the whole situation. I realized that part of my initial enthusiasm in lending a hand was selfish. I have a hard time admitting when I'm lonely. It's just background noise at this point. I remembered that it doesn't take much for my gregariousness quota to be full. I'm not sure this would work on a long-term basis.
I also realized that my Cousin Danny is legally her next of kin. So I started texting him the other day. He sounded far more rational than she did. (It's not her fault.) He sounded fairly confident about the loss mitigation/mediation program they're going through, but I got no other details. I haven't been able to reach him to actually speak to him.
----------------
Emma Update
Emma had been ill for over a week, unable to keep anything down. When I talked to her Monday evening, she sounded like she was at death's door. Sven was at home, so I told her to get dressed and let Sven take her to the tiny emergency room they have in Podunkville. Astoundingly, she did. They gave her IV fluids and sent her home with anti-barf meds.
---------------
Boris Update
Friends, he is slowing down. He's no longer grooming himself, but he still has an appetite and still loves to cuddle. He has a jones for Whiskas Temptations. He likes to get brushed. So he gets all of these things in abundance.
Everyone else is A-OK, although I suspect Dylan has arthritis in his front paws. It's hard to realize that the youngest one, Blue is 10 this year. And kind of scary, too.
-------------
Me Update
I'm tired of being tired. I'm very grateful for finally achieving a balanced mood, but the balance has to be carefully watched, all the time. One side effect of all of these drugs is to make me sleepy and/or fatigued. By the time I get home, I'm lucky to pour a bowl of cereal for myself and dole out cat food for the kitties. I get into my jammies, watch a movie, and fall into bed.
There has to be and is a better way. It's all very simple. I need to make myself a cup of coffee around 3 - 4 p.m. Good coffee, not that in-the-office bile. And while I normally take coffee black, in the afternoons it has to have some 1/2 & 1/2 in it. This is sketchy at work, although the company graciously provides milk and 1/2 & 1/2. I go in at 9 am and the fridge is full. I go in at 3 pm to the kitchen and there's 1/4 of an inch of skim milk left. The easy and rational solution is for me to take my own but disguise it so no one will think she can "borrow" it and no one will mind.
There is a serious misunderstanding at work of what's yours and what's mine, especially when it comes to the contents of the refrigerator. And if this is the biggest problem I have at work, I am truly blessed.
I have projects and things I want to accomplish at home but I'm getting exactly nowhere with them because all I do at home is sleep. At this point, I doubt Cousin Karen will come to live with me, but I still want to sort out the house. It's needed sorting for a couple of years now and I want to do it. Before, I didn't care but for some reason (head meds?) I care now. I see what needs to be done, have a reasonable plan in place for doing it, but when I lift a hand, it's usually to change into my pajamas. Wake up, Becs, wake up!
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Good News for Cousin Karen
Because I am so frequently the bearer of bad news, I have some good news about Cousin Karen.
She seems to have achieved some kind of peace, some inner resolution on things that had been plaguing her.
She stopped working about a year ago when she had a stroke. She is largely recovered from that and spent months fretting about when she would have to go back to Bad Insurance Company. Right now, she's working with someone to file for long term disability. Having already suffered the financial shock of being on short term disability, she's getting ready for this financial..set-back? Fuss? Shock?
And miraculously, a member of her family has stepped forward and said, "If you want one of those tiny houses (which she does, desperately), then I will build one for you. Even though I think it's a crazy idea." The relative is a carpenter so he knows what to do to make this come about.
It was good to hear that peacefulness in her voice. She has begun to de-crap the house, getting rid of any extraneous thing she won't have room for in a 109 square foot house. The house will be free and clear and belong to her.
I didn't ask what she's going to do about the old house, but I hope she finds an easy way of getting rid of it. She's very happy to be walking away from it and I completely understand this.
As it turns out, both of us are in a financial pinch. She told me she had a negative balance in her checking account. I guess I do, too.
But life goes on and I'm very happy that Karen has found a way of making herself happy. It's about time she got a break. I think she was the one who gave herself a break. She has decided not to go back to BICo. That she wants time for everything in her life to settle down to a point where she can go back to work again, in a place that is kinder to its employees. And they do exist.
I think the next time she comes up to visit, we will both be in a better place for it.
She seems to have achieved some kind of peace, some inner resolution on things that had been plaguing her.
She stopped working about a year ago when she had a stroke. She is largely recovered from that and spent months fretting about when she would have to go back to Bad Insurance Company. Right now, she's working with someone to file for long term disability. Having already suffered the financial shock of being on short term disability, she's getting ready for this financial..set-back? Fuss? Shock?
And miraculously, a member of her family has stepped forward and said, "If you want one of those tiny houses (which she does, desperately), then I will build one for you. Even though I think it's a crazy idea." The relative is a carpenter so he knows what to do to make this come about.
It was good to hear that peacefulness in her voice. She has begun to de-crap the house, getting rid of any extraneous thing she won't have room for in a 109 square foot house. The house will be free and clear and belong to her.
I didn't ask what she's going to do about the old house, but I hope she finds an easy way of getting rid of it. She's very happy to be walking away from it and I completely understand this.
As it turns out, both of us are in a financial pinch. She told me she had a negative balance in her checking account. I guess I do, too.
