Perfect fall day

It is a perfect southern fall day.

Luscious.

Warm.

Blue.

Green. Red. Yellow. Brown.

Crispy, soft.

Lazy.

I slept in till 8:30.....then lingered.....warm and content in my bed.

I drank a mug of strong coffee and headed out the door...not to work or do errands...but for a walk.

When I returned, I sat on my dad's old bench, now in our driveway, drenched in sunlight. The rough dark red wooden boards radiated heat.

I took off my sweatshirt....then my t-shirt....and laid back on the tough wood in my sports bra ...feeling the sun in unfamiliar places....my chest....my midsection.....under my arms.

I feel like I've emerged from a pool of pain and anguish.

So much and so many tears.......such a long long year.

Perhaps I will mimic mother nature....shed......go dormant....conserve my energy...and begin dreaming of a new life.... a new start in spring.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A lone ginko leaf fell onto the hood of my car....and rested there.... in the sky's reflection.

I fear pictures tell the story

This is how my parent's house looked after I renovated it.

Clean.

Shiny.

Lots of Space.

This is what my house looks like now....a dining room that is
filled to the brim........

A three car garage with two spaces filled with stuff from my parent's house.

Hmmmmmmmm

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Home

I am home.

I am happy to be home.

I am happy to sleep in my own bed

and stumble over all my own stuff.

I am home.

I am happy to be home.

The Good Daughter

I thought when my parent's died I said goodbye.

I was there....I kissed them....through a river of tears I said goodbye.

But it is 9 months later....and I am still saying goodbye.

Goodbye to mom's red leather boots, to dad's tools, to mom's coats, to a hundred cardboard boxes dad stored just in case he needed one, to old pens, to a tattered towel, a crumpled Kleenex in a suit pocket....on and on it goes.

In a few hours, I'll sign papers to set in motion the big goodbye....to their house where they lived for 40 years. In this real estate market the house probably isn't going to change hands quickly, but the signature on the paper starts the tear that will break the bond...no matter how long it takes.

The house looks good. The kitchen/family room...actually beautiful.

Yesterday, another person told me I should have just sold the house "as is".....but I wonder if I needed to fix and repair this house to erase the guilt I felt.

My parents were so sick and they died so quickly....they were each in hospice only days before the end....and I as their only child....inherited everything... their money, their possessions ...their house.

Perhaps in some way....I needed to work on this house....I needed to clean and repair and break down at the end of the 14 hour workd day in exhaustion to be able to accept what they left to me.

People take care of aging parents for years and I intensely took care of my parents for three months.

Since I couldn't show them how hard I would have worked for them...or how dedicated I would have been to them no matter how long they both lived after dad's stroke....I poured my energy and my heart into what was left of them....their house...and though their possessions are dispersed....the house remains.....the garage door is painted....the house numbers are new...the new wood floor shines...the cracks are fixed, the shed is painted.

What I couldn't do for them....I did for the house....something they loved and cherished.

People will go through this house and nod at the cleanliness....the tidiness....the modernization. They will nod mentally to the former owners who kept the house in such good shape. They will nod to my parents for their good taste even though they don't know them.

And tomorrow I will nod too....as I head home....I have made the home they loved beautiful again....and maybe the work won't pay off in dollars...but it will pay off a debt I owe to them.

I wanted to be the good daughter. Now I am.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moses calling.....

"Is this Gina?"

"Yes."

"This is Moses. I have your wood."

"Moses?"

"Moses from the Floor Store."

"Oh, thank heavens!"

And just like that I was freed....and without a single plague.

The only thing keeping me here in Chicago.....was the floor.

Thanks to Moses....I've got wood ....and tomorrow morning the installation team arrives to set it in place.

Then I'm free....I sign the contract to sell my parent's house on Wednesday....I pack my belongings ...and head home.

Of course I'm not entirely free....I'll visit Chicago every month to check the house till its sold.....there's clothes to donate and sort through.....but for the most part....the house is finished.

This evening I visited a friend....and the first thing she asked me was "What are you going to do now with your life?"

"I...I...I..." I didn't know what to say.

I know there's a mountain of boxes at home to unpack.....receipts to go through...pictures to scan....but there is also the unfamiliar.....the idea that I won't have to spend every day and most of my waking hours on my parent's affairs..... I can actually think about me.

It's strange....it's been 9 months since dad had his stroke...the same length of time as an average pregnancy.....mom carried me for 9 months.....and now I've returned the favor and carried them to the end of their life over the same length of time.

Exodus....Me and Ozzie the Wonder Dog in 48 hours.

"This is an easy one....no plagues....no threats....just 600 square feet of Brazilian Cherry."

Ozzie the Wonder Dog has Good Taste

Ozzie and I listening to Ingrid Michaelson's new song "Maybe"

The Queen of Caulk

I can caulk anything.

.

Really....when you are repairing/renovating an old house....caulk is your friend....your white lifeline.

.

Hole? Separation? Unsightly gap?

.

A tiny cord or perhaps even a big ol' dollop of caulk can solve the problem....okay.... maybe not solve the problem completely but make it look a hell of a lot better.

.

And trust me....there's a skill in squeezing out a clean brilliant white line.....in some ways it's like good sex.... you need a firm grasp and a wet finger to get it just right.

.

Not all caulk is the same and what you apply it with shows your skill level.

.

Tube of caulk....that's for amateurs and the hesitant....when you're confident and skilled... you go for the gun....a nice metal gun which loads a tube of gooey forgiveness.

.

And how interesting all this helpfulness can be washed away with water....after all the chemicals I've been using in the last few months to remove or clean things....it's wonderful to stick a dirty hand or finger under the faucet and find my fingers and hand intact.

.

I'm down to the kitchen....the house has been painted.....the hardwood floors exposed...the carpets cleaned....and the backyard is tidy......a little caulking ....a little painting....and THE FLOOR...and the queen of caulk gets to hang up her crown and head on home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good bye Diva Kitty

She looked scared.

My mom's diva kitty.....princess of the known universe.....dominatrix over other cats....looked small and confused in the volunteer's arms.

Despite many attempts to find someone to adopt her, I couldn't find anyone to take her. So I brought her to the Humane Society today. She was terrorizing my old cat so much Old Kitty became anorexic and is now on anti-depressants and she was chasing my mom's other cat we adopted. Our hallways reverberated with hissing and cat songs all day long.

So I brought her back to Chicago in hopes they could find her a good home. She had, of course, been angelic the last two days. 15 minutes into the trip to Chicago, she figured out how to pull the zipper back on the cat carrier and was loose in the car. She rode shotgun for the next 9 hours....occasionally jumping over the passenger seat to sit next to Ozzie the Wonder Dog in the backseat. Once we arrived at my parent's house, she followed me around....and with no one to chase ....she was charming. But she can't stay here.....and she can't be at our house....so I felt backed up against the wall.

I was already in tears when I reached the front door. A policeman...about 6'4" and about as wide....held open the door with one hand and cradled a tiny orange and white tabby kitten in the other.

"They're good people here," he said...obviously seeing my tears.

"There's even hope for this one." The little squinty-eye kitty cried pathetically.

The "Intake" volunteer was kind and assured me Diva Kitty was very adoptable. Declawed, cute and healthy looking.....she had the air of a cat who had been loved and taken care of......rather than a stray.

They asked for a 30.00 donation and I added more to the check in memory of my parents.

"Do you want me to send an acknowledgement to them?"

"No, they are...........gone."

Floodgate open.

I cried into my hand while waiting for the last paper to sign.

Sometimes when I give away their things....I like going through their death again........giving the cat away....watching some of their beloved belongings leave the house and get stuffed into a stranger's van......or even receiving some of their junk mail. "Peter you're almost running out of time to renew your subscriptions."

Running out of time. Peter already ran out of time as did Irene.

Despite a long to-do list.....when I came back to the house....I reopened the sofa bed....climbed in and put all the covers on top of me and cocooned.

The dark and warm was soothing again the bite of lonliness that gnawed on me.

Eventually Ozzie the Wonder Dog poked his nose at the blankets and when I didn't stir...he pawed the blanket.

I reached my hand out and his soft wet nose shot into my palm. He pumped my hand for scratchies. He was probably hungry.

I tossed the blankets off.....made Ozzie dinner, peed, and peered into the refridge to see what I could make for dinner.

Sometimes all you can do....is keep moving. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prayer to the House Gods

Dear House Gods...

.

I'll be back in Chicago tomorrow and I need your help.

.

I've got to finish all the repairs/remodeling in the next two weeks so I can get the house up for sale by the end of October.

.

It will be the last shot of the season and the first-time home owner's credit will expire soon.

.

I know I've been angry at you.......for all the work...all the discoveries of things that needed to be done.....but I guess it's not your fault....it's mine.... or maybe we should blame the Home and Garden Channel....where whole houses and fantastic projects are completed in no time with plenty of smiles and little cash.

.

All I wanted to do was some repairs and renovations to make the house look move-in ready ....so in today's market.....the house would stand above the crowd and sell quicker.

.

Looking back, maybe I should have taken that first ultra low ball offer and sold it "as is".....but .....I kept fixing and modernizing because I needed to honor my parents....I needed to show them for the last time that I loved them......and respected them...and that I would do the best with what they left me.

.

I know....I am a horrible business woman....I should have taken the money...handed the house over and said "Amen."

.

But I didn't.......and you know this isn't the first time in my life...that I have stuck my neck out for my heart and what I felt in it......so I need you to smile down upon my efforts and place a nice family or couple in this home. People who would cherish it like my parents cherished it.....they were so proud of their house...and they loved it so much....they illogically choose to stay in it....even though they were getting too frail to take care of it.

.

And yes...I have "ulterior" motives.....I want to go home....I want to go back to my house...to my kitchen and garden gods....and I want to restart my life after this long pause in order to help my parents leave their lives.

.

So House Gods....help me find the hardwood flooring on sale Wednesday....let it be in stock and shipped within the week...send decent painting guys who will fix the walls and paint the bedrooms so I am proud instead of exasperated by their work. Help me find the strange little knob that makes the screen door work....and most of all help me with those fucking kitchen cabinet doors. Let my paint brush somehow magically erase the uneven base I created through my experimentation....may we have the right cabinet latches so I don't have to go out and buy 68 different ones....let the kitchen drawers match so someone doesn't stand there and say "What the fuck?" and let it stop raining so I can spread a little mulch on the flowerbeds.

.

To assist you, I will bury a statue of St. Joseph upside down and facing the house.

.

But please..... do not tell my new congregation that I am reverting to old Eastern Euro religious customs for luck.

.

Work with me House Gods.....help me pass this shelter.....clean and tidy and functional ....to another family who will grow to love you and bring you much delight.

.

Sincerely....

Gina.

.

Oh and just a little reminder....please help me get there safely......no nodding off in Missouri....I appreciated those noisey little bumps but geez...they scared the shit out of me and Ozzie the Wonder Dog.

I don't want to be a cat in the bathtub

I placed my cat in the middle of the bathtub.

I had already filled the tub with soft towels and turned a little bathroom light on for a gentle glow in the room.

My cat is in seclusion and on antidepressants.

