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.
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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.
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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.
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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.

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

Foiling the lawn guys.......

Every spring.....when the leaves start budding....when the dogwoods bloom....when the azaleas start opening....the lawn guys come through the public part of our development with huge industrial weed eaters.

The easement....the space between my backyard fence and the sidewalk which runs along the street is public land.

Some easements are wild patches of woods....other easements are bare with just a bit of grass...the easement goal is natural but neat.

Because of the location of our house on our lot, the builder brought trucks through our easement so the forest was leveled...but I've wanted to return the easement to a wild place.

Over the last ten years....I've planted a few trees...encouraging red buds, dogwoods and wildflowers to grow.

You'd think in ten years I'd have a forest growing....but I don't..... because the openness of my easement the lawn guys come through in spring and mow down anything over 5 inches tall thus keeping it in a perpetual grassland state.

After the first couple of years.....I got the message....wilderness meant protection....so I surrounded my desired trees with flower stakes. They lasted a microsecond against the lawn guy and the weed eater.

The next couple of years....I tried stakes PLUS green landscape tape....wrapping the plastic green tape around the little tree and the stake.....making it look completely unnatural.....so any reasonable person would say....hmmmmmmm effort has been placed to protect this little twig....perhaps I should leave it alone.

Green tape must mean GO not stop to landscape guys....because their weed eaters shredded the plastic AND the stakes.

I got serious the following year and bought chicken wire....creating little metal fortresses for the tender shoots.

As long as the cage stood....the young twigs were safe.

Trouble: wind, storms, dogs, and people... knocked the little enclosures over....so if I wasn't vigilant....the lawn guys would descent upon the street ( a random day and time) and pooooof!! .....bye bye foliage.

This morning ...I put my garden gloves on...gathered some tools and decided it was a perfect day to fortify the easement....but I felt sad looking around at the young wildflowers and soft lime green leaves on the small trees. How will I save them?

Lost in thought, I tripped over a large limb laying on the ground (the lawn guys leave tree debris alone) and froze.

I thought of Star Wars.....really.....remember the scene when the teddy bear Ewoks release stockpiles of logs and the Imperial Walking Machines with their bird-like feet lose their balance and fall over?????????

Light Bulb!!!!.....if I place enough limbs and tree debris around parts of the easement.....the lawn guys won't be able to walk in there and mow everything down.

I can't imagine they'd try and walk on limbs and debris .....it's too much trouble...and one of the primary rules of the lawn guys is be quick.... don't think.... keep moving.

Unfortunately, I can't pepper the entire easement with logs.....but I scrounged up some fresh fallen storm limbs and tree debris from my yard and like a little happy Ewok.... placed them in strategic places....where young sprigs are attempting to get a foot hold.

Chicken wire is still on my list for the hardware store for little enclosures....but for once I think I might have a chance against the lawn guys....and if it fails....well let's hope they wear leather chaps...cause like the Imeperial Walkers.....they might find the footing a bit challenging.

~~~~~~~~~~~