But life goes on and I'm very happy that Karen has found a way of making herself happy. It's about time she got a break. I think she was the one who gave herself a break. She has decided not to go back to BICo. That she wants time for everything in her life to settle down to a point where she can go back to work again, in a place that is kinder to its employees. And they do exist.
I think the next time she comes up to visit, we will both be in a better place for it.
Monday, May 21, 2012
No Room at the Inn
It looks like Cousin Karen won't be coming up for the weekend.
She had the flu last week. And you've heard way too much about the state of my buttocks.
I paid the rest of the bill for the bug exterminator. $$$. I have to pay half a year's car insurance. $$$. There are some other triple digit expenses in there. Right now, I don't have the change to show her a nice time.
If it was just her, I would still feel obligated to pay for her bus ticket and any meals we went out for. I know I could just drag her down Oak Tree Road in Edison and she'd be thrilled half to death. If it was Cousin Danny, I would feel obligated to pay for more than that - he's never been to NYC. I don't think a dirt water dog is what he had in mind for fine dining.
And - oh, yeah. I still haven't touched the house.
I'm going to call her tonight and ask if we can postpone it. Maybe 4th of July. Maybe Labor Day.
So. It's going to be one of those "Everyone's Gone to the Moon" weekends. Any suggestions? How weird is it to go on a picnic by yourself? I think I can safely sit through a movie in a theater. Ideas? Thoughts? I'll think up some things, some cheap things.
I'm sorry the cousins aren't coming but I just don't think I can hack it right now.
She had the flu last week. And you've heard way too much about the state of my buttocks.
I paid the rest of the bill for the bug exterminator. $$$. I have to pay half a year's car insurance. $$$. There are some other triple digit expenses in there. Right now, I don't have the change to show her a nice time.
If it was just her, I would still feel obligated to pay for her bus ticket and any meals we went out for. I know I could just drag her down Oak Tree Road in Edison and she'd be thrilled half to death. If it was Cousin Danny, I would feel obligated to pay for more than that - he's never been to NYC. I don't think a dirt water dog is what he had in mind for fine dining.
And - oh, yeah. I still haven't touched the house.
I'm going to call her tonight and ask if we can postpone it. Maybe 4th of July. Maybe Labor Day.
So. It's going to be one of those "Everyone's Gone to the Moon" weekends. Any suggestions? How weird is it to go on a picnic by yourself? I think I can safely sit through a movie in a theater. Ideas? Thoughts? I'll think up some things, some cheap things.
I'm sorry the cousins aren't coming but I just don't think I can hack it right now.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
May Miscellany
In the Still of the Night...
I've known my whole life that I talk in my sleep. People who have shared a bed with me overnight - and there haven't been so many, actually - swear that I never say anything intelligible.
To contradict them, I remind them of the patriotic night I once had, when I woke up sitting bolt up-right in bed, imaginary flag on a stick in hand, shouting "God bless you, Mr. Lincoln!"
I woke up a couple of times last night, especially as the day began to dawn. I called, "Emma? EMMA!" and woke up during the second Emma. Don't tell me there weren't instances when I slept with Xman where similar things didn't happen. I don't believe it.
I have a voice activated tape recorder. I haven't used it because I'm afraid of what I'll hear in the morning, other than lots and lots of snoring.
------------------
And It Just Keeps Getting Better Every Day
In the 12 years I've lived here, there hasn't been a town-wide property assessment.
Guess what our asshat mayor just decided? That he doesn't want to run for office again. Or that some citizens misbehaved when they caught him doing something naughty. This guy really is on a huge power trip.
I say this with dread because long ago, I knew a woman who worked at Mighty Citadel. She was partially disabled and kept dreading layoffs because she was sure that she would be one of the chosen people.
Just as all this happened, a reassessment was decreed. Her property tax bill went from $6K / yr to $12K/yr, which was about half of her take home pay, not including her mortgage.
Lucky her - she had a sister who had a spare house (big money. Old money) on her property and asked Steph to come live in it. So she did. I've heard nothing from her since so either she's blissfully ensconced in small town life or her skeleton will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever.
We (the royal "we") don't pay much attention to the property tax because it is a way of life in Jersey. Houses in the area where Annushka lived started the property tax at $14K / yr.
But this has struck fear into my heart. If my property tax doubles, I simply cannot pay it. I haven't got a clue what I would do. I suppose the first trick is to get the house cleaned up and out. That's always a good place to start from.
--------------
Cousin Karen and the Sleep Study
It looks like this will not come to pass. The co-pay - the co-pay - is $500. She's had all kinds of stuff done already, an EEG, an EKG, a MRI and several more scrambles in the alphabet soup. I guess they weren't quit so pricey.
I don't know why she needs to have a sleep study because Cousin Danny and I can both attest to the fact that she wakens frequently in the night and will sometimes struggle to sit up. I saw her do this after taking a nap on my couch.
I have a feeling this visit is not going to happen and until the pain thing is resolved, am not much in the mood for entertaining.
---------------
Cheated
I had worked for three hours on Friday, then I left for the emergency room. It turns out I have been docked a day's vacation for this.
Learning this did not make me happy.
-----------------
The Stink-Eye
The HR director is a cute - well, she would be cute if she smiled - tiny brunette who wears capris and high heel espadrilles and I've never know anyone who could out-stink-eye me until I met her. She scares me. I know I could take her, but she scares me. Oh, I'm sure the rest of our "non-gossip" office knows why she is so melancholy or angry or whatever it is that she is. Really, what is her problem? Does she give everyone that stank or is it just reserved for me?