I guess if someone was going to break down in the family, I am grateful it was her instead of me....although the last two weeks in Chicago were so stressful....I'm surprised I didn't end up in a rubber room or rubber bathtub.

My cat has never liked change and my constant arrivals and departures plus the addition of my mom's cat to our household.....tipped her fragile mental status.

She lost half her body weight....lots of fur.....and when I returned home on Monday she stopped eating and drinking.

The vet shook his head over her skeletal appearance and sighed a lot. "Her lab work is normal," he patted my hand and looked sad, " I'm afraid it's psychological." And just like a human patient, we discussed options for care. The end result: seclusion, rest and drugs. My master bath would become a mini psych ward.

For a moment or two....I wanted to join her in therapy.

But that's not in the cards right now.

And so she is sequestered and comfortable and drugged into a sleepy happiness.

Her appetite improved 1000% in just one day. She purred...just a little bit...but it's a sound I haven't heard in months.

Taking care of old cat.....made me rethink my plans for the week too....sure I could plough through a mile long to-do list ....but I'm not.

My whole psyche is drained and I've got to stop to refill.

I pared down my to-do list.

I made up a new list with things like: attending the Art Speigelman lecture at a local university....(a Pulitzer prize winning comic artist) and I've got tickets to see Robin Williams and David Sedaris in two separate concerts this weekend.

I turned my phone off for 24 hours on Wednesday and also had a 24 hour ban on checking email.

Today I went decadent...and had a facial and a massage. The masseuse must have thought I dozed off and didn't realize the session was over......because he returned to the room and reminded me I could leave...something my bones and muscles were boycotting.

In a few minutes I'm going to pour myself a nice glass of red wine...prop my feet up and watch "The Daily Show".....and then I'm going to bed....before midnight...lol...a novel thing for a night owl.

Sometimes you've got to take care of yourself......or else you'll end up like a cat in the middle of the bathtub.

Geez....too bad I didn't encourage Old Cat to watch Dr. Phil....

Bond

I was busy moving stuff around the house when I heard a strange noise from the kitchen. I turned around and it was Ozzie the Wonder Dog on his belly....scraping the tile with his paws to move towards me.

In a few seconds, I realized what was happening.....Ozzie started seizing....I dropped to my knees and held him gentle. "Good boy...Good boy" I whispered over and over again...watching his eyes lose focus....watching his body twitch....wiping the saliva dripping from mouth.

It passed..... but afterwards he was shaking and didn't want to be alone. I wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm and held him for a long time. He didn't move and I didn't either.

A bond is a bond and even small bonds can be sacred.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crisis point

Waterloo - a final crushing defeat; "he met his Waterloo" - an unsuccessful ending to a struggle or contest

I am in Chicago liquidating my parent's estate....and feel like this is my "Waterloo moment"...I'll either end up insane or a basket case. Coming out ahead....seems remote at this moment.

The days have been grueling, the work exhausting, the complications numerous and my plans change almost daily.

Finding the estate sale did not empty the house, was a surprise and a setback. And even though I have a "remainder" crew, nothing has been easy. I am still sorting....still putting things to Goodwill or the remainder ladies. I've cleared out the main floor and bedrooms....but still have the basement and a significant amount of my parent's good clothes.

Today I watched my parent's bedroom set squeezed into a truck along with my mother's dainty salmon pink bedroom sitting chair. As they shoved the chair into the truck, I broke down and cried ....right in front of the crew.

It's like experiencing another little death...the departure out of my life of something so familiar and so much a part of my parent's life. Since the moment I have opened my eyes and been conscious of my surroundings....I have seen this bedroom set....poked through the drawers when my parent's weren't looking....borrowed scarves and jewelry when I was older....and now it heads off in a squeaky van....never to be seen again.

The excruciating part that nags at me is the conflicting need for expediency (so I can get the house cleared and get back home) plus a meaningful placement.

If significant parts of your parent's life are being hauled away.....you want the things to go to good places and to people who will also treasure them....but when you don't have months or years to do accomplish this match....the chance of arranging this type of hook-up is remote.

And so the things that the people you loved....loved....go off here and there....and it brings me no comfort.

The emptying of my parent's house....bit by bit....is the washing away of their lives...little by little.

I know this is the way it has to be and must be....but is it emotionally so painful.

I called my hub and told him....I'm not going to do much more work in the house. I'm calling in painting crews, this crew that crew....because I have to get out of here. I can come back once a month and check on the house while it's for sale....but I don't want to live here any longer.

My cellphone rings almost immediately again.... and it's the real estate agent....in this tough market....there are numerous folks cruising for houses.....they'll pay you cash but give you only 50% of the value of the house even adjusted for the market. She tells me we have another scalper offer.....and I sigh....wondering....when the tide will turn and all this will come to an end.

Cold dark and windy in Chicago

Losing

I am so depressed tonight I can hardly move....hardly breath.

I am back in Chicago and dealing with the aftermath of the estate sale.

I feel terrible.

I feel like I've betrayed my father.

The real estate agent showed me a picture of the dumpster I rented for the estate sale people...It was a 20 foot dumpster and overflowing with things.....I believe they threw out many old things dad had saved because it didn't bring in the threshold amount of money they want to make per item. Old magazines, pamphlets on old products.....even many small old items.

Dad saved everything...he saved things not for himself...but for the future...for me...for the grand kids......for the moment when someone....would appreciate what he saved of history and the times.

Estate sales are not about history or appreciation.....What you have is a group of people...looking for ways to make money....if an old pamphlet or vintage tool...doesn't meet a monetary standard...then out it goes to the dumpster....it has to bring in money ...or else it's not worth their time.

Today....I am dealing with a second tier of people who thrive on making money off my need for speed and closure on my parent's estate.

This is the remainder person...who comes in and boxes everything up....and scurries off to sell more things........your things....for pennies on the dollar.

It's not that I want thousands of dollars for what my dad saved....but I want a good home and respect for the items which he cherished ....instead .....everything is just a commodity......but it's the middle man--- who has the time and leisure to go on ebay or sell things online--who will make a fortune in comparison to what you were paid.

It is a greedy business...it seems everyone makes money except the original owner....and I am so glad....at the last minute ...I packed out more of dad's stuff.... we took a whole truck back home....because the old and cherished things he had saved for me and for his grand kids....would have gone poof in the hands of estate sales people.

They wouldn't have cared about my grandfather's straight razors...or his tools....it's all about moving ....moving the merchandise out for as little as possible to someone else who will collect as much as possible.

I am sorry things my dad saved were probably thrown away.... many things were small and interesting ......I wish I had years to research things leisurely...I wish I had half a house to store all the things....I wish I lived only a few miles away so I could protect and sell things in a way that would honor both my parents.

I have been working so so hard going through things....I am exhausted ...... yet there's little time to ponder and cherish....there is only....we must clear this room or this space or this portion of the house.

I'm sorry dad....what I saved I'll cherish and try to pass on in a more thoughtful manner.

You worked so hard to save the past....I'm sorry the circumstances won't allow me to cherish all that you did.

You were an amazing guy,,, dad....I always knew that....and everything I touch reaffirms that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You've got Schmaltz.....

Steve patted the tub.

"It's my best batch ever." His brown eyes twinkled. "Better than my mom's," he laughed, "and she's from Brooklyn."

I took the container from his hands and placed it on the passenger seat. I wondered if I should place the seat belt around the tub.

Steve must have read my mind. "It's dense...it's not going anywhere."

I was ready to exit the parking lot when Sarah, a pretty brunette, motioned for me to pull over.

"Oh.....(she spied the tub)....Steve's chopped liver."

"It looks good."

"It's great...but it will kill ya."

"Kill me?"

"It's got schmaltz."

"Schmaltz? What's that?"

She waved her hands at me...."Go ...go home...and google it."

I gave the tub a few discreet sideways glances while I drove home.....watching for small clouds of toxic gas to rise or perhaps the plastic would melt.

Nothing happened.

I set the container on my counter top. After thirty minutes of looking just like a container, I dipped a spoon in the mixture and spread the pate on a crispy baguette slice.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Obviously if this was going to kill me ...this was the way to go.

So I made another little baguette slice and headed up to my computer room to google the thing that would kill me.

Schmaltz. Rendered chicken or beef fat.

This was something to fear?

Both sets of my grandparents came from the "Old Country".....which means I've eaten things that would make many Americans weak in the knees like.....

beef tongue with gravy. The meat was sweet and tender. Grandma served it with homemade brown gravy and killer mashed potatoes.....made with cream, eggs, salt and mashed by hand until all the lumps were gone. Warm...smooth...soft....the textures and taste would put you into a comfort-food-coma.

Oxtails. Did I stop and think it was cow tail bones? Of course not, but simmered all day in a tomatoe-y BBQ sauce and then served on buttered egg noodles.....was like mmm mmm heaven.

I've dipped into duck's blood soup (my mother told me it was chocolate soup and I ate it..and if you don't know what cooked blood taste like....it's rather chocolately....I mean you wouldn't think you were eating melted Hershey's in a bowl...but it has a distinct chocolate taste) , dried sausages, fried wild rabbit and in Africa I chowed down on camel...goat...and fried snake.

Therefore...rendered natural fat.....does not scare me.

What does scare me....is looking at a product's ingredients and seeing it consists mostly of monotriphosphateglycomicases.

That's fricking scary.

So I served my chopped liver tonight....and everyone mmmmmmmed and everyone left...so there were no bodies on the floor....and no arteries left behind noticeably clogged.

Tomorrow....I'll eat more veggies....I'll have some Greek yogurt....maybe eat a mango.....

but right now...I've got a happy glass filled with a rich smooth Syrah....and I'm going to sneak down to the extra fridge in the garage and take another hit on Steve's chopped liver.....

I've got schmaltz.....but I'm a brave woman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't kill us.

Viva la difference.....

