Gramma,
My super-size corgi is on a diet. She is also on a hunger strike. This morning I told her to step away from the dog dishes. She knows the command. I offered her a separate bowl of diet kibble that only she could access. Refusal. My corgi's have a lot of cat-like behaviors. She walked away without even trying to vie for the prime morning spot under my desk. I guess we aren't speaking. I will give her a few days before I change tactics.
Last night was the "Super Moon." I went outside to watch it come up through the tree line. I've been sick with something upper respiratory, so went to bed early. The moon glow falls across my pillow as I drift off. I planned to be outside before dawn to watch it finish the night. Too late. The cat weighs me down.
My barking cough kept me from my dentist appointment. I planned to not get dressed, maybe even go back to bed and read a book. It's grey and dreary, but not cold. I half-heartedly make a to-do list for the week. I don't want to do anything. I waste time on the computer. Then, Bob shows up. He used to own this house. He lives in Colorado. He has the gate code. He will try to get an invitation to dinner and several nights of free lodging. He has his a new little pound puppy with him.
Our conversation is punctuated by my frequent coughing. Bob quit playing Santa years ago because the kids always got him sick. He tells me he will be in town through Thanksgiving, almost two weeks. As usual, he repeats himself. I nod and cough. He tells me what he has been up to and that he has brought a car load of things for his step-kids. Dave texts me while we are visiting. I look at the phone and smile.
I tell Bob that I need to let Dave know I got his text about working late. I text him, "Bob is here." And, I smile, because Bob drives him nuts. He shows up without warning and stays without an invitation. He helps himself to whatever's in the fridge. He sits in Dave's chair. He expects that I will cook three meals and dessert. My phone is lighting up with Dave's texts. "Fuck." "Not staying at the house." "Four dog limit." "Hello."
I snap Bob's picture. His dog is sitting on the back of Dave's chair. Good thing I can't laugh while coughing. I hit send. "FUCK," Dave responds. I smile as Bob keeps talking. I tell him Dave says hi. Bob decided to leave. I didn't even have to encourage him by telling him I needed to go back to bed. I could have offered him some home made apple pie or something to drink, or dinner later in the week. He will likely be back before he heads home.
I text the neighbor that he is in town. She says, thanks for the heads up." They too have gates, and he does not have their code. He will knock on other doors, looking for food and shelter. I like Bob well enough. I am more tolerant than Dave when it comes to this kind of intrusion. My eyes glaze over and the mind wanders after awhile. Dave fumes.
The next morning I went to feed Mr. Peepers, my canary. Bob's dog had left me a dog bomb and wet spot by the cage. I had promised a friend recovering from back surgery that I would clean her house. There was no other day I could do it. While I was there, Bob called her. She did not pick up. We listened to his message inviting himself for a get-together. I came home, still sick, exhausted, and too tired to drag the carpet cleaner upstairs.
I'm a little jumpy. I heard a car door slam outside and said "Oh fuck," to myself. He's back. It was the mail lady delivering Christmas gifts I had ordered online. I look at my calendar for the next week to see how much stuff I have going on, real excuses. Then I figure out how many other excuses I need to make up, just in case.
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Friday, November 11, 2016
Election Day 2016
Gramma,
November 8, 2016, Election Day. I wake up with a complete lack of enthusiasm that dogs me all day. It is beautiful out, sunshine and relative warmth. I do not want to get dressed and go to the polls. My blood pressure rises just thinking about it. I feel foggy. The dog and I get in the car for the four mile drive to the town hall.
I am not smiling. Neither is anyone else. I am in the booth with my cheat sheet, so I know who to vote for and who not to vote for. I am pissy because all those relentless political ads I was forced to endure for months are not the assholes that are on my ballot. My cheat sheet does include those who are, but that does not make it better.
The presidential choices disgust me. Neither speaks my language. I feel paralyzed. But, it doesn't matter, because I have sold my vote to my husband for six cases of beer. I do not like his candidate. He is a ruptured pig gut. I do not think he is the lesser of two evils, but it doesn't matter. I am good for my word.
It's a rarity that I climb back in bed. I pick up a book and read a few pages. The cat is curled up nearby. Her fur is soft and comforting. My duress does not matter. Regardless, her tomorrow will be the same as today. The tuna will be forthcoming. The bathroom will be cleaned. The evening news does not predict a clear winner. I am stone faced, resigned to whatever. I share a bag of popcorn with the dogs. The cat welcomes me back.