--------------------
Doctor, Please. Some More of These
Oh, I do like my new drugs. Thank you, Dr. Pain. The weird thing about it is that this enormous load of tranquilizers and muscle relaxers lets me concentrate and work more than I've been able to in years.
Have I been in this much pain for X years and not known it? Surely not.
I've known my whole life that I talk in my sleep. People who have shared a bed with me overnight - and there haven't been so many, actually - swear that I never say anything intelligible.
To contradict them, I remind them of the patriotic night I once had, when I woke up sitting bolt up-right in bed, imaginary flag on a stick in hand, shouting "God bless you, Mr. Lincoln!"
I woke up a couple of times last night, especially as the day began to dawn. I called, "Emma? EMMA!" and woke up during the second Emma. Don't tell me there weren't instances when I slept with Xman where similar things didn't happen. I don't believe it.
I have a voice activated tape recorder. I haven't used it because I'm afraid of what I'll hear in the morning, other than lots and lots of snoring.
------------------
And It Just Keeps Getting Better Every Day
In the 12 years I've lived here, there hasn't been a town-wide property assessment.
Guess what our asshat mayor just decided? That he doesn't want to run for office again. Or that some citizens misbehaved when they caught him doing something naughty. This guy really is on a huge power trip.
I say this with dread because long ago, I knew a woman who worked at Mighty Citadel. She was partially disabled and kept dreading layoffs because she was sure that she would be one of the chosen people.
Just as all this happened, a reassessment was decreed. Her property tax bill went from $6K / yr to $12K/yr, which was about half of her take home pay, not including her mortgage.
Lucky her - she had a sister who had a spare house (big money. Old money) on her property and asked Steph to come live in it. So she did. I've heard nothing from her since so either she's blissfully ensconced in small town life or her skeleton will lie in the Chamber of Secrets forever.
We (the royal "we") don't pay much attention to the property tax because it is a way of life in Jersey. Houses in the area where Annushka lived started the property tax at $14K / yr.
But this has struck fear into my heart. If my property tax doubles, I simply cannot pay it. I haven't got a clue what I would do. I suppose the first trick is to get the house cleaned up and out. That's always a good place to start from.
--------------
Cousin Karen and the Sleep Study
It looks like this will not come to pass. The co-pay - the co-pay - is $500. She's had all kinds of stuff done already, an EEG, an EKG, a MRI and several more scrambles in the alphabet soup. I guess they weren't quit so pricey.
I don't know why she needs to have a sleep study because Cousin Danny and I can both attest to the fact that she wakens frequently in the night and will sometimes struggle to sit up. I saw her do this after taking a nap on my couch.
I have a feeling this visit is not going to happen and until the pain thing is resolved, am not much in the mood for entertaining.
---------------
Cheated
I had worked for three hours on Friday, then I left for the emergency room. It turns out I have been docked a day's vacation for this.
Learning this did not make me happy.
-----------------
The Stink-Eye
The HR director is a cute - well, she would be cute if she smiled - tiny brunette who wears capris and high heel espadrilles and I've never know anyone who could out-stink-eye me until I met her. She scares me. I know I could take her, but she scares me. Oh, I'm sure the rest of our "non-gossip" office knows why she is so melancholy or angry or whatever it is that she is. Really, what is her problem? Does she give everyone that stank or is it just reserved for me?
--------------------
Doctor, Please. Some More of These
Oh, I do like my new drugs. Thank you, Dr. Pain. The weird thing about it is that this enormous load of tranquilizers and muscle relaxers lets me concentrate and work more than I've been able to in years.
Have I been in this much pain for X years and not known it? Surely not.
Monday, April 23, 2012
High As Kites
Cousin Karen posted to Facebook last night that during the day, she had forgotten:
1. Where she lived
2. That her mom had died in 1997 and she couldn't understand why no one would answer the phone when she dialed her mom's number.
To her credit, she realized it was time to get very, very serious. She hasn't (sigh) followed up with the neurologist since her stroke nearly a year ago. Oh, maybe once or twice, but not like she should have been. Nor has she been taking the proper medication she needs to keep herself in line.
We IMed during the day. I managed not to be overbearing, but suggested that she take Cousin Danny with her to the appointment. I know he's got the full story on what she's being doing, not doing, and forgetting. I said she should write down her questions before the appointment and Danny would remember what got said at the doctor's office.
She said she would and once again, I told her she always has a home with me. Although I have to admit, I didn't figure caretaker would come into this, it just might.
I'm asking myself if I'm willing to do this and so far the answer is likely so. I know, what commitment! But this is not something you agree to lightly.
------------
I talked to Emma for an hour and a half yesterday. Her mother's memorial service was held last week. Emma took Mary Rose's cremated remains and walked along the edge of a park / prairie her mom had helped restore, scattering ashes here and there. "I broke the law," she giggled and I said, "So what's new?"
And then the weirdest, most bizarre stuff started coming out of Emma's mouth. Oh, her mom had been really happy as a child and even up until the time of her death, had dozens of really close friends in Milwaukee, that her mother had cut her loose at an early age (five?!) because her younger sons were severely brain damaged. And that Emma understood all that now and well, she went on. And on. Talking about how nice her mom was, how lonely her mom must have been after her dad died and that was why she committed suicide.