A man installs a new switch plate.

~~~~~~~~~

A woman installs a new switch plate.

Calling Noah

Another day of rain and some one is going to have to ring up Noah to get an ark down here.

.

Rain. Rain. Rain.

.

My cactus are moldy.....my wood deck is slippery.....and the grass goes squish squish squish.

.

Worse....you can't survive outside for more than 5 minutes.

.

I tried to prune some flowers by my front door and felt a tingly sensation in my legs.....looked down and it was like southerns at a free buffet.....lordy....my legs were covered in mosquitoes....I had a horrible flashback to an old "Off" commercial where that lab guy would stick his arm in a Plexiglas box full of mosquitoes. That's how my legs looked except they weren't in Plexiglas's.

.

Yuck.

.

Never nipped the flowers cause the skeeters were sipping on me.

.

"They say"....(all the local they sayers aka weathermen) that it will be over in a few more days.

Hope so.....I've always been a tad distrustful of the Noah story.....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Papers

It's quiet and dark in the house.

I'm sitting in my small computer room ...fidgeting.

I've read the NY Times online....I've checked my email....I've made my "to do" list for the week...
but...

tomorrow my hub will fax papers to a real estate agent in the morning and the process for selling my parent's house will begin.

A potential sale is still a ways off....there's some renovations and repairs to complete....but...the papers will set a new set of work in motion.

Of course I have to sell their house....of course I have to sell their stuff....of course I have to stop driving up twice a month to Chicago....

but.....

I am just scared.

I know this is all going to make things hurt again....the razor I've been ducking and dashing around....is going to find it's way to my heart again.


I wish joy would knock on my door unannounced....

I wish new options would burst open....

but right now I just see more hard work and stress....

and a particular type of worker bee drudgery.

Even though there is no escape from what needs to be done....

I wish for a little honey....

Hot flash?

I turned on the chandelier in my foyer.....armed myself with a couple of rags and began tackling the long flight of stairs to the second floor.

There was a dust bunny on every step and I swear lint from every sock that passed on the threads.

I had brushed about 6 stairs....raking up the crud...when suddenly ...I feel funny......woozy....then hot...damn hot....the sweat starting to form little rivulets down my temple.

I grabbed a paperback someone left on the stair and starting fanning myself.

Whooo heee.... what's going on here?

Then I panicked.....

Oh god is this a hot flash? is this it????

I'm....over 45 years old..... could it be that time???

Oh god...I can not lose my estrogen on top of everything that has happened this year.

Tears started spilling over........I am so not ready for this.

I started to cry....big time.

I visualized my happy little estrogen engine frozen in mid choo choo....it's gears never to pump again.....

I thought of my parents.......

I thought of a friend whose husband had a stroke....

I thought of painful loses in the last couple of years....

and I just howled.

Ozzie the Wonder dog came up the stairs and sat down next to me...looking nervous. The cat looked down over the ledge wide-eyed.....I totally let it rip.....

eventually the snot and tear combo got so bad....I needed to mop up after myself.....

I headed into the kitchen trying to find the new roll of paper towels I just bought

ahhh there on the desk...

tore off a few sheets....blew my nose.... sopped up my fluids.

I took a couple of deep breaths then the blinking numbers on the wall caught my attention.

What?

I squinted at the new dial.

I pressed a button....the digital reading flashed 83 degrees.....84 degrees

What the hell?

Then I remembered....before I started cleaning... I turned up the air condtioner

appears I pressed the wrong button and added ten degrees

then add another ten degrees from a chandelier with two dozen lights....

and you've got a toasty foyer ....cooking around 102 degrees.

I patted my ovaries....."good girls.....good good girls.....don't fail me now"

And I started singing to my little estrogen-making machines:

~~~~~~~~

You gotta love Facebook

I was seriously nudged onto Facebook about a year ago.

I rolled my eyes and sighed and made all sorts of faces signing up because Facebook is ...well Facebook.

But I've grown to like the damn thing.

And I have some clever friends who always post interesting things.

(And just for the record, yes, I am a fan of Nutella.)

This quote, from Rick, made me laugh today.

"May those who love us love us,

And those who don't love us

May God turn their hearts.

And if he cannot turn their hearts

may he turn their ankles

so we may know them by their limping."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late Night Confession.....

Geez....I keep thinking about Dr. Manhattan....

.

especially the part where he splits himself in two

.

because he thought his lover might like to play with more than one man.....at the same time....

.

ahhhhh...when did graphic novels get so erotic?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And if you like you blue naked men with music:

Gleeful

I leaned back in my computer chair.

A sudden rush of spirit entered my heart and I felt the need to giggle.

I just clicked "reserve" on the computer screen about five times.

What's happening to me?

I pulled up my online dictionary and starting entering words to make a diagnosis.

happy.....excited......giggle...... merry....and Bingo:

glee (glē)
lively joy; gaiety

I was gleeful.

It's been so long since I felt this way .....I needed a dictionary to help me name it.

I'm planning a trip and the juices are flowing.

Every year when I see "the ball" drop in NYC on New Year's eve....I want to be there.

I turn to my hub and say ....."Wouldn't it be fun to be in Times Square?

"No."

"But there's millions of strangers pushing and shoving and confetti and bad weather and long hours of standing in one spot....doesn't that sound like fun?

"No."

I've tried friends......"Hey would you like to go to Times Square with me?"

Different valid nos.

So I tried my hub again a couple of weeks ago. "How about going to Times Square this year?"

But I admit.....I greased the deck..........I did the saucer-eyed thing....made my lip quiver a little and looked sad......because....damn it....it's been a fucking hard year.

"Okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

So as soon as I arrived home....I started studying and planning.

Since I know this is a big sacrifice on hub's part.....I decided to design a trip which would have a part he would enjoy too.

So it's Washington DC first....so he can get his fix of museums....then we take a train to NYC.....and somehow figure out how to stand around with a million people in Times Square on New Year's eve.

Of course... this is a Gina trip......so I decided to do a few extra things......

After I wave goodbye to hub and send him back home....I'll hop on a train and visit my friend Krista who is now a professor-type person at Syracuse University. Go Big Orange.

then I'm not sure yet.... perhaps I'll spend a day in the city...or somewhere else...... but I know exactly how this trip ends.

Robert Moses beach lot #5.

I don't care if its 20 degrees below zero...if it's raining...sleeting ...snowing....or there's a big nor'easter....as long as the causeway is open and I can drive to the beach....park my car and walk near the waves and hear them sing...I'll be happy.

Tick off one square on the "bucket list."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting.......

The house is quiet.

The clock is off the wall and doesn't tick.....the TV cable is disconnected.....the refrigerator does not clink with a new batch of ice cubes.

Everything is waiting.....

Waiting for the crew of women who will arrive in the morning...and begin re-organizing and pricing and placing things in places from which all these things will exit the house.

I'm waiting too....

to go to bed....to get up.....to catch the cats....to squeeze the last things into the car.

I dreaded this day.....the night before my parent's things are placed into hired hands.....

but now that it is here.....I have a sense it's time for all of it to go....

and for me to go too.....

one of the cats is sleeping next to my chair....she has no idea that tomorrow....I will quickly grab her and put here in a crate and move her away from the only place she has lived for ten years....

she is clueless about the changes that will arrive in a few hours.....

I sympathize with her......I've been clueless so many times in the last couple of years.

Woof ....Woof

In Chicago...and working like a dog.....

Sunday the woman in charge of the estate sale for my parent's home comes a' knocking for the keys.

Everything has to be looked at....organized and carried off by Tuesday morning.

So much work for one person.....no siblings and a family far away makes it tough.

Off to bed..up at dawn....then two rooms left to check, sort...pack a few things out.

nite nite world.

My baby's gone....sigh.

How can a blond be a blond if she doesn't drive a convertible?

.

Sigh......

.

I had to trade in my baby.

.

My youngest didn't need a car up north...but now he's down south and needs a car.....and I can't travel and haul more than my purse in my sweet vehicle of pleasure.

.

So I had to be practical and trade it in.......my only consolation... the manager at the dealership ...was a Miata freak....he gushed and ohhhh and sighed at my sweet baby....and he didn't laugh when I grabbed his hand and said....please sell it to someone who will love it.

.

In fact, he rushed out of his office while we were doing paperwork and told me he remembered a client, a woman already driving an older Miata, who wanted something fresher.

.

Well my baby was fresh....like new.

.

So now I have a shiny black thing....very nice....very practical.....enough room to haul things....and a moon roof....which isn't exactly a substitute for a open top but will have to do.

.

Hub suggested I get woofers...or tweeters...or sub something or other to upgrade the sound from some audio boys in town......so even though I may look ordinary on the outside....I will still be cruising on the inside.

.

Very Gina...lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A little story.

"Where have you been?"

Leo held his arms wide open and waited for me to step into them. He gave me a hug then kissed each cheek.

"I'm old. I don't like it when women disappear."

"Oh Leo, I'm up and back to Chicago. "

"I know...I know. "

I stepped back and grabbed a small glass of wine. I turned to Leo and asked if he'd like a glass of wine too.

"No ...No...my dear."

And that's when I noticed it......a small spark....a tiny twinkle in the eye.....something fresher...even exciting in his being....very low key....but definitely there.

"How have you been Leo?"

"Say that again."

"How have you been?" I half shouted and leaned forward toward his ears.

He bent his head forward too....hoping to catch my question with one of his clunky hearing aids.

"I'm just fine. Did a little traveling."

Sam, a white haired impish man, walked behind us. "Tell her about your girlfriend."

My eyes widened.

"Nonsense. Nonsense. You can't tell people anything without them making a fuss."

He ignored the remark. " I have a joke for you."

Leo always had a joke for me. Long, clever and usually a bit off-colored, I leaned closer to him...ready to listen. Because of his hearing problems, his speech was often muffled and I had to concentrate on each and every word....something he loved.

"There was this Jewish widow who hired a guy on the Sabbath to clean for her......."

I laughed.....just because he was so delighted to begin the story.

"Hey you two... service is about to start." The impish man turned serious.

Leo finished his joke......and I roared....loud enough so it echoed in the big foyer....which made him blush with delight. I grabbed him by the arm and said, "Let's go."

As we sat in our seats waiting for the service to begin, Leo decided to tell me about the woman.

"Well I went to visit my grandson's best friend's family in Baton Rogue. I met a charming woman, the grandmother of the best friend. She's a widow too, " he said. "Her husband died same time as my wife did...about a year and half ago. We had a nice time together. She likes my jokes too." He sat back in his seat and grinned...so pleased...we didn't need to say anything else.

The service began and Leo and I quickly changed seats. I forgot I have to sit on his left side ....his better ear.

"What page is he on now?" Leo bellowed part way through the service.

"226"

"What?"

"226" I shouted.

By now, the regulars at service knew I was prone to yelling pages or directions in Leo's good ear.

I used to be a little embarrassed by my loud directions but I noticed after I shouted out a page number...pages turned and everyone in my section was now on the right page.

"Did he say people are troubled by this passage?"

"Yes, he said people wrestle with this passage."

"He said what?"

"People wrestle with this passage."

"Well I don't."

And thus the entire congregation knew Leo did not wrestle with this passage.

After service, Leo seemed eager to talk to me about his new friend. She was a bit younger....75 to his 79. She was intelligent and well read. Leo had been an ophthalmologist and her husband had been a cardiologist so she was used to logical medical men. He mentioned she was charming at least three times.

"So invite her up."

"What?"

"Leo....you told me you have a cute two bedroom house, invite her up for a week. Now."

"You're being silly."

"Leo...she put a spark into you....I can feel it....that's wonderful...invite her up."

He looked stunned.

"What will I do with her."

I started laughing.

"Oh I know what you're thinking and let me tell you young lady, I've only been with my wife till she passed."

"I didn't say you should invite her up and have sex with her....invite her up and just enjoy yourself."

"What will I do?"

"Take her to a movie....a nice restuarant......does she cook?....let her cook her favorite meals for you....sit outside on the porch and drink a little wine....talk....read a book together....share pictures.....take her to see...."

"Whoa young lady....you have a whole agenda already planned for me. I don't know her that well...I just met her."

"So what are you waiting for Leo?"

"Well I just met her....the timing is..."

"And she liked you and you liked her....duh Leo. I tapped my finger on his chest pocket.....I can see the spark in you Leo....enjoy each other...don't make it hard....just enjoy."