Dave comes to bed late. There is no word. Later, I wake up screaming, "help, help, help." Dave wakes me up at the same time I wake myself up. I dreamed the bottoms of my daughter's and my feet were impaled with many needles of fine crystal glass. Please don't let the dream ensue when I close my eyes.
Before five a.m. I check my phone to see who won. I nudge Dave, "Your guy won." He says, "I know." He has been checking his phone all night. I am resigned. I feel nothing. I get up and let the dogs out, put some coffee on and start the fire. There are states not yet called. We are one of them. We don't matter, because it is over. The country has raised a middle finger to the status quo.
I am struck by how the morning show hosts are able to deliver the news without betraying any personal feelings. I am rarely at a loss, don't know how I feel. Life will go on. I will pop more popcorn. Meanwhile, Facebook is not funny today. There are vitriolic rants, stunned disbelief, hate, and fear. I can't absorb it all. I have friends on both sides of The Wall. I try to look for the positives.
I think Obama Care is a failure. For me, this is the fault of the senate and legislature. They created a monster with their ugly little personal interests, pushing and shoving until the original intent became an unholy stepchild, Dave and I wanted everyone to have affordable health care. For many people, it is not affordable. In theory, it was a good idea.
When Jesse Ventura became the governor of Minnesota, I was optimistic. He was pretty brash and rough around the edges, but I thought he had potential. Hopefully, he would be open-minded, willing to become enlightened in the face of facts and figures. I was wrong. I am not holding my breath on The Donald being any different. Global warming is just the tip of the iceberg. I am thinking now the same thing I thought then, how much damage can he do in four years.
November 8, 2016, Election Day. I wake up with a complete lack of enthusiasm that dogs me all day. It is beautiful out, sunshine and relative warmth. I do not want to get dressed and go to the polls. My blood pressure rises just thinking about it. I feel foggy. The dog and I get in the car for the four mile drive to the town hall.
I am not smiling. Neither is anyone else. I am in the booth with my cheat sheet, so I know who to vote for and who not to vote for. I am pissy because all those relentless political ads I was forced to endure for months are not the assholes that are on my ballot. My cheat sheet does include those who are, but that does not make it better.
The presidential choices disgust me. Neither speaks my language. I feel paralyzed. But, it doesn't matter, because I have sold my vote to my husband for six cases of beer. I do not like his candidate. He is a ruptured pig gut. I do not think he is the lesser of two evils, but it doesn't matter. I am good for my word.
It's a rarity that I climb back in bed. I pick up a book and read a few pages. The cat is curled up nearby. Her fur is soft and comforting. My duress does not matter. Regardless, her tomorrow will be the same as today. The tuna will be forthcoming. The bathroom will be cleaned. The evening news does not predict a clear winner. I am stone faced, resigned to whatever. I share a bag of popcorn with the dogs. The cat welcomes me back.
Dave comes to bed late. There is no word. Later, I wake up screaming, "help, help, help." Dave wakes me up at the same time I wake myself up. I dreamed the bottoms of my daughter's and my feet were impaled with many needles of fine crystal glass. Please don't let the dream ensue when I close my eyes.
Before five a.m. I check my phone to see who won. I nudge Dave, "Your guy won." He says, "I know." He has been checking his phone all night. I am resigned. I feel nothing. I get up and let the dogs out, put some coffee on and start the fire. There are states not yet called. We are one of them. We don't matter, because it is over. The country has raised a middle finger to the status quo.
I am struck by how the morning show hosts are able to deliver the news without betraying any personal feelings. I am rarely at a loss, don't know how I feel. Life will go on. I will pop more popcorn. Meanwhile, Facebook is not funny today. There are vitriolic rants, stunned disbelief, hate, and fear. I can't absorb it all. I have friends on both sides of The Wall. I try to look for the positives.
I think Obama Care is a failure. For me, this is the fault of the senate and legislature. They created a monster with their ugly little personal interests, pushing and shoving until the original intent became an unholy stepchild, Dave and I wanted everyone to have affordable health care. For many people, it is not affordable. In theory, it was a good idea.