My jaw dropped and wouldn't let me say anything and I realize that was for the best. But I wanted to say, hey? Don't you remember that your dad used to tell you kids to shut up because your mother was suicidal? And you couldn't have been more than ten, and yes, your dad was still alive. Don't you remember how many times your mother threatened suicide when your dad was alive and kicking?
But even though I am a bit of a social dullard, I managed to catch on to this pretty quickly. Emma sounded not happy but relieved and peaceful and I am hardly the one to harsh that buzz.
I hope that this attitude remains firm and fixed. That she doesn't wake up one morning and start having hysterics that her mom committed suicide because she was a nutty old bat to begin with. I hope this useful illusion has been super-glued into her psyche, because I think she needs it and I think she needs it to be permanent.
-------------
Oh, as I get older, I see more things from my mother's perspective. I also know that she suffered from a serious brain injury and was in chronic pain nearly every day of her life. I also know that she was bat-shit crazy. And dangerous. But the human part, I understand more of. The bit about trying too hard to be loved, trying so hard and demanding so much of people that she scared them and drove them away. Yeah, I get that. Along with her cluelessness about what had happened. What? What did I do?
These are words I've said myself, so yeah, I get it.
But no amount of understanding will beguile me. The distance between us expands and expands and I am very happy to keep it that way.
1. Where she lived
2. That her mom had died in 1997 and she couldn't understand why no one would answer the phone when she dialed her mom's number.
To her credit, she realized it was time to get very, very serious. She hasn't (sigh) followed up with the neurologist since her stroke nearly a year ago. Oh, maybe once or twice, but not like she should have been. Nor has she been taking the proper medication she needs to keep herself in line.
We IMed during the day. I managed not to be overbearing, but suggested that she take Cousin Danny with her to the appointment. I know he's got the full story on what she's being doing, not doing, and forgetting. I said she should write down her questions before the appointment and Danny would remember what got said at the doctor's office.
She said she would and once again, I told her she always has a home with me. Although I have to admit, I didn't figure caretaker would come into this, it just might.
I'm asking myself if I'm willing to do this and so far the answer is likely so. I know, what commitment! But this is not something you agree to lightly.
------------
I talked to Emma for an hour and a half yesterday. Her mother's memorial service was held last week. Emma took Mary Rose's cremated remains and walked along the edge of a park / prairie her mom had helped restore, scattering ashes here and there. "I broke the law," she giggled and I said, "So what's new?"
And then the weirdest, most bizarre stuff started coming out of Emma's mouth. Oh, her mom had been really happy as a child and even up until the time of her death, had dozens of really close friends in Milwaukee, that her mother had cut her loose at an early age (five?!) because her younger sons were severely brain damaged. And that Emma understood all that now and well, she went on. And on. Talking about how nice her mom was, how lonely her mom must have been after her dad died and that was why she committed suicide.
My jaw dropped and wouldn't let me say anything and I realize that was for the best. But I wanted to say, hey? Don't you remember that your dad used to tell you kids to shut up because your mother was suicidal? And you couldn't have been more than ten, and yes, your dad was still alive. Don't you remember how many times your mother threatened suicide when your dad was alive and kicking?
But even though I am a bit of a social dullard, I managed to catch on to this pretty quickly. Emma sounded not happy but relieved and peaceful and I am hardly the one to harsh that buzz.
I hope that this attitude remains firm and fixed. That she doesn't wake up one morning and start having hysterics that her mom committed suicide because she was a nutty old bat to begin with. I hope this useful illusion has been super-glued into her psyche, because I think she needs it and I think she needs it to be permanent.
-------------
Oh, as I get older, I see more things from my mother's perspective. I also know that she suffered from a serious brain injury and was in chronic pain nearly every day of her life. I also know that she was bat-shit crazy. And dangerous. But the human part, I understand more of. The bit about trying too hard to be loved, trying so hard and demanding so much of people that she scared them and drove them away. Yeah, I get that. Along with her cluelessness about what had happened. What? What did I do?
These are words I've said myself, so yeah, I get it.
But no amount of understanding will beguile me. The distance between us expands and expands and I am very happy to keep it that way.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
In Which I Enable Cousin Karen
During the BecsFest weekend, it was the Garage Sale Weekend of All Weekends. The weather was perfect. People didn't want to throw away any of their summer stuff or the crap they'd been meaning to dump all summer, so they tried to sell it.
Cousin Karen is ever determined on her course to build a Tiny House. She talked about it a lot while she was here and bemoaned the fact that she can't think of a way to get a free trailer hauled to her big back yard. Having lived in Jersey for long enough, I realize that most things can be accomplished if the right sum of money is offered. I said, "Find someone with a trailer hitch on his truck and pay him twenty bucks for hauling it to your yard. And if that trailer is gone, check out the junk yards."
Karen and I were out one morning and passed a garage sale. I noticed a large-ish wood burning stove or coal furnace, the kind my great grandma had in her house and next to it was what looked like an old Electrolux canister vac standing upright. Karen squealed. I pulled over.
"All right," I said. "What's with the squeal?"
"That mint-green thing is a wood stove."
The Electrolux?