Leo stood there frowning...."Well calling her now might give her the wrong impression."

"And what impression is that?"

Leo laughed and swatted me.

"I'll call her after the holidays in September...after the High Holidays...that would be more proper."

"You're......." he wagged his finger at me and laughed. He didn't finish the sentence...instead he leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"Leo ...we can both tell stories about lose and love these last few years....don't lose her."

He squeezed my hand.

I turned to leave...and glanced one more time at him.

Whatever the connection...the spark had taken a few years off him...lightened his body...his spirit...his heart. It is the nature of a spark to do those things.

"Call her." I mimed a telephone being placed to my ear.

He smiled ....a smile big enough to cross the room....and I touched my heart and prayed it would be so.

~

Naked again

I exited the shower this morning and sighed. My hub used the last towel.

I grabbed a hand towel for modesty, held it to my breasts, and headed down the hallway towards the kid's bathroom and the supply of clean dry towels.

Midway down the hall....I stopped....there was no one home....and my little hand towel was unnecessary.

This is not the first time I've been home alone in the morning.....but it was different today.

Today....all my children are gone.


My daughter.....graduated from Ohio State and is still working and living in Ohio.

My middle son moved in with a friend last month.

The baby of the family....changed colleges and headed off last weekend.

In dealing with the death of my parents....I've been so overwhelmed by the legal matters of their estate and the emotional pain of losing both of them.....empty nest syndrome wasn't on the radar especially since my middle son has always struggled with special needs. I wasn't sure when and if my son could live independently....so his departure....was a fuzzy concept to be worked on in a couple of years.

But last month, he announced that his friend needed a roommate. The rent was affordable and the place close to his job. He's not known for moving quickly....but he was packed and ready to go in hours.

He texts us.....calls us to ask questions.....and comes over for Sunday dinner. He's proud to be on his own....and I am proud of him.

Just the other day.....I relived the poker hot memory of a California school official pointing to a trailer for mentally retarded kids and saying, "This is where Peter should start school."

I am not sure if I said, "Fuck you" or "Fuck this school system.....he's not retarded."

He tisked at me.......and he followed through by writing me up in Pete's records as a "a delusional mother who would not accept her son's disabilities."

We yanked Peter out of his school and patched together schools and services for the next 12 years.

Sometimes I wish I could find that bastard...and a whole handful of other folks and say.....look.....he's working...he's driving....he manages his checking account....he has friends....and he's a success in his own way.

And now.....the greatest sign of his success......is an empty room in our house and a chance to fashion a life.

But who knew all of this would arrive this week.... in this month of August.....on this day.......while I am ping ponging between Chicago and home....and trying to settle my parents estate......while I am jobless....and sometimes lost....and my own house looks like it was hit by an internal hurricane.

I dropped the hand towel....stepped over the dog....and headed for the bathroom and the towels........naked......in my very big ...very empty house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Returned home today and checked my blog....ooops....those darn nutz pic are huge!

I'm not anti-massive nutz but the pics are a tad bit overpowering.....on my laptop in Chicago they looked quite proportional....the joys of posting from distant sites...lol.

Size does matter.

Yes... Robert...you can find testicles for your car on the Net

Well I had to find out.

I've never seen plastic testicles in any of our local stores....yet the pickup truck my son photographed in a local parking lot....wasn't the first vehicle I've spotted sporting nuts.

So I headed off to the net.....and bang.....first hit....a website and company devoted to nuts...or Nutz, as the company calls them.

The owner seems to have a pretty good sense of humor about his ten year old business selling novelty testicles.....because there's a cute and half serious video clip embedded in the home page.

I've only seen natural colored nutz hanging from cars and pickups down south where I live...but apparently there's a whole range of styles and colors..... to adorn your cars, trucks, scooters and

(are you ready for this?)

wheelchairs!

Yep....I guess some people slap them on the on their 4 wheeler....to make sure folks know that even someone with assisted mobility can have a tough spirit.

Seeing is believing so I've picked out just a few of the ones I thought were interesting.....

Gives a whole new meaning to "blue balls"....doesn't it?

These are tinted chrome.

These scare me and doesn't it defeat the purpose if you camoflauge them?

I sort of like these......blue by day....and glowing by night.....cause you want to have every one's attention 24 hours a day


All those vieny things are a bit unnerving in a natural color....but I do think the lipstick adds an interesting touch.


And if you aren't brave enough to mount them on your vehicle....for $5 bucks....they have mini testicles keychains.

.

Now ain't that special?

.

So Robert.....where's your car parked?

Hey you....move out of my way or headed up and back to Chi town in a very big yellow truck.

Things men do to thier pick up trucks in my state.....

Things u can do with a dog at a rest stop

Do my areola need to be freshened?

I was happy.....

.

.....sitting on Wabash Ave a few blocks from north Michigan Ave....Chicago's golden mile.......and waiting for my appointment at a hair salon.....it was sunny ...the perfect early morning temperature.....and I beat the traffic into downtown....so I was killing time....relaxing with a cup of coffee and one of those glossy flyers which highlight local businesses.

.

Do you need your areola freshened?

.

I had to read that line again.

.

A permanent make-up tattoo salon had placed the ad. Services offered included permanent eyeliner.....perky eyebrows......and freshened areola.

.

In case you're not familiar with the term.....here's a bit of an explanation.

.

The areola is the area around the nipple, and it may be tan, beige, pink, dark brown, or some other shade that's darker than the rest of the breast tissue. Mother Nature adds some extra color here for a reason. Initially, newborns can only distinguish light shades from dark ones, so having this natural pointer to the nipple helps the baby latch on and get fed.

.

Women who have never been pregnant often have very pale areolas that are close to the color of their nipple and the surrounding breast skin. As pregnancy progresses, however, and upon giving birth, the areola darkens and expands in diameter.

.

Apparently with age....or with a breast augmentation.....the surrounding area could lose some of its natural rosy glow.

.

Now....I've heard of tattooing the areola after breast surgery for cancer or trauma. It's actually an art.... and can have, as you can imagine, quite a positive effect on a woman who has lost her natural tissue.

.

But freshening? Because....???? you've grown a bit older? and a little paler??

.

Damn that's just crazy.......but the seed ....thanks to marketing .....was planted.

.

When I returned to my parent's house.....and changed clothes....I pulled my bra down and checked my areola.

.

The site of me...frowning and looking at my breasts in the mirror....confirmed my worse fear....

.

I'm getting crazy up here in Chicago...big time.... and it's time to go home.

.

....which I'll do tomorrow.....

.

and in case you want to know....I think my areola are just fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This week's treasures......

I've never seen my mother's wedding dress. So when I opened an old trunk this week and poked through some royal blue tissue paper.....I was shocked to discover it.

It's beautiful....ivory silk.....with delicate embroidery.....and satin roses. The dress has no size...no label... it was custom made for my mom. She must have looked both sexy and angelic in it. The silk hugging her small body....the ivory making her glow like an angel in a holy card.

As I folded the dress back into the trunk....I felt a quick stab to the heart....I asked my mom about her dress when I was engaged.......but my mom simply said, "Well, you won't fit into it," and that was that. I've seen a thousand pictures of myself in photo albums this week....I was simply an average sized girl...but my mom was always angry that I wasn't short and petite like she was.....so she could share some of her treasured outfits and perhaps even her wedding gown.
For now....it will go into an archival box with tissue....until some family member ...some very small family member may need it.

It was issued in 1944....and one look at the handle made me realize this wasn't an ordinary knife...but something dad was issued during the war. Sturdy....rugged after all these years....unlike the wedding dress...lol....this knife fits like a glove in my hand.

This nativity set was my version of Xmas action figures. I gasped when I opened a box marked "casseroles" and found it under a bunch of old crispy newspapers. Every December I begged my parents to bring out the nativity set early in December.

I always told them it was because I wanted to set up the manger....but I actually adored playing with all the figures....camels...cows...sheep....a friendly dog, angels ....and a baby in a straw manager. For thirty days....I invented stories....and had my manager friends followed the script...traveling far distances over my grandmother's living room sofa and her cocktail table. And boy did you have to be a creative story teller....a kneeling woman.....men carrying sheep on their shoulders....somber looking angels and a couple of funky gazed guys carrying presents. Oh I wish I would have written those short adventure stories down!

This album cover was so cool....I chucked it into the "take back home" box....I don't care what kind of music the album has....the picture is so cool.....that's all I need.

I was a dancing fool as a kid.....tap and ballet. I was never much of a ballerina....not swan-like enough...and my dance teacher leveled with me at an early age....no way in hell would I ever make it professionally. Oh she said I had some talent....but I was too short. "You have to be at least 5'8"".....and have long legs. I would stare at my legs and wish them to grow ..but they didn't.....and I ended my ballet career pretty early in life.....but I continued to tap dance because all that pounding around in loud heels was fun.......and you just needed a nice.... shuffle ball change......which my stuffy little 5'4" legs could handle quite nicely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My dad's basement

I'm back in Chicago and going through my father's basement and crawl space.
It's like Neverland......with all sorts of man toys and interesting machines....

Here's a few of the things I found today...........

A milkshake maker. Nope..we never owned a restaurant and as far as I can remember dad never cooked....so this was interesting...plus I found the stainless steel milkshake containers.

Bing Crosby.....Mitch Miller.....Big Band music....some 78's.... some standard vinyl

Oh ho....I don't think these are politically correct but I remember they were filled with peanuts or pretzels on my dad's bar when I was little.

Oh this made me laugh...the infamous Burt Reynolds posing natural for the a Cosmo girl insert.

It says "Yours Truly".....could my dad somehow have gotten it autographed...???

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A pleasant surprise......

God bless laptops.

Just before I headed home from Chicago....I checked my email and found an offer.

Would I consider chairing the literary festival for our city?

I've been involved with our city's literary festival since it first began 5 years ago. I've had a lot of fun and met dozen and dozens of great authors....from the uber famous like Garrison Keillor to the quiet poets of my state.

I was so flattered I was even asked to consider this....but I didn't know what to do....I'm knee deep in working on my parent's estate...and going crazy.....but I know logically every month more and more things get settled and eventually their house and possessions will be settled too.

So I said yes....and today, my first day of work, sent out schmoozy emails. My job as chair is centered around schmoozing and being a talking head.....which is probably all I could handle right now.

I laughed hard when I thought of updating my facebook page. Since I'm currently unemployed and working in on two community projects......does that make me a "community organizer"?

Oh my gosh....I could be running for President in a few years.....move over Hillary....I'm stretching my wings.

Now you'all plan to come down to my city next spring in 2010....

whoooeeee what a party we're going to have....so much fun and so much smarts all rolled up in one event.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Decider is going Crazy.......

Yesterday I was convinced I was either going crazy or was going to have my first ever panic attack.

My nerves felt like marching ants ....my head felt fuzzy.....and every cell in my body was irritated. I wanted to stop working.....wanted to get in the car and go home....wanted to do anything but sift piece by piece through my parent's things. Every item I looked at or touched seemed to increase the anxiety and irritation.

I actually set the timer on my phone.....you will work thirty minutes before retreating from all this stuff. So I would work thirty minutes then run outside or sit down and watch TV for a few minutes then set the timer and tackle the next section or box.

