Monday, October 31, 2011

Dad is sitting at the kitchen table eating a late dinner.  He is totally ignoring the barking of dogs and ringing of the doorbell making mom walk twice as far as he would need to answer the door and dole out Halloween candy.  They’re both muttering at each other.   I find it interesting how they stubbornly live in two different worlds.

I just got back to town from my ex’s family wedding in Atlanta.  It was glorious and I was very happy to see my former in-laws.  Mom is just over 80 and Dad is closer to 90.  They are both wonderfully fit and active yet dad is being attacked by Parkinson’s.  We all try to ignore it but many times it is hard to ignore the tremendous shaking of his hands. 

He used a cane a couple of times to help with balance.  He also used it to bean a couple of unruly sons and grandsons.  Blamed it on his shaking hands.  He and mom were gifted the Bride’s bouquet for being the longest married couple at the wedding at 57 years.  So, you’ll find it humorous that he talked with his oldest grandson, the groom, about his little black book.

“Jason, he asked, “what have you been doing with your little black book of late?”

“Hey grandpa, not much.  As a matter of fact I haven’t looked at it in a few years,” replied the groom.

“Well, then,” said grandpa, “you’d better give it to me.”

I am a student of life and PMA – positive mental attitude.  I believe attitude is a choice.  My former father-in-law is choosing to make the best of his affliction.  He’s my kind of guy.

My father borrowed my car while I was in Georgia.  Something about gas mileage and an antique auto auction.  I am happy to oblige my dad about anything. 

Late for a meeting the morning after I got home, I jumped into my car and it crunched. I was going to ignore THAT but then I noticed there was dark dried liquid splattered all over the inside of my car.  The inside of my car was a light tan.  I smelled chocolate.  *sigh.*  Crunching between the gas and brake pedals, I proceeded to my destination.

“Oh, daaaad,” I sung upon my arrival back home.  “Have anything you want to share with me about your trip?”

He replied, “Yes, your car got nearly 27 miles to the gallon.”

“Is that good?” I asked.

“Yes, dear, it is.  And I filled it with gas and you have your brother to thank for the oil change.”

And now I feel crappy about calling him out about my car.   BUT, my dead dog Lucille’s Monarch Butterfly totem I keep in my open ash tray is missing.  I cried when I saw it missing.  That feather butterfly is my daily remembrance of my “Ushee”.  I am still emotionally fragile from all my life changes……..

“Dad?  What snack food comes to mind when I say ‘Bandito’?”

“Fritos.”

“Dad?  What kind of weather did you experience on your trip?”

“Oh, it was crisp,” he said.  “Good hot chocolate weather.”

I’m getting somewhere.

“Dad?  Did you have to stop short or swerve from a deer or anything like that while on your trip?”

“Nope,” he said.  “But I am having a terrible time with my Hay Fever this season.”

My dad sneezes in threes.

While I vacuumed up nearly an entire jumbo size bag of Fritos and wiped down sticky hot chocolate from the inside of my car, I found my feather butterfly underneath the seat and placed it back into the ash tray.  “So, Lucille, was it good to road trip with grandpa?”

Saturday, October 15, 2011

My sister and her husband came for a visit.  She is seven months pregnant and does not appreciate that I call her “Joey-bag-of-donuts.” 

My dad is on some sort of medication that makes blood blisters rise to the under surface of his skin.  Appears to just happen on his arms and hands.  Sometimes the dogs will jump and scratch his arm and it’ll bleed.  Or he’ll bang his arm or hand on something and it will bleed.  My sister noticed dad had some of these blood blisters on his head.

“Dad, did you bang your head?” asked my Nurse Practitioner sister

"‘Bout knocked myself out is what I did.” he mumbled.

Mom and I do the snap, neck/head swivel and all three of us bug-eye glare at him.

“WHAAAT?” we three shriek!

He relays a story about him bending down and under something to work on a car part and then standing up…when his head met the piece of equipment over him, it knocked him to his knees and he blacked out.

“WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL US?” we three scream like he is hard of hearing.

He had no space to reply as we pelted him with “You could have died out there and we wouldn’t have known!” and “What if you are hemorrhaging inside your head?,” and “Were you drinking?” ended with the very familiar refrain of “Men!”

Dad should have initially said, “No, I didn’t bang my head.  What makes you ask?”

Because now, before he goes to the garage to work on anything, he is required to wear safety glasses, knee and elbow pads, and ……..a helmet.

We were all in dad’s Suburban meeting up with my brother for dinner.  I was driving, mom had shotgun and dad, sis and bro-in-law were in the back.  We passed a large cemetery when I commented that was where “we used to tumble head stones” to no reply, response.  WT?  Seems my family is not shocked by anything that comes out of my mouth these days. 

My sister, however, says she wants no stone or plaque commemorating her life and asked mom and dad of their memorial wishes.  Mom piped up and said that yes, even though she will be cremated, she would like a material, permanent symbol of her life, somewhere public. 

I asked why?  I said, “you will not be anywhere except in our memories.”  Mom replied, matter of factly, “I guess that’s enough to piss you off, isn’t it?”

Sis wanted a pedicure because she can’t reach her toes (too many donuts).  I wanted one, so did mom…so did dad? And, so did my bro-in-law, not wanting to be left out, yet never having the experience.  Picture this.  The five of us, in a row of pedicure chairs:

Me: deep into People Magazine..(I do not believe Demi and Ashton are over.)