"Yes, and I've been trying to find one for a year now. It's the perfect size."
I nodded. "Okay. But do me a favor - do not act so excited. Don't tell me how much you want it. If I ask you what you think and you really, really want it, just shrug and say that you guess it's all right. Other than that, zip it."
We ambled up into the yard, said hello to the folks who were having it and wandered aimlessly looking at all the dreck for babies. After all, this county's main crop seems to be children.
I went to the big stove and said, "What's this thing?" Knowing perfectly well what it was. He explained it to me and Karen meandered over to the Electrolux stove.
He explained that one to Karen and showed beautiful chrome wings that went on top of it. The thing was really in perfect condition from what I could see and it was so cute, I could hardly stand it.
I shrugged. "I dunno, Kar. What do you think?"
She shrugged back. "Maybe."
The guy showed his hand by saying, "I really don't want to drag any of this crap back into the house."
Aha! The game's afoot.
"How much are you asking for it?"
There was a lot of shrugging done. He shrugged. "I'm thinking a hundred."
You, sir, are thinking with your ass. But that's not unusual here.
"Oh, jeez," I sighed. Pause. Pause. "What's the best price you can do for me?"
"Seventy five."
No. Still too much.
I sighed. "What would you say to fifty?"
"If I saw it, I'd say yes."
I paused. A moment. Then I forked over the fifty bucks and as we walked away with the Electrolux between us, I cursed myself for not having held out for twenty-five.
When we got in the car and drove away, Karen said, "Can I? Can I now?"
"Yes, you can."
SQUEEEEE. It's perfect. It's beautiful. It's just what I've been looking for, for so long. It's so cute. I love it. I would have handed him the hundred if I'd had it. And you got it for fifty!
I should have held out for twenty-five. I know he would have caved.
I made Karen swear to me that she would get a carbon monoxide detector and she did.
Still. It was a cute little thing.
Ed. Note: Whoa. I did a much better job than I thought. On eBay, the stove that comes closest to the one I bought for Karen just went for $1,500.
Cousin Karen is ever determined on her course to build a Tiny House. She talked about it a lot while she was here and bemoaned the fact that she can't think of a way to get a free trailer hauled to her big back yard. Having lived in Jersey for long enough, I realize that most things can be accomplished if the right sum of money is offered. I said, "Find someone with a trailer hitch on his truck and pay him twenty bucks for hauling it to your yard. And if that trailer is gone, check out the junk yards."
Karen and I were out one morning and passed a garage sale. I noticed a large-ish wood burning stove or coal furnace, the kind my great grandma had in her house and next to it was what looked like an old Electrolux canister vac standing upright. Karen squealed. I pulled over.
"All right," I said. "What's with the squeal?"
"That mint-green thing is a wood stove."
The Electrolux?
"Yes, and I've been trying to find one for a year now. It's the perfect size."
I nodded. "Okay. But do me a favor - do not act so excited. Don't tell me how much you want it. If I ask you what you think and you really, really want it, just shrug and say that you guess it's all right. Other than that, zip it."
We ambled up into the yard, said hello to the folks who were having it and wandered aimlessly looking at all the dreck for babies. After all, this county's main crop seems to be children.
I went to the big stove and said, "What's this thing?" Knowing perfectly well what it was. He explained it to me and Karen meandered over to the Electrolux stove.
He explained that one to Karen and showed beautiful chrome wings that went on top of it. The thing was really in perfect condition from what I could see and it was so cute, I could hardly stand it.
I shrugged. "I dunno, Kar. What do you think?"
She shrugged back. "Maybe."
The guy showed his hand by saying, "I really don't want to drag any of this crap back into the house."
Aha! The game's afoot.
"How much are you asking for it?"
There was a lot of shrugging done. He shrugged. "I'm thinking a hundred."
You, sir, are thinking with your ass. But that's not unusual here.
"Oh, jeez," I sighed. Pause. Pause. "What's the best price you can do for me?"
"Seventy five."
No. Still too much.
I sighed. "What would you say to fifty?"
"If I saw it, I'd say yes."
I paused. A moment. Then I forked over the fifty bucks and as we walked away with the Electrolux between us, I cursed myself for not having held out for twenty-five.
When we got in the car and drove away, Karen said, "Can I? Can I now?"
"Yes, you can."
SQUEEEEE. It's perfect. It's beautiful. It's just what I've been looking for, for so long. It's so cute. I love it. I would have handed him the hundred if I'd had it. And you got it for fifty!
I should have held out for twenty-five. I know he would have caved.
I made Karen swear to me that she would get a carbon monoxide detector and she did.
Still. It was a cute little thing.
Ed. Note: Whoa. I did a much better job than I thought. On eBay, the stove that comes closest to the one I bought for Karen just went for $1,500.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Cousin Karen Needs to Be Serious
If you had the pleasure of meeting Cousin Karen at BecsFest, you might have noticed that she's....ebullient. Enthusiastic. Naive. Innocent.
And it needs to be toned down.
I'm concerned about her. I know I'm always concerned about her, but now I'm even more concerned about her.
Within the past year, she was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. It seems to be acting a lot like Type I diabetes. I've asked a lot of questions and Been Stern but I see in her a la-di-dah-don't-worry-about-me attitude that I recognize all too well.
She needs to serious on down.