I am no slouch.....I can work hard and work for many hours....but the volume of my parent's stuff is defeating me.

My son is up here this time with me.....and I noticed he's not affected. He basically does what I tell him....moves boxes....detrashes....carries things around .....and doesn't seemed overwhelmed at all. So why do I feel like a giant sandpaper is filing me down?

My hub nailed it down on the phone....."You're the decider....the only decider."

Exactly.

No matter if I'm working solo or with a family member.....I'm the decider....I'm the only child...the only survivor of my parents.....so I'm the one who says......save....trash.....bring home....donate.

I am the decider for every fork, video tape, magazine, hat, coat, bowl, rubber band, and bottle of dish detergent.

Everything.....and in house brimming......overflowing.....stuffed with things......making 10,000 decisions a day on everything....every minute....is short circuiting me.

And....there's not much relief........everything must be decided upon by September 1st....that's the deadline for when the estate sale people take over.....that's the day everything must be decided by......there's part of me....that wants to walk out tomorrow and lock and door and relate to the sales people....take all of it.....I'm finished with the stuff......but in boxes and odd corners....there are piece of my parents and grandparents and great grandparents....that I feel obliged to discover and touch and decide.

Last week....my clergyman told me that you lose different aspects of yourself when your family dies or leaves.....when you lose a child you lose your future.....when you lose a husband, lover, significant other....you lose the present.....and when you lose your parents....you lose the past.

If parts of my parents and my grandparents and my great grandparents go forward into the future and into my children's life.....then I've got to look in the boxes...and touch everything...........and be the decider. There is no way out.

It is one hell of a job.

Boxes already decided upon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Never confuse a Merkin with a Gherkin......

It's good to have smart friends.....people you can always learn from.

My friend Krista......is smart.....so smart.... a renowned university recently granted her the privilege of placing a PhD in back of her name.

She wrote an email to me a couple days ago and made a joke which involved the word "merkin."

Hmmmm....I said....not getting the joke.......perhaps there's a typo here....perhaps her fingers slipped ......I bet she meant to type "gherkin" not "merkin."

gherkins relaxing.

So for the hell of it.....I googled merkin.....with low expectations.

Wrong.

Knowledge base expanded.

There are merkins in the world..........or I should say there are merkins attached to people in the world.

Merkins are pubic hair wigs.

They've been around since 1450....and were initially used by prostitutes to hide runny oozy syphilis sores from their customers. ( I'll pause now for the obligatory shiver of disgust.)

Then men thought merkins might be fun....especially transgendered men....and they applied them above and over (?) their male organ to look sleek and girly.

Merkin wearing is quite simple...... shave......(very close) .... apply some adhesive....(not Elmer's glue) and viola....you can hide....accentuate.....or titillate.

As you might expect.....Walmart doesn't carry merkins (and if they did ....would they keep them in the hat section?)....but there are merkin websites where you can order a pre-made wig or design your own. Merkindworld is a fun place to browse...complete with a short but excellent history of pubic wigs.

I was also intrigued with Wikipedia's discussion of the merkin....I didn't know merkins are a Hollywood stand-by.

In Hollywood film-making, merkins are currently used in films where they are worn by actors and actresses to prevent inadvertent exposure of the genitalia during nude or semi-nude scenes. If no merkin were worn, it would be necessary to restrict the shot to exclude the genital area; with the merkin in place brief flashes of the crotch can be used if necessary. The presence of the merkin protects the actor from inadvertently performing 'full-frontal' nudity – some contracts specifically require that nipples and genitals be covered in some way – which can help ensure that the film achieves a less restrictive MPAA rating.[7] A merkin is also used if the actor has less pubic hair than required for the role, as in the case of Kate Winslet in the film The Reader.

I am, at this point, ashamed to admit I moved The Reader to the #1 spot in my Netflex queue.

Why does an actress need a forest? When is a bush not enough?

You may think.....well all of this is silly.....but Merkinworld......relayed an interesting concept. Merkins can be fun and sensuous.

The wearing of a pubic wig is a sensory experience. The wig can allow the wearer a certain "jouissance" as it is made of a fibre/hair that has been selected by the wearer, and it is worn on an erogenous zone to attract and excite a partner.

Jouissance?

What a delicious word.

The word becomes relevant to cultural and literary studies through its usage by the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan to signify the condition or bliss, arrival, merging with the other, which can be associated with orgasm but also the obtention of any particularly desired object or condition - for the explorer, arriving at the North Pole perhaps.

Oh my....orgasm....bliss......poles.....

Is it hot in here or what?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His and Her Merkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A change of plans

Ping.

Pong.

Back home again.....after a very difficult week in Chicago

Probably the hardest week I've had.... since my parents died in April

I talked to an estate liquidator and made plans to empty their house.

Since their death.....I've been sorting and packing and hauling and giving things away

But it hasn't made a dent in the total amount of goods in their house.

The first two nights I was back in thier house ....I'd wake up disoriented and afraid.....I could feel their stuff creeping closer and closer to me......surrounding me in my small bed.....getting ready to jump and pounce and consume me for years and years.

Friends...acquaintances....neighbors....who have seen the beautiful and new and vintage things in my parents' house tell me I could make a killing on EBay....and Craig's List....."Oh just put an ad out and people will swarm for that item"......and they would.....except.....we are not talking about a few items....but thousands.....from 78 vinyl albums to plain old knives and forks.

I could sell objects for the next decade...even for the rest of my life.

For example, I found a dozen vintage straight razors....the sharp razor blades that men used in the 20's and 30's after they soaped their faces. I could save one or two...but the others.....I'd need to research the types and prices of the razors......list the razors on a website ....conduct the sales....ship them out...follow up on payments and keep an accounting for taxes.

It would take hours and hours of work... it could be a source of pleasure to distribute them.....and of course I would generate income.....but the problem is.....I have a three story house full of items....from freezers to razors to hat pins.

Even if I glued myself to my computer chair and sold items continuously ....it would take years....and where do I store all of these items as I remodel and sell their house?

I paced the house for the first two nights....wondering how one person could possibly manage the accumulated goods of two people over 84 years.

And then I realized ....I couldn't manage it.....and I had to answer a basic question......what is more valuable to me?

My time/life or money?

If I sell their items slowly and conscientiously.....I could profit more....make more money on the items they have saved and collected......but it would .....literally.......take years of my life.

Time or money?

I decided my time and life was more valuable....and I really didn't like selling things.

So I called a couple people...and had a business woman come over and survey the house. Normally an estate sale may run a day ...sometimes two....she told me this was definitely a three day sale.

She was kind and reassuring woman who had lots of experience dealing with estates.......although the items would be carried off by strangers.......she reminded me they would find new homes.... with collectors who would cherish their new treasures and regular folks who would incorporate the utensils and brooms and storage bins in their life.

I knew this was the right decision.....for my parent's things as well as for me....but now...each item I touched....each glance at a painting or chair which would not go home with me.....made me cry.

I cried in the bathroom when I touched the towels....I cried in the living room when I stroked the grandfather's clock.....I cried in the basement... and in the crawl space....where my dad had stored hundreds of boxes. I'd look at the boxes....the crates....the mysterious items wrapped in tons of plastic and I would lay down on the carpet and sob.

"Dad Dad Dad....why did you save all this stuff???

Did you want me to keep it? Or can I sell it?"

"Dad....Dad.....Daddy?"

But he didn't answer me......

and all I have for guidance.....are snippets of conversations ....."Oh I'm saving this old radio 'cause someday I bet you could get a good price"

Did you mean I could sell these things ? Did you mean you were expecting this would happen....is it okay Dad to do this?

The estate woman...suggested a two month time line....she told me to check every box and recheck every closet....and ask myself keep or sell? Touch everything.....Make it an active decision so years later I won't wonder what was in that old red box or wonder if there was anything hidden in dad's closet.

So I finished some projects and decided to come home.....next week I'll take my son up for a week....and then later in the month..... I'll return to Chicago and nurse their stuff for two or three or four weeks...whatever it takes to touch and look and smile and cry at all the items my parents have used and saved in their lives.

I can't imagine walking into the house after the sale.....and seeing all their things gone.....I simply can't imagine how it will feel to know the organ is gone or the funky silver cocktail table...or the singing cowboy music box....does not exist in my life anymore as part of their life....

I simply can't imagine.....how it will feel....to open the door to their house....and find it empty.

Ping Pong Gina

Chicago....the South.....Chicago....the South.

Gina feels like a ping pong ball.

This week it's Chicago.

And apparently this is how life is going to look for a while.

Despite hard hard work....and even with men coming in to do this and that...my parent's house is big and complicated with lots of work to do before I can put it on sale....and lots o'stuff.

I had hoped to get the house on the market by July 21st....that might be wishful thinking.

So back and forth....back and forth....back and forth....this is going to be a strange life for a while.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Send me a man....

I blew the dust off the old chalk statue.

At first, I thought it was a statue of Mary, the mother of Jesus, but then realized the young child next to her was a girl.

St. Anne?

"Dear Saint Anne, send me a man."

The prayer automatically slipped out of me.

If you're not in the know about Catholic saints...let me recap St. Anne.

She was an older pious woman married to Joachim. They prayed for a child and God granted their desire with a daughter named Mary, who would become the mother of Jesus. Legend goes after Joachim died....St. Anne married again and after that husband died ....married again....and after that husband died...married one more time.

So although she is known as the mother of Mary....she also became the unofficial/official patron saint of women looking to find a man.

I admit....I remember chanting her prayer in high school....around prom time.

I mean the chances of finding a man at an all girl catholic high school was slim....really slim.

St. Anne was probably so besieged with requests at prom time....the man supply ran out....because a tall hunk didn't appear on my doorstep.

So St. Anne and I....well we sorted parted ways after that.

I was, therefore, surprised to find her in my dad's garage. What was my father doing with an old St. Anne statue? My paternal grandmother was known for sort of having two husbands (at the same time)...so I doubt she needed St. Anne. And the statue couldn't be my mother's. Things that belong to my father or his family were always in the garage or basement...never in the house so if this item was my mom's.... she would have had it inside the house not relagated to a dusty corner in dad-land.

I tucked St. Anne into the car and brought her home. The other day I found her wrapped up in a towel in a box. I googled her.

To my surprise....I found Anne to be a very busy saint....she was not only finding men for yearning women.....(I discovered the proper prayer actually is : "Dear St. Anne, send me a man. If he lies or if he dies, please, Mary's mother, send me another") but she was the saint of equestrians, miners, housewives. lace makers.....plus carpenters and turners.

Bingo...my grandfather was a carpenter and turned his own tools. So the statue was probably my grandfather's and since he was a pious carpenter and even hand-crafted rosaries....he must have had her in his workshop or bedroom.

I gently cleaned St. Anne yesterday afternoon....kissed her on the head....and put her in my bookshelf.

I thought of my grandfathers...official and unofficial....my dad.....my hub...my sons...and other wonderful men I have known...and smiled......perhaps she didn't get me a prom date....but in the end....she sent many a fine man.....