When Jesse Ventura became the governor of Minnesota, I was optimistic. He was pretty brash and rough around the edges, but I thought he had potential. Hopefully, he would be open-minded, willing to become enlightened in the face of facts and figures. I was wrong. I am not holding my breath on The Donald being any different. Global warming is just the tip of the iceberg. I am thinking now the same thing I thought then, how much damage can he do in four years.
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
The Twins Were Here
Gramma,
It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend. The girls turned eight on Halloween. Their mother died of MS a year ago. The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off. They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment. They do not have legal custody. I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and they wanted a break. I fully expected to be hit up for money for something.
The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing. He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls. He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time. He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion. When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave. The dog was not special to her. He got another dog. I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do. We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information.
Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise. Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids. No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you. No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles. There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting. Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse. There is a ladder and slide involved. No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse. Get off that ladder. No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you. Yes, there is a monster.
A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice. Nope, that's not an option, choose something else. The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me. Grampa came along. He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart. I do not go on a Saturday. I get pissy just thinking about it. The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event. Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye. It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes. He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake. I rubbed my fingers together and smiled. He waited in the car.
The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor. They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event. I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer. We got stuck and unstuck more than once. We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up. Then we had more ice cream cake outside. And more popsicles. They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home. I always start the process two hours in advance.
They think we live in a mansion. I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle. My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had. I hope they tell their cousins all about it. They were here once, three years ago. Maybe they will pester to visit. More kids is not much more work. In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up.
In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend. We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids. It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road. Their mother is watching. I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit. Dragonflies were their mother's thing. They are not in season here in late fall. This is all good for Grampa's spirits.
It was a rare occasion that the twins were here for the weekend. The girls turned eight on Halloween. Their mother died of MS a year ago. The baby is eighteen months and was here briefly while the girls were being dropped off. They live with Dave's ex-wife and her husband in a small apartment. They do not have legal custody. I suspect that the kids are getting on their last nerve and they wanted a break. I fully expected to be hit up for money for something.
The father of the children is busy hunting and fishing. He bought a new boat with government money meant for the girls. He does not volunteer anything to support the kids, including his time. He is a weird little puke who should be in jail for tax evasion. When his dog died, he put the collar on Tanya's grave. The dog was not special to her. He got another dog. I would guess the dog gets little more attention from him than the children do. We did not ask the twins any questions about how things are and they did not offer any information.
Bubba and Veve were here as well, so there were four kids making noise. Although I said no about a hundred times, I let them be kids. No, you can't go on the roof of the house if I am not with you. No, you can not go on the roof with shoes, it's bad for the shingles. There is a deck that goes from a bedroom onto the roof, but the shingles are much more interesting. Yes, you can go on the roof of the small playhouse. There is a ladder and slide involved. No, you may not go on the roof of the treehouse. Get off that ladder. No, you may not go on the dock out to the island if I am not with you. Yes, there is a monster.
A trip to Wal-Mart was made to pick out a birthday toy of their choice. Nope, that's not an option, choose something else. The multitude of pre-landfill plastic disgusts me. Grampa came along. He NEVER goes to Wal-Mart. I do not go on a Saturday. I get pissy just thinking about it. The old woman and the old cashier in front of us were having a social event. Dave and I exchanged glances and stink eye. It was good for Grampa to see how fast and far $150.00 goes. He tried to hand me a twenty for a Dairy Queen cake. I rubbed my fingers together and smiled. He waited in the car.
The kids helped take down all the Halloween décor. They demonstrated the speed of a beer truck being unloaded at a biker event. I took the four-wheeler out back with the kids in the trailer. We got stuck and unstuck more than once. We raced around the yard with the dogs trying to keep up. Then we had more ice cream cake outside. And more popsicles. They dragged their feet cleaning up their own stuff to go home. I always start the process two hours in advance.
They think we live in a mansion. I have corrected that notion to clarify that it is a castle. My hope for their time here is to go home and say how much fun they had. I hope they tell their cousins all about it. They were here once, three years ago. Maybe they will pester to visit. More kids is not much more work. In the end, it's the same amount of clean-up.
In a month, the twins will be coming for another weekend. We will go see a Christmas play with three of my grandkids. It will be their first time seeing our house decorated with the village and upside down Christmas tree and the lit up Jesus people out by the road. Their mother is watching. I know because their were dragonflies following me when I was mending fences the day they came to visit. Dragonflies were their mother's thing. They are not in season here in late fall. This is all good for Grampa's spirits.
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