When she arrived on Saturday, she said, "I didn't tell you this but Friday (ed. note: The day before!), I was in the hospital because there was something wrong with my leg. They thought it was a blood clot and they found out too that I have the beginnings of diabetic neuropathy." La-di-dah, la-di-dah. And she had just driven from Richmond to Pleasantville?
But it's impossible to get her to wake up and smell the Starbucks. She won't listen. She refuses to take it seriously.
I admit that I was in such a state last weekend that it was challenging my mental faculties to make sure I hadn't abandoned RCW on some roadside out of sheer forgetfulness. When I threw stuff into boxes for the party, it made me sad to realize that my fantasies of Lady Bountiful with everything spread out beautifully a la Annushka was just not going to happen.
I am fairly faithful about making sure I feed myself on a regular basis, so I wasn't paying attention to what Karen was eating and drinking.
She was drinking Coke. Regular Coke. And she wasn't eating unless we all went to a restaurant or I presented her with a plate of food. In my house, it's a mi casa, su casa thing. You're hungry or thirsty, the kitchen is there. And I'm right there, too, so you can say, "Miss Becs, I need or want or crave a sandwich", and I will give it to you gladly.
I hope she wasn't using me as an example last Sunday because - lo, a great miracle occurred! - my appetite was nowhere to be found.
Ahem. Anyway, I'm concerned about Karen. She's not taking care of herself. And it dawned on me last evening that this could bring about much misery for her and possibly an early death.
What can I do to convince her that she needs to look after herself?
And it needs to be toned down.
I'm concerned about her. I know I'm always concerned about her, but now I'm even more concerned about her.
Within the past year, she was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. It seems to be acting a lot like Type I diabetes. I've asked a lot of questions and Been Stern but I see in her a la-di-dah-don't-worry-about-me attitude that I recognize all too well.
She needs to serious on down.
When she arrived on Saturday, she said, "I didn't tell you this but Friday (ed. note: The day before!), I was in the hospital because there was something wrong with my leg. They thought it was a blood clot and they found out too that I have the beginnings of diabetic neuropathy." La-di-dah, la-di-dah. And she had just driven from Richmond to Pleasantville?
But it's impossible to get her to wake up and smell the Starbucks. She won't listen. She refuses to take it seriously.
I admit that I was in such a state last weekend that it was challenging my mental faculties to make sure I hadn't abandoned RCW on some roadside out of sheer forgetfulness. When I threw stuff into boxes for the party, it made me sad to realize that my fantasies of Lady Bountiful with everything spread out beautifully a la Annushka was just not going to happen.
I am fairly faithful about making sure I feed myself on a regular basis, so I wasn't paying attention to what Karen was eating and drinking.
She was drinking Coke. Regular Coke. And she wasn't eating unless we all went to a restaurant or I presented her with a plate of food. In my house, it's a mi casa, su casa thing. You're hungry or thirsty, the kitchen is there. And I'm right there, too, so you can say, "Miss Becs, I need or want or crave a sandwich", and I will give it to you gladly.
I hope she wasn't using me as an example last Sunday because - lo, a great miracle occurred! - my appetite was nowhere to be found.
Ahem. Anyway, I'm concerned about Karen. She's not taking care of herself. And it dawned on me last evening that this could bring about much misery for her and possibly an early death.
What can I do to convince her that she needs to look after herself?
Friday, July 02, 2010
Cousin Karen Canceled
At 8:15 pm, I got a text message that Cousin Karen isn't coming up this weekend.
My first reaction was to be pissed that she had done it so late and most of all that she had done it by text.
Then I realized it was for the best. After all, I spent the better part of the day trying to figure out how I was going to pay my mortgage. (I did figure it out, after all.)
And I was in the middle of building a set of shelves from IKEA when I got the text. This was good. I'm spurred on now to continue with the house. Cleaning. Straightening. Cleaning some more. Throwing some more stuff out. Although it will definitely be an everyone's gone to the moon weekend, I'm glad to get it. I will have to ask someone to come help me lift the bookcase into place because it easily weighs a hundred pounds and has no hand holds on it. If it slips, bye-bye pinky finger and bye-bye wee-wee-wee-all-the-way-home piggy.
I feel like the logjam at Ma Maisonette has just broken. Hallelujah and amen.
Although I will miss Cousin Karen's company.
By the way, to those of you out there I've canceled on at the last minute, please accept my deepest apologies. I suspect those who were victimized most often have departed, anyway. But if I've ever done this to you, I'm really sorry and I will do my most ut not to do it again.
My first reaction was to be pissed that she had done it so late and most of all that she had done it by text.
Then I realized it was for the best. After all, I spent the better part of the day trying to figure out how I was going to pay my mortgage. (I did figure it out, after all.)
And I was in the middle of building a set of shelves from IKEA when I got the text. This was good. I'm spurred on now to continue with the house. Cleaning. Straightening. Cleaning some more. Throwing some more stuff out. Although it will definitely be an everyone's gone to the moon weekend, I'm glad to get it. I will have to ask someone to come help me lift the bookcase into place because it easily weighs a hundred pounds and has no hand holds on it. If it slips, bye-bye pinky finger and bye-bye wee-wee-wee-all-the-way-home piggy.
I feel like the logjam at Ma Maisonette has just broken. Hallelujah and amen.
Although I will miss Cousin Karen's company.