BUT if any of them lie or misbehave.....St. Anne..... please send better men my way....lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~

One Hot Chick....

It is 155 degrees with 110% humidity.

Really.

Okay.....the official forecast for my city today read: 92 degrees with 1000% humidity.



Okay.... maybe the humidity was only 88%

The problem is.....I'm not acclimated.

If you live in the south...as the temp and humidity rise in May....you become tolerant....which means you pant but not quite like a dog and you sweat but not quite like someone with diseased armpits.

Going back and forth to Chicago....a week here.... a week back home.....has totally wrecked my internal thermostat.

Last week it was 70 degrees in Chicago...I grabbed a jacket to go out at night....and slept with the windows open.

In one long day's drive, however, I left the cool and reentered the southern tropics.

So.....I've spent the last few days....standing in front of fans in my house....cursing the atmosphere every time I step outside.....and staring at the thermostat wondering why the hell it feels so hot in the house despite a temp in the comfort zone.

I even turned on the air conditioner in my convertible instead of driving with the top down....sacriledge!!

It was so hot today....I even dreamed of going to the neighborhood grocery store ...a certified goose bump/ nipple- rising zone in the summer.

I imagined myself idling in the frozen vegetable section....opening one frosty door after another.....bending deep down into the case .......pretending to hunt for stray boxes of exotic legumes....while an artificial Nor'easter trimmed my core temperature.

Ah....but there's no use in trying to acclimate .....next Monday or Tuesday ...Ozzie the Wonder Dog and I head up again to Chicago.....for a long two week work period......where 80 degrees will sound like heaven and low humidity will be a gift from the gods.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Painting and Purgatory

I've got family room on my elbow.....ceiling in my hair and parts of the bathroom on my knees.

Despite regular showers and good scrubbing...I always seem to miss spots of paint on myself.....I reach for my coffee at a restaurant or hand money to a clerk and discovering parts of my body are still covered with paint.

I'm a perfectionist about my walls....but oblivious to what gets on me.

Good thing I'm returning home on Friday for a week......I'll be able to de-spot myself before I have to come up again.

I'm working on my parents house....but it's easier this time.

Hub came up with me for a week....so I don't get as teary eyed...and I don't often find myself sitting and staring at their things...which I do a lot when I'm alone.

As good as I am with some jobs....there are things I'm absolutely clueless about...like changing out light fixtures, sprinkler systems and wiring....so hub came up to provide both technical and emotional support.

Things are progressing in the house.....I have the foyer and almost have the family room done. Painting over their dark wood paneling was a truly a job from hell....or actually Purgatory.

I grew up Catholic and when I was a kid....you could say prayers off a holy card and get out of Purgatory quicker. Purgatory was an end zone after you died if God decided you were bad but not really bad. Apparently you could fry some sins off....and then go on to heaven.

I don't know why...but when I was priming and caulking and re-priming and finally painting....I kept thinking if there was a purgatory and I did end up there....painting over wood paneling should remove about 5,436 days of deep frying.

Obviously....... paint fumes are clouding my cerebral processes.

Well....it's back to the ol'paint brush for me...just a couple more days and I get to go home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beauty and the Pills....

I was glad the nurse took my blood pressure before the doctor entered the room....otherwise I would have ended up in the ER for hypertension.

I decided to go for a check up this week....and also decided to switch doctors.

I'm not sure why but I assumed this new doc was a gray-haired professional .... but his good reviews made me think he was a seasoned veteran.

My first impression wasn't very good.....I'd been sitting in the exam room for over an hour and was now officially pissed.I had already texted my kids, cleaned up my iPhone and read the NY Times online....and now my phone was signalling a dying battery which meant I couldn't even distract myself.

I was thinking evil thoughts....(maybe I should just walk out of here ...) when the door opened and this tall dark and handsome man....(Yes I know a cliche but oh such a good one) entered the room and said...."Hi, I'm your doctor."

Geez.... I wish I hadn't thrown all my old nursing uniforms away....because this was one man you wanted to play doctor and nurse with.....

But I behaved.....and actually stiffeled my blush.

He asked appropriate questions.....and even took my chief complaint on the admission sheet seriously......."pale...pooped and puffy"....which I thought would be a hilarious remark for a stodgy 60 year old doctor to read but somehow found it quite embarrassing when Dr. Goodlooking read it.

Suddenly he turned away from my review of symptoms and wanted to know if I was depressed. Did my family members think I was coping? Did I think I was coping?

I actually didn't know what to say to him....how do you measure coping 6 weeks after your parents died?

If you can sleep through the night without having troubling dreams?....if you can remember to brush your teeth and pay your bills?

He gently but firmly offered drugs.......do you need them he asked sincerely....gazing so intently into my eyes that I squirmed in my chair.

"No, not now."

He typed my refusal into his laptop.

"You'll let me know?"

"Yes..... I will."

"Okay now."

As Dr. Goodlooking left the room....I sat there for a while...wiggling my bare legs in the hospital gown .....tracing the zig zags in the tile with my toes.......

Shouldn't a person be allowed to feel bad? Shouldn't your heart be allowed to ache for a couple of months before you take drugs to numb things?

It seemed too quick for antidepressants....I figured as long as I was walking, talking and taking out the garbage on the appropriate day.....I was still in the good shape.....and although I feel bad when I look at my parent's things stacked in our dining room...or when I open correspondence forwarded to our house....it is in essence....a good hurt....one this is still manageable......still not overwhelming....one that feels in proportion to what happened.

"The Doctor would like to see you again," the receptionist said as I was checking out.

"Really? "

"Well, not this doctor but he has your scheduled for a mammogram, pap test and blood work."

"Oh" I said....... surprised at the disappointment in my voice.

She gave me a knowing smile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a snippet of poetry

the signals we give—yes or no, or maybe—should be clear: the darkness around us is deep

--William Stafford

Snapping Back?

I looked in the mirror yesterday and wondered who the hell was standing in the bathroom with me....surely that pale pasty puffy pooped woman couldn't be me.

So I pinched myself and the alien said "ouch."

I'm not sure that's enough evidence for a court of law but it probably would be considered enough proof in your bathroom.

So I fluffed up his woman's hair....put a little mascara on her....and sighed.

I have no snap in me......


No twinkle...no mischievousness....it's like my personality has gone Matzoh.

I don't regret the emotional price I've felt over my parents death....or the work or the heartbreak experienced.

What happened to them was sad and tragic and loving them meant feeling all the trouble and ache and pain that accompanied their illness and death.

It's just that....I'm a little surprised...how I can see the results on me yet....especially here at home.

In Chicago....working in their house....I expect to be a wreck....emotions rollercoastering...but even in the sanctuary of my own place...I feel shadowy....not quite all together.

I bought a plain brown journal the other day to start writing some ideas for what to do down the line....someday in the next year....their house will be sold....and all the mountains of stuff will be somewhere or at least mostly organized and processed....then what will I do?

My hub suggested a trip....but even when I said words like Mongolia, Jordan, Ireland....they sounded flat....as if they were not living breathing ideas but cardboard.

A friend suggested writing down my experience with my parents....maybe put something together....but I have amnesia...I can't seem to remember it chronologically....I just have images....still frames of moments throughout the last months.

I wish I could cocoon for a week or two.... process things quietly....but there are financial matters...and a memorial service....and the IRS has already sent them a letter....and I'm seeing this person and that person...probate may loom ahead.

All "have to's".....that can't just be put on hold. ...or maybe they can....and I just don't know it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Boss

Meet the new boss at our house.

Ali-cat.

And let's just say....I don't think it's an accident she likes to rest on a narrow ledge two stories high above a painting of a snow leopard.

I inherited both cats.

Ali was my mother's kitten.....a gift from her Lebanese neighbor... hence the Arabic literary reference.

And the snow leopard was a painting an interior decorator owned and felt would be perrrfect in my foyer.

Ali is 6 pounds of pure spit and curiosity.

She lived in a cat cage in my parent's house since she was 6 weeks old. My mom, with her dementia, wasn't thinking clearly and kept her mostly confined and admired in the family room.

When we set Ali-cat free in our house, she had 8 months of kitten hood to catch up on.

She chases the dogs....terrorizes our old cat and in the morning we find various knick knacks and objects at odd angles or turned over.

Our old cat, Cat, will have nothing to do with her and currently sits in protest under a dresser in an extra bedroom.

When Ali creeps up to her....you'd swear a National G special on African lionesses was on TV.

Hisses....yeowls....high pitched undulating cat cries fill the hallway....but since they're both declawed...when paws flail out.... you only hear a soft dull thud instead of something more serious.

I don't think Ali-cat is mean....I think she just wants to play and sniff Cat....who, as Queen of the Universe, is highly insulted by the presence of this inferior youngster.

When Ali tires of stalking the old cat....she turns to digits and tails.

Last night, I woke up when hub's leg shot in the air. Ali saw something wiggle under the blanket and bit his toe.

When Ozzie....65lbs of dog....naps in the kitchen... she slowly crawls...belly-to-floor...over to him and delivers a couple well-placed swats to his tail.

Because I'm coming and going so often these days....Ali and I have an uncertain relationship.

Sometimes...she jumps on my desk and thumps thumps my fingers on the keyboard and at other times....she curls up in my lap and purrs.

Hopefully when some of the kitten gets spent ....Ali will settle down and the Queen of the Universe will grudgingly make room for her.