Sis: pushing every button on the massage chair trying to get comfortable, moving the fans closer to her because she’s “HOT.”

Mom: enjoying a conversation with her technician, “Why the Hell would you move from warm Vietnam to Omaha???”

BIL:  experiencing a physical self-care he’s never allowed himself, eyes closed, grinning ear-to-ear (let’s see, I slept late, had a great breakfast, went bird hunting, now THIS and out to dinner after??  Omaha is not so bad….)

Dad:  (need to preface that his 60 lb female technician is wearing a mask, safety glasses, a helmet, and is wielding a chainsaw)  Dad notices that mom’s technician is the only male technician and addresses him:

“So, does your wife work here, too?”

The male technician says no, explains why he feels it is not good for a wife and husband to work together and then sites a few examples.

I happen to agree with him as I have once worked with a spouse.  Not a good idea. Good reply I think to myself and then dad asks,

“Does your girlfriend work here?”

The family snorts with the long, mouth open “I can’t believe you asked that!” look.

The other technicians (all female) bow their heads and snicker.

The male technician can’t find his voice.

We LOVE dad.

Friday, October 07, 2011

I NOW know a bit about having teenagers.  I don’t have children of my own. I had been married to a man who hadn’t grown up so that experience alone is proof to me that I got “teened” by my mom today.  She borrowed my car last night. She’s still laughing about the role reversal.  Me?  Not so much.

I was running late for a meeting this morning and jumped into my car.  It reeked of fast food grease.  I looked to my right and saw a crumpled Burger King Whopper wrapper.  I looked to the floor of the passenger side and observed a large drink cup on its side next to the large white burger king delivery package.  Which was also home to a large fries because my mom and I both prefer BK fries…I know they were in there….yet not even ONE crunchy, over-cooked, but not burnt ,wonderful nub of fry was present in my car anywhere as an offering to me. 

I start the car and the Open Hood light comes on.  My hood was open……for who knows how long of drive.  I envisioned my mom, driving home at 9PM from her PEO dessert meeting, picking at cheesecake intended for my dad out of a Tupperware container , when the hood gets air, springs open, she can’t see……I don’t want to think about…..what would have happened to my car.

I get out and shut the hood, get back in the car and look up into my rearview mirror to back out of the drive.  I see my breasts.  Lovely as they are, I was thinking I’d see through my back window.  Said hi to the girls, adjusted my rearview window and backed out of the drive.

Driving at a bit of a fast clip to make up for lost time, I see I have no gas. @#$*!!.  The Gasorama is up ahead, I look into my rearview mirror to consider changing lanes and I see the pavement. @#$*!!. I look over my shoulder for an all clear, change lanes and pull off to get gas.  I am not happy.  Not only am I going to a very important meeting smelling like a French Fry, I will also be wafting a few gasohol fumes.  Delightful. 

I want to throttle my mother for “borrowing my car.”  Which, in her defense, was parked behind hers so she drove mine instead.  Not a problem really.  Happy to help.  However:!

Gassed up, I bee-lined to my appointment. Arrived on time and had a wonderful conversation with some lovely and oh-so-smart young women. Being “teened” by my mom had no more hold on me.  And in my car, after I left the meeting, I discovered not one but TWO crunchy French fry nubs I had been sitting on.  Sa-weet!  Thanks mom! (although I’m sure there were grease stains on the back of my skirt!!)

Monday, October 03, 2011

I am obsessed with nose hair.  MY nose hair.

It all started with my dad’s eyebrows.  I was giving him a haircut and like a good barber trimmed his Andy Roonie eyebrows.  I couldn’t help but notice all the hair growing from his ears and not just from the inside; around the edges, too (kind of like Yoda or a Gremlin for fear of dating myself).  I tidied those up as well. Then I noticed a long, over an inch, white hair growing beside his nose.  Pluck.  Then I saw what appeared to be the legs of six black spiders sticking out of daddy’s nose, curling outside his nostrils as if it were the footing for their escape.  Good grief!

“Dad,” I asked, “Are you using the nose hair trimmer we gave you for Christmas?  Never mind, you have plenty of evidence that you are not.”

To which he replied, “I trim them when I see them.”

And that’s all it took.

I had great eyesight until 40.  Since then I have worn cheaters and due to my modesty will not reveal how many graduations of magnification I have experienced.  Nevertheless, I am farsighted without them.  Now I worry that a nose hair has sprouted into the daylight and I can’t see it.  Every morning before I apply my makeup I practically stretch open each nostril looking for potential embarrassment before it strikes.

The other day at my BFFs, her little girl told me it was impolite to pick my nose.  I told her I was plucking nose hairs and when she was my age she would have permission to pick at her nose, too.  My BFF gave me the stink eye.

I secretly use daddy’s nose hair trimmer. I carry little scissors in my purse in case I am attacked while I am out.  I scrutinize people’s faces and laugh to myself if their nose is not properly groomed, while I quickly test mine for protruders.  I’ve turned into a nose hair snob.  I can’t help myself.

I considered laser treatments.  I have acquaintances who have described the sting of a laser with the snap of a rubber band.  The first time I pulled out a nose hair I had a slight stroke, went blind in one eye and drooled.  I don’t think I can manage nostril laser hair removal….I suppose it could be an alternative for water boarding, though.

Now I’m thinking Nair.  Just in the thinking stage though.  The directions and cautions on the back of the label are too small for me to read and I can’t find my glasses.