By the way, to those of you out there I've canceled on at the last minute, please accept my deepest apologies. I suspect those who were victimized most often have departed, anyway. But if I've ever done this to you, I'm really sorry and I will do my most ut not to do it again.
Fat Friday
Pardon Me, Do You Have Any Gray Poupon?
This morning on my way to work, I noticed (how could you not?) a guy in a red Rolls Royce convertible turn opposite me down Leafy River Road. He wore a jaunty straw hat, sunglasses, and had a very dashing scarf tied around his neck.
I said, "Flaunt it, baby! Flaunt it!" (Points if you name the source.)
But I have to tell you, I was not happy with Dashing Rolls Royce Man, who decided on such a fabulously idyllic day (and it was. Oooh, it was) that he would go 35 mph down Leafy River Road. Normal speed? 45 - 50 mph. And it's situated so that passing is dangerous to the point of possibility. Plus skinny bicycle men have discovered this road, which is most decidedly not the place for a bucolic spin.
I was trapped behind five cars and ahead of six cars.
When we go to the end of Leafy Green Road, he was in the front of the line to turn. I zipped up on his right, because I was going across to Farmer Green Road.
I rolled down my window. He rolled down his window. I said, "Do you see the line of cars behind you? Do you know how many people you just made late for work? Do you understand that people have to go to work?"
It may be that he expected me to say something about his very cherry ride. His mouth dropped a little bit.
In a thick Italian accent, he said, "Oh, madam. I am very sorry."
Now it was my turn for my mouth to drop. I rolled up my window. He rolled up his. And I was glad when the light changed.
But you know what? Right now, I think I should have just parked the sad old Bullet on the side of the road and hopped in the car with him.
--------------
The Taylor Report
I took Taylor to see Hunky Vet last night. Apparently, it's been decided that in the future, only Hunky Vet will see my cats.
He did about a thousand dollars worth of tests on Taylor for free. They didn't even get written down in the log.
He looked at Taylor. He checked her eyes. Listened to her heartbeat. Groped her liver. Then he said, "She's going to make a complete recovery. I - well, it's amazing, actually. I seriously was not expecting to see her back here in such good condition. And she's gained half a pound in the last ten days." (Me, too! At least!) "Amazing how she's bounced back."
He sat down opposite me. He looked up at me and said, "Don't take this the wrong way. I know this has been hard on you. But I hope I don't see you again for a long, long time."
On the way out, I picked up the beautiful rosewood box containing Katy's ashes. A week later and she's home again.
One day, when I go - they're all going with me.
I called the North Shore Animal League's Survivor Care program today and told them Katy had died. He asked me how and I gave him the extremely censored version that I've been giving everyone. Because honestly? It's too horrible. If you love animals, it's simply too horrible.
He murmured sympathy. Then wished me a happy weekend.
----------
Cousin Karen Cometh!
She says she's going to be here around 10 tomorrow morning. I have no idea how she's going to manage that. I have never been able to make it to Richmond in under eight hours.
This might be because I meander once I get past the Virginia border. The geography is essentially the same as it was when I was growing up. If I get off any exit on 95, I know pretty much where I'll wind up.
When I was a kid, in the summer time, the Swapping of the Cousins would be done at the Potomac Bridge. My mom and grandparents would drive to the bridge and settle into the park on the shores of the Potomac. They have grills there, so we'd start a cook-out. Meanwhile, I'd go digging into the sloppy sand to see what I could find. My aunt and uncle and my two cousins would arrive and we would eat. Then my cousins would get in the car with us and we'd drive back to Richmond.
I almost always stop at this park, although I despise the bridge. I dig around in the sand and I remember the cook-outs. I must have thought all of my relatives were immortal, because I never stepped back to savor it. That's why I try so hard to call it to mind when I'm there by myself.
Anyway, Cousin Karen has none of that baggage. It's her first driving trip to Jersey. Even though she's 36 years old, there is still an innocence and naivete about her that makes me worry. Some guy could say to her, "Hey, could you help me find my puppy?" and Cousin Karen would never think twice about it. That's what I worry about sometimes. She trusts people too much.
This morning on my way to work, I noticed (how could you not?) a guy in a red Rolls Royce convertible turn opposite me down Leafy River Road. He wore a jaunty straw hat, sunglasses, and had a very dashing scarf tied around his neck.
I said, "Flaunt it, baby! Flaunt it!" (Points if you name the source.)
But I have to tell you, I was not happy with Dashing Rolls Royce Man, who decided on such a fabulously idyllic day (and it was. Oooh, it was) that he would go 35 mph down Leafy River Road. Normal speed? 45 - 50 mph. And it's situated so that passing is dangerous to the point of possibility. Plus skinny bicycle men have discovered this road, which is most decidedly not the place for a bucolic spin.
I was trapped behind five cars and ahead of six cars.
When we go to the end of Leafy Green Road, he was in the front of the line to turn. I zipped up on his right, because I was going across to Farmer Green Road.
I rolled down my window. He rolled down his window. I said, "Do you see the line of cars behind you? Do you know how many people you just made late for work? Do you understand that people have to go to work?"
It may be that he expected me to say something about his very cherry ride. His mouth dropped a little bit.
In a thick Italian accent, he said, "Oh, madam. I am very sorry."