Until then......Ali keeps an eye on us....high on her ledge......like some supreme commander assessing the battlefield strategizing the day's action.
~~~~~~~~~~

How I started my new birthday year.......

So today is my birthday....and I decided to sleep in...till 7am before tackling more painting and repairing.

At 6:02am, I hear a wet smacking noise.

Damn that dog!

At home Ozzie ventures into our bedroom only if there's an emergency (like a massive thunderstorm or a massive need to go outside quickly).....but here in my parent's house which is one level.....Ozzie the Wonder Dog feels its important to let me know the sun is up an he's ready for breakfast. He doesn't nudge me or put his paw on me....he just stares at me and licks his lips...loudly.

This morning, I refuse to open my eyes....I open them just enough to see his beady brown eye stare....but quickly close them and turn over. I put the blanket over my head to muffle the wet noise.

At 6:10am, a quick electronic chirp goes off somewhere in the house. Ozzie jumps up...alarmed by the alarm. I burrow further under the blankets thinking it's my parent's weird atomic clock or the microwave or stove or something.

Chirp.

Damn....what the hell is that?

I sit up and Ozzie bounces over.... happy that I am alarmed at the alarm which he is very alarmed about.

Chirp. Okay it must be one of the smoke alarms....low batteries.

I sink back down into the pillows and think maybe I can ignore this.

Chirp. Chirp.

Really pissed off, I get out of bed and stare at the smoke alarm in the hallway. It's the only one around and it is now chirping every 30 seconds.

I grab the step ladder and investigate. Okay only two screws are holding this baby up to the ceiling. I can handle this. I grab the flat screwdriver which was in the bathroom and proceed to dismantle the alarm except I see that dad has left me a little surprise...one nail is for a flat screw driver and the other nails needs a Philips screwdriver.

So I descend the ladder and head downstairs to the basement. Mom's spooky old anti-social cats stare at me with their big yellow eyes from the laundry room doorway.

"What are you looking at? Didn't you ever see anyone in their underwear?"

Apparently not....cause their eyes grow saucer-sized as I poke around the bar till I find the screw driver. I am not in a good mood....in fact...I'm in a very bad mood.

"Shoooosh."

I wave the screwdriver at them. They turn and dive under the furniture.

Ozzie the Wonder Dog has remained faithful and sits in the hallway guarding the chirp and the alarm.

I climb the ladder, dismantle the last screw and pull the batteries out.

Chirp.

"What the hell?"

Chirp.

I put the device next to my ear like a sea shell.

Chirp.

I shake the damn thing.

Chirp.

Then I look around....behind me above the bedroom door is a carbon monoxide sensor and alarm.

I get down and move the ladder a couple feet.

Chirp.

"Son of a bitch."

I retreat downwards and grab the screwdrivers. This time dad used one type of screw. I place the extra screwdriver in my bra and dismantle the alarm...then fling it like a frisbee onto the empty bed.

"And what's your problem?" I shout to Ozzie.

He is so in tune to my moods ,he's cowering in the hallway ...which makes me even more irritable because in a weird way I am looking at my own bad mood.

He jumps up and heads for safer ground in the kitchen.

I turn around and catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror....hair standing up on my head.... half naked with a screwdriver secured down the front of my bra.

I hope this is not an omen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A bit too high......

Whooo weee.....

I had to stop painting and take the rest of the day off.......

I'm trying to apply a base coat of cover-all paint onto my parent's dark wood paneling in the den. It's a bit tricky to work with....and of course you have your face in the stuff....and in a few hours....I was loopy and soaring.

Tried to open the huge patio door for air but dad had screwed it shut for the winter. So I headed off for Chinese food....which I shared with Ozzie the wonder dog ......and actually watched TV for a couple of hours while I recovered.

Now I'm going to make myself a drink ...scrounge up a few pretzels and
continue detoxing....tomorrow I'll try again...gather a few more fans and see if I can finish the two walls without floating up and out over Lake Michigan.

My creative way of keeping the nasty old rug (which has to be replaced) away from the wall and molding while I paint.....fortunately there are a couple hundred rocks scattered around the front yard.
~~~~~~~

Pink and Blue

I'm up here in Chicago with Ozzie the Wonder Dog for a week to begin painting and repairing my parent's house.

I actually forgot it was Memorial Day weekend because my birthday is next week and usually Memorial Day is after my birthday..... rarely before.

I've been up to my elbows in pink joint compound....spackle....blue painter's masking tape and assorted brushes and rollers.

The real estate agent told me to remove the outdated wall paper in the foyer and I did.....however....I was left with an untextured old pitted wall that is part plaster...and part HELL.

It took less than an hour to tear the glittery wallpaper off....but it's taken two days to prep the wall.....filling up 25 nail holes that held family pictures....texturizing .....and discovering plaster molding is delicate and touchy and should only be handled by professionals....which, of course, I am not.

Every hour I cursed at my status.....because I am a woman who knows how to Spackle and paint and prep a wall.

Sometimes I wish I was some delicate little thing who runs off to Pilate's class and never ever scraps paint and joint compound from under her fingernails.

Unfortunately, my dad....my sweet dad....taught me all these skills....and sometimes when I'm working I talk to him......

"Shit dad....did you tell me your crown molding was plaster?"

"Geez dad, why did you leave that big lump of joint compound in the corner? Was there a crack under there?"

and of course, the heart-felt....."Dad, I wish you were here."

I use his tools....his paintbrushes...his ladders... and after an unfortunate accident with some paint....I even grabbed a pair of his shorts to wear while working.

I'm okay during the day.....when the wall is Hell and I need to focus on it....but at night....when I'm too stiff and tired to work any more.....the quiet house....the absence of my parents....is Hell.

Through it all....Ozzie....waits for crumbs and treats and chances to go outside and poke his nose through the slates of the fence looking for the yippy Russel Terrier who lives behind us.

I drink a big glass of wine....hope I will get sleepy.....and wait for dawn....so I can concentrate on the wall.....instead of everything else.
~~~~~~

The Blues....

Restless tonight....tried listening to some music.

Never liked the blues.....at least New Orleans Blues....but stumbled upon a Mali Blues artist...Boubacar.

African Blues.

Perfect.

My Father's Closet

I'm back home right now....but only for a few days.

I'll be heading back to Chicago to work on my parent's house again.

I'm going to try and put their house on the market in mid-July. The real estate agent I'm working with was blunt.....she said I have two options ....I could slowly sort and sell my parent's things and then put the house up for sale....or I could de-clutter and thin the closets... and place the house on the market by mid-July.

I choose the second option. I'm going to work my ass off painting, pulling up carpets to uncover the hardwood floors and doing minor repairs. I'll box up their things, store the stuff in the garage and once the house looks pretty....work on saving, selling or donating.

I'm not sure it's the right plan....but it's a plan....something I've been lacking.

Since I've de-trashed most of the living spaces....I decided to thin out my dad's closet first.

It took me two days.

Behind the shirts, the suits, the shoes.....dad had stored and sometimes hidden his treasures. For example, many of his shoes were stuffed with socks ....not empty socks....but socks full of nickels, dimes and pennies. Change for a rainy day.

Unusual camera lenses were in one shoebox....and in one back corner....a soft blanket protected an old concertina from my grandfather. Thick black trash bags protected caps and good hats from dust on the shelves.

I found my father's army discharge papers stuffed in a frail envelope.....and also a faded newspaper clipping. My dad was a survivor of the S.S. Leopoldville, a ship torpedoed off the coast of France on Christmas Eve during the war. The Leopoldville was a cruise ship commissioned to carry 1200 soldiers from England to France. Once hit, the Belgian crew took off in the life boats leaving the Americans behind to fend for themselves on the sinking ship.

800 soldiers died. My dad....one of the lucky and brave ones... jumped from the ship onto the deck of a rescue craft. Many men who tried that jump fell into the sea or were crushed between the two boats. The Navy hushed hushed the incident during the war because of the botched rescue attempt and the unsafe conditions on the cruise ship. Only in the last dozen years....have official stories come out about the death and destruction and this was one of the first newspaper articles that broke the story.

I also found things in the closet.... I couldn't box up and put in the garage....things I needed to take home...things I could never sell.

In a large old Stetson box ....I pulled out a hat and fell immediately in love. It was so small and dainty....how could dad fit into it? Was it meant for someone else? I put it on and played with the brim in the mirror. I could see myself wearing the hat in the fall with a leather jacket. I visualized myself taking a walk on a crisp autumn day in NYC....perhaps in Central Park with the leaves whipping by....I could see myself pull the brim down to protect myself from the chill. I am not a hat person.....so it's strange to fall in love with a man's soft hat....but here it is home with me.

I think it's an East Coast hat.

.

On day two of closet work, I found a gun belt tapped shut in a box. My mouth fell open when I peered inside the box...not because I found a gun belt but because it confirmed a story was not myth but truth.

My dad told me he had ran away from home after high school and headed out to Arizona and California. My mom told me he worked at a dude ranch and had to wear a gun belt and guns to deal with cattle rustlers. I wasn't sure about the story and dad was rather tight lipped about the dude ranch part. One day mom showed me a pistol....it had a pearly handle and looked heavy. When I asked dad where he kept the gun....he said they weren't real.... it was a joke....and the gun was just a BB gun....a toy. So when I pulled out a real gun belt in heavy black leather with real bullets in the notches....I knew it was not a toy and was meant to hold real guns. Trouble is....no pistols in the box....which makes me wonder what happened to them.

Damn ....dad was skinny as a young guy.....this belt just fit.

.

And the last thing I took home.....a picture I dubbed "Cheesecake little Gina."

Never saw this picture before. I've seen one with me in this swimsuit holding a beach ball....but not this reclining little bathing beauty.

Someday when this is all past....I've got to find Gina and the cheesecake in me again.

Cheesecake Gina.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Booby-trap

I felt like a wall hit me....a wall of pain....when I opened the door to my parent's house.

I fought to get by it.....then stood in their family room. How could they both be dead? And dead so soon? Not even 90 days have passed since dad's stroke....and they are gone. I can still see their faces, especially my father's.....I can still see us holding hands...and watching TV in his room or going outside to listen to the wind chimes and watch the birds.

All this stuff.....the pictures...the slippers under the couch...the books....the coffee...the microwave.....all belong to people who don't exist anymore.

35 years in this house.....35 years of life and living and memories and it's gone. The lamp they placed on the end table is no longer the lamp my dad liked but just a lamp. The couch from the old outdoor porch is just a couch....the clothes....are just clothes... not the favorite comfy jacket or the warm hat. The people that bought these things, cherished these things...loved these things are gone ...so everything .....even things I know ....feel aloof and alien. My mother's recliner is not my mother's recliner....it has all become past tense...it was her recliner not is her recliner.

I am not doing so well up here... I don't want to poke or clean or go through the house. I often find myself sitting on the bed...or just staring into a room....forcing the idea into myself that both my parents are gone. I wish I could turn my house keys into someone and just walk away....but all this stuff demands attention.....and now even if it's alien stuff....it's my stuff.

I guess it's the last thing I will do for my parents. The distribution of the things they lived with...and cherished. It's so final.....and so disorienting to realize the stuff they loved and cherished is nothing without them.....it's like dealing with a million skeletons.

I'm glad I'll only be up here for a few more days. But I will have to come back ...and stay here a while and move things along.

Maybe it will be easier next time.

This week......

Two car loads.

.

Orange, red, purple, burgundy, white, hot pink, even yellow.

Hours after my father died, I asked my husband to drive me to the hardware store.

.

I needed flowers.

.

I needed to fill all the empty clay pots surrounding my house.

.

I needed big...bold ..and bright flowers.....outrageous flowers... an army of color....a defense shield of life....against the dull ivory color of my father's face.

.

We filled up the car....driving home with plants in the trunk ...on the seats...leaves dangled over our heads.

The next morning I went back for more.....wrestling a giant Bird of Paradise plant into the Subaru. The plant so big.....the leaves embraced me as I drove home.

I have tried and failed to write my father's obituary.

I have picked through only a tiny fraction of the papers I need to sort.

I have not faxed any death certificates to agencies waiting for the documentation that will officially end my parents' existence in their system.

I have not even made all the phone calls I need to make....unable to dial again....long distance cousins....and neighbors..... to tell them once again.....there's been another death.

All I have been able to do is plant flowers.....pulling withered stems out of pots....and putting fresh greens in..... slowly watering bold arrangements of orange and purple and red.......not rushing.....returning again and again to make sure all the soil is saturated....all the roots are covered....all the pellets of fertilizer are spread evenly.

And sweeping....sweeping all the debris and dust and dried leaves away from the newly planted pots.

This is all I have been able to do this week.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

My dad died this morning.

Mom told me they had never been

separated for more than a week or two in 62 years.

They were apart for ten days.

the week after.

I lived the week after mom's death like I was flicking a light switch.

I turned the switch on and went to work and oriented the new person who took my position. I smiled at people, laughed.......tried to download the information about my job to my replacement...even felt grateful to be among familiar people who would give me bear hugs.

I'd leave work ...get in the car and turn the switch off.....then I was quiet....exhausted....sad.

The last two months have gone so slowly and so fast at the same time.....heartbreak....pain....they slow the clock down so even a second feels like a year......business...all the financial and legal business....I start making phone calls, pulling out the calculator...look up and hours have flown by.

Today.....trouble....dad is coughing, exhuasted, wincing in pain. He has entered the hospice program....I can not believe it maybe time to go through this again....it has arrived so quickly....time is moving slow again.
~~~~~~~~~~~

My mother died last night.