Now it was my turn for my mouth to drop. I rolled up my window. He rolled up his. And I was glad when the light changed.
But you know what? Right now, I think I should have just parked the sad old Bullet on the side of the road and hopped in the car with him.
--------------
The Taylor Report
I took Taylor to see Hunky Vet last night. Apparently, it's been decided that in the future, only Hunky Vet will see my cats.
He did about a thousand dollars worth of tests on Taylor for free. They didn't even get written down in the log.
He looked at Taylor. He checked her eyes. Listened to her heartbeat. Groped her liver. Then he said, "She's going to make a complete recovery. I - well, it's amazing, actually. I seriously was not expecting to see her back here in such good condition. And she's gained half a pound in the last ten days." (Me, too! At least!) "Amazing how she's bounced back."
He sat down opposite me. He looked up at me and said, "Don't take this the wrong way. I know this has been hard on you. But I hope I don't see you again for a long, long time."
On the way out, I picked up the beautiful rosewood box containing Katy's ashes. A week later and she's home again.
One day, when I go - they're all going with me.
I called the North Shore Animal League's Survivor Care program today and told them Katy had died. He asked me how and I gave him the extremely censored version that I've been giving everyone. Because honestly? It's too horrible. If you love animals, it's simply too horrible.
He murmured sympathy. Then wished me a happy weekend.
----------
Cousin Karen Cometh!
She says she's going to be here around 10 tomorrow morning. I have no idea how she's going to manage that. I have never been able to make it to Richmond in under eight hours.
This might be because I meander once I get past the Virginia border. The geography is essentially the same as it was when I was growing up. If I get off any exit on 95, I know pretty much where I'll wind up.
When I was a kid, in the summer time, the Swapping of the Cousins would be done at the Potomac Bridge. My mom and grandparents would drive to the bridge and settle into the park on the shores of the Potomac. They have grills there, so we'd start a cook-out. Meanwhile, I'd go digging into the sloppy sand to see what I could find. My aunt and uncle and my two cousins would arrive and we would eat. Then my cousins would get in the car with us and we'd drive back to Richmond.
I almost always stop at this park, although I despise the bridge. I dig around in the sand and I remember the cook-outs. I must have thought all of my relatives were immortal, because I never stepped back to savor it. That's why I try so hard to call it to mind when I'm there by myself.
Anyway, Cousin Karen has none of that baggage. It's her first driving trip to Jersey. Even though she's 36 years old, there is still an innocence and naivete about her that makes me worry. Some guy could say to her, "Hey, could you help me find my puppy?" and Cousin Karen would never think twice about it. That's what I worry about sometimes. She trusts people too much.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Prayer for Cousin Karen
An hour after learning that she's diabetic, Cousin Karen got a telephone call telling her that her stepmother, Dotty, had been killed in a horrific car crash.
Karen had vented to me a number of times about Dotty, who was obviously less than happy to see her husband's grown daughter seeking refuge in her house. Still, reading her obituary, I find that she had friends numbering into the hundreds. Literally.
To add to the misery, the state coroner's office doesn't release bodies during the weekend. The accident happened Friday morning, but Dotty's body can't go to the funeral home until tomorrow. This has meant the family has been in confused stasis over the weekend. They already know that there will be two memorial services for her, one in Virginia and another in her hometown in another state.
If you pray or send up the occasional flare to God, please give a second to Cousin Karen. The woman needs a break. A year ago, she found out her husband (my idiot cousin Danny) was cheating on her. She moved out of the marital home. She ended up moving back into the marital home after doing a great deal of work on the house. Because she was so freaked out about Danny being an ass, she missed two weeks from work and was on "permanent written warning", which meant that if she missed one day from work due to, oh, pneumonia or boulders falling out of the sky onto her house, she would be fired. The warning lasted for a year and while she's no longer under that shadow, I think it shows what a stink-o company she works for. And believe me, this isn't the half of it.
I've already invited her up here again. I think in a month or so, she'll need to get away and Ma Maisonette may be the perfect place for that.
Think a good thought for Cousin Karen. She needs all the help she can get. Thank you.
Karen had vented to me a number of times about Dotty, who was obviously less than happy to see her husband's grown daughter seeking refuge in her house. Still, reading her obituary, I find that she had friends numbering into the hundreds. Literally.
To add to the misery, the state coroner's office doesn't release bodies during the weekend. The accident happened Friday morning, but Dotty's body can't go to the funeral home until tomorrow. This has meant the family has been in confused stasis over the weekend. They already know that there will be two memorial services for her, one in Virginia and another in her hometown in another state.
If you pray or send up the occasional flare to God, please give a second to Cousin Karen. The woman needs a break. A year ago, she found out her husband (my idiot cousin Danny) was cheating on her. She moved out of the marital home. She ended up moving back into the marital home after doing a great deal of work on the house. Because she was so freaked out about Danny being an ass, she missed two weeks from work and was on "permanent written warning", which meant that if she missed one day from work due to, oh, pneumonia or boulders falling out of the sky onto her house, she would be fired. The warning lasted for a year and while she's no longer under that shadow, I think it shows what a stink-o company she works for. And believe me, this isn't the half of it.
I've already invited her up here again. I think in a month or so, she'll need to get away and Ma Maisonette may be the perfect place for that.
Think a good thought for Cousin Karen. She needs all the help she can get. Thank you.
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