`

Like father...... Like daughter.........

I'm up here in cold windy gray Chicago....doing a little business for my parents....repairing a window....looking for insurance and other tax documents....de-trashing a bit.

.

I have my faithful pup, Ozzie with me, but it's lonely solo-ing up here and I still find it grim business to go through their house....despite discovering the occasional old picture from my childhood or even something from my grandparents.

.

Today I focused on my parent's bedroom.....where I discovered a box of bills on my last trip.

.

I got down on my hands and knees to search under their bed. I didn't find anything on my mother's side....although something was on my father's side of the bed.

.

On hands and knees again....I peered under his side of the bed........and laughed.

.

Yep....like father....like daughter....a big ol' baseball bat.

A classic Louisville slugger.....a left over from the old neighborhood.

.

I admit.....I have a baseball bat under my bed too....it's the preferred burglar alarm and intruder weapon for any self-respecting person from the south side of Chicago.

.

I've never used my bat (even when angry at my hub) and I probably wouldn't remember it was there....even if I did hear a strange noise in the house....but the tradition continues.

.

So I called my daughter up.

.

"Listen....when you come to Chicago in May....I'm going to give you your grandfather's baseball bat."

.

Silence.

.

"You put it under your bed...a south side burglar alarm."

.

"I think you showed me the one under your bed."

.

"Good.....good....so now you'll have one too...you don't have to beat anybody up with it......you just put it under your bed and leave it there."

.

"Okay," she said but I could hear the slight hesitation in her voice....exactly what you would expect from a modern young woman who did not grow up in an old ethnic neighborhood.

.

"Anything else Mom?"

.

"No," I said...and with one hand.... pulled the bat out from under my father's bed.

.

"What are you doing ?"

.

"Trying to insure a good night's sleep for myself."

.

I slipped the bat under my side of the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trouble below.....

"Oh my stomach feels bad....maybe I have the flu."

.

"Really," my friend said, "What's wrong?"

.

" My stomach is gurgling and there's a bowling ball in my abdomen."

.

"Ahhhhh....." he said, "You don't have the flu you have Matzoh belly."

.

"Matzoh belly?"

.

"Matzoh belly."

.

"Matzoh balls and fish and horseradish and hard boiled eggs and chopped fruit plus all those cups of sweet wine."

.

I felt queasy just listening to the things I've eaten in the last few days at various celebrations.

.

"Rest rest and just have broth...nothing else."

.

I hung up the phone and rested my head on my desk.

.

Then I had a vision.

.

I couldn't help it.....

.

I saw Moses on a mountaintop...(who looked surprisingly like Charlton Heston)....he raised both arms up to heaven.......his long gray hair and beard tossed by the wind......the sky dark behind him.

.

"Lord Lord I beseech you......"

.

(You've probably guessed what's coming.....)

.

"Let my peoples intestines.....go"

.

Hmmm....I wonder if you can flunk Jew School because you don't have a cast iron stomach?

~~~~~

They Float! or Thanks Julia or Does this mean I pass?

"They float ....they float!"

My husband walked into the house and looked confused.

Was this really his wife standing over the stove peering into a boiling pot with a wooden spoon in my hand? Does he have the wrong house? Wrong wife?

"They float!"

I was estactic.

I'd been anxious all afternoon ....hoovering over the recipe for Matzoh balls.

I had spent 13 hours with Julia Child last week....and I was actually convinced that there could be some pleasure in cooking....which rubbed against my long held belief that the most pleasure I could ever derive from cooking was watching men....cook for me.

Of course, I really didn't spend 13 hours with Julia....she's moved on to cooking heaven....but during my long drives back and forth to my parent's house in Chicago over the last few weeks....I started listening to audio tapes and finished "My Life in France," a memoir detailing Julia's love affair with French food and cooking.

I expected lots of foodie talk and sections about cooking....but what I didn't know or expect was that Julia was not a born cook.

In fact, she didn't start cooking till she moved to France and was in her forties!

My jaw dropped open and remained so for many interstate miles.

I thought good cooks emerged from the womb with whisks clenched in their little chubby fists.

But here was this woman....starting her cooking career ........in mid-life.

So last week.....a bit inspired.......I texted my husband...... "I'm cooking something for dinner."

He called back.....

"You're cooking?"

"I'm cooking"

"You are cooking."

"I am cooking ."

Silence.....he probably thought it was a delayed April Fool's Day prank.

But no joke, I pulled a tattered copy of my Southern Ham soup recipe out of the kitchen drawer and began.

Southern ham....unlike anything I ever eaten up north.....has a thick coarse coating of black pepper.



I was raised on Krakow ham which arrives in large tins from Poland.

My mother and grandmother pulled the formed meat out of the tin then covered the top of the ham with a thick blanket of brown sugar.

My job was to secure pineapple rings and a cherries in decorative patterns with toothpicks when the ham was almost done baking.

In contrast to this delicate pink ham ....Southern ham is spicy, meatier, and sliced thick........ and there's no such thing as a dainty ham down here........ which means lots of left overs.

Faced with a mound of peppery ham after some holiday and not enough freezer space.....I decided to make soup....combining regional veggies with the ham......black-eyed peas........green peppers....onions.....and some cherry bell peppers....and of course it had to be in a red base....after all this is the South.

Mmmmm......so good....I exhausted my entire supply of innovative recipe ideas....and haven't created anything since then.





I admit.... hoovering over the stove as the aromatic soup cooked was a pleasant and pleasing experience....and combining the soup with a fresh warm loaf of multi-grain bread plus my favorite French butter....would have made even Julia purr.
.

This week....of course.....is a special week.....Easter celebrations for some....but for me...in Jew school.....and celebrating Passover....a challenge.
.

Could I actually make at least one traditional food ?? With one recent soup success under my belt......I decided to try Matzoh ball soup.
.

Although there's a recipe on the Matzoh meal can, I found one on the web by a woman with a comforting Jewish-sounding name and cast my fate with her.
.

I made slight variations to her recipe....using organic brown eggs.... and kosher sea salt....and I decided I wasn't going to sink my balls (so to speak) in just plain broth (very traditional) but would make my soup with fresh vegetables and kosher chicken.

But as I placed the Matzoh in the boiling water.....I started to panic.....I felt like I was looking into one of those Magic 8 balls ...the mini bowling ball with the transparent window....where a little triangle answers your whispered question..... and a bobbing piece of plastic floats up and says....Yes....No.....Uncertain....Maybe.
.

I would like to lie....and tell you I had an interesting question....a funny question....or even a cooking question......but....(and I am embarrassed to admit this)....it was like my Matzoh balls were my Jew School Final Exam.
.

Float and she passes.......Sink and remain doughy.....and she fails.

It seemed touch and go at first......

they sunk....(is that what they usually do?)

but then......

they rose....they bobbed.....they floated up and down in the brisk boiling water.....

like ping pong balls (sort of).

I had passed!

and.....

I even had class in the evening....so I could tell everyone I made Matzoh ball soup from scratch and it was Good!

I told the Rabbi about my accomplishments....and that my balls floated........he chuckled....

"Well you know Gina, traditionalists don't eat Matzoh today....it would be the equivalent of ordering a turkey sandwich the night before Thanksgiving...the idea being you should wait till the Passover celebration."

"Oh"

My heart sank.....but at least I know my Matzoh balls floated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another ending......

I sat in the car on this windy cold spring night and rested my head on the steering wheel.

.

"Ouch"

.

In a week full of ouches....I could hardly believe there was one more to feel...actually I was surprised I was capable of feeling any more.

.

My mom's minor leg infection...started a cascade of medical events....and after a conference with all her doctors midweek....we decided to make her a hospice patient.

.

My dad suffered the massive stroke.....and is paralyzed and unable to speak....but my mom started sliding medically downhill also in the last couple of weeks.

.

It is heartbreaking....with a capital H...to visit and interact with them.

.

No matter how hard I try to keep myself a float....I hit the exit door of their facility....and feel a knife ripping through me.

.

Tonight.....I had to run into work....a place I have ignored for weeks....to empty my desk and shove the few decorations I have in a box...so the next manager, who will replace me, can begin with a clean slate Monday morning.

.

There's no way I can work right now....but still....running into the store in my jeans in the evening....reminded me of the many times I ducked into work in my grubbies....to finish a project or read emails....or get a head start on my week or even catch a little end-of-the-week gossip.

.

My office mate was there tonight....and so was his sandwich.

.

Months ago....he left a sandwich wrapped in plastic from the cafe on his desk. I'd watch the thing week after week...thinking ...damn....we put too many peservatives in our food.

.

One day....I couldn't resist...I poked the sandwich to see if it was getting squishy....but it wasn't soft....it was hard.....it was also made of wax. I actually felt relieved we weren't selling sandwiches with a 100 year shelf life. I thought for a second about chucking it in my memento box.....but couldn't figure out if that would be considered employee theft....I'm sure somewhere in some company booklet there's a..."thou shall not covet and remove thy office buddy's wax food" clause.

.

As I walked down the aisle towards the exit, juggling my memento box, I could hardly believe I've worked at the store for 7 years...or that I worked as a manager these last 8 months....the place and people seemed so far away.....so other worldly....I wondered if I was making my employement history up.

.

At customer service....I hugged employees...smiled at a familiar customer......but felt disjointed and removed.....the type of feeling you have at a reunion where you hug people you have known but at the same moment realize how far you've traveled without them.

.

And I have a done a lot of traveling in the last few weeks....

.

yes...literally....between here and Chicago.....but also in myself....in my very core.

.

Whatever rough edges I have and have had....have been beaten smooth.......

.

when you watch two people you love... struggle and hurt each day.....trust me you feel beaten.....but oddly enough......it's not a negative message that comes pounding down on your head.....but rather a lesson....that's weighs on you.........something about kindness......about how unnecessary ....grudges...meanness.... objectification is ....in your dealings with people.

.

Every day I go someplace and say something like....I'm doing this or that or not doing this or that because I have ill parents...and someone says to me.....oh I've been there....oh my sister is dealing with that....oh my son was ill.....my daughter was....my husband.....and I look at these people and go damn.....everyone has their struggles beyond their public persona.....and I look back and feel like a jackass for all the times I've been insensitive.....or missed chances to be thoughtful..

.

So my career as a manager ends tonight.....and tomorrow I will get beaten up again.....and the universe will tell me to be kinder and better....

.

and I just wonder.....

.

where I am going and what will happen next.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~