A post in which I have a visit*

It was another lovely afternoon. I was kind of meandering my way home when I got a call from a buddy. He’s moving to Arizona soon. It had completely slipped my mind that he was coming over this evening, and was waiting on me near the house. So I headed on home.

It was a nice visit, but things got a bit – messy. Over all, it was worth it. I spent the evening changing sheets, doing laundry, etc.

I started a new Anita Kelly book today, and it a cracking good read already. I read for a while in my fresh-sheeted bed before I turned out the light.

A post in which it is a gorgeous Monday

Well the weather was anyway. It was so beautiful when I got off work today it was almost worth getting up an hour early just to be able to enjoy a bit of the afternoon.

When I got home I didn’t feel all used up like I usually do. I wanted to get out in the yard, but I wasn’t feeling quite that productive, and Monday evening is usually my evening off. So instead I put another load of laundry in, organized bills, and balanced my checkbook. Yeah, I know, relaxing, but I did find $300 so that was pretty nice.

I finished reading Show Boat, the book by Edna Ferber today. I have seen the movie many times (I was lucky enough to see the best version, made in 1936 and starring Irene Dunn, years ago). I came about this in a roundabout way. Edna Ferber, aside from being a formidable woman in her own right, was also a member of the Algonquin Round Table. I had been doing a bit of reading about that out of curiosity, and looked up her name in the course of that reading.

When I found that she was the author of the book upon which one of my favorite movies is based, I decided it was high time I read it. It was a good read. Interesting word play, use of adjectives, and descriptions. Of course it was also interesting to read the un-hollywoodized story. Ms. Ferber was a good bit more fond of descriptive passages than the modern reader will put up with, but her writing is a product of her time, and I will admit that description is where the “real writing” gets done more often than not. My dialogue is pitiful anyway, but there are things you just can’t have characters say directly without sounding ridiculous, or worse, inconsistent. In dialogue, the character has to speak with their own voice, whereas in description the writer can speak with his. Probably it was just fancy on my part, but I seemed to hear, just beyond the page, hints of the author wisecracking in a lush dining room. I seemed to pick up ghosts of witticisms floating around the prose.

How I would have loved to visit the Algonquin Round Table, even as an object of derision, which I would have undoubtedly been. Hell, just to meet Dorothy Parker would have been the thrill of a lifetime. She died just three months before I was born.

Sometimes I feel as if I was born in the wrong era. But then I think about how lucky I am not to have been gay back then, which quickly dispels that notion. Even weighing the threat of AIDS on one hand, the freedom we enjoy today (limited though it is) seems to be worth it. And since I can’t go back in time anyway I may as well be happy with now.

A post in which we get together at Miss Kat and dana's

I woke up to another pretty day, but I had a headache. I had some breakfast and lay around for a bit. I realized that the time had changed, so I decided that if I went I would go by old time, since I figured no one had wanted to be up an hour early on a Sunday (well, not among us flea market slackers, anyway). I finally decided to get out for a while and drove over to the White Horse Road flea market. I didn’t really need anything from there today, but sometimes it’s nice just to go walk around.

It was. It was pretty, and there were a lot of people out. I had the luxury of not having to look for anything in particular or carry anything to the car, having bought my fruit and veggies yesterday. I did run into a friend of mine named David out there, and we strolled around for about an hour or so, catching up on what’s going on with each other and casually gossiping about mutual acquaintances.

I did have a good time, but I stayed too long. By the time I got home I had a headache so sharp it set my teeth on edge. I took some Ibu and dropped onto the sofa to wait for it to pass.

I slept for about an hour, but my head was still hurting when I woke up. I finally decided that I might feel better if I got up and moved around a bit, so I did.

I changed the sheets and changed out a load of laundry, then started some overdue house fluffing. I dusted the bedroom and living room, swept the wood floors and vacuumed the carpets, getting under the sofa and the corners of the rugs. I was watching The Inbetweeners as I cleaned. Russ had said something about it the other day, and it just so happened they were having a marathon today. It is a funny show. I’m hooked now.

About the time I started thinking about the bathroom, Russ called to ask if I wanted to go over to Miss Kat and dana’s for a visit. Well of course I did. I did the cat chores, got cleaned up, ran to the store for cigs, and did my nails while I waited.

I rode with R&B over to MK & d’s for some much needed relaxation. We had a great time chatting, smoking, and talking while watching things on the nature channel kill and eat each other in the background, and while I decimated the cheese and cracker plates they had put out. They had all had a late large lunch, and I had eaten lightly, both because of the diet and because I was hoping for an invite this evening. With the time change and all, no one was really thinking about food but me.

It was 9pm before I even realized it. It didn’t seem like it could possibly be that late (of course it wasn’t, really, but I still had to be up an hour earlier in the morning). We said our farewells and left. Fortunately, we did stop for something on the way back to my house. I had pizza buffet, which of course is not the best weight-loss idea. “How are you going to approach your diet?” Billy asked me after I had just eaten a gross of cinnamon buns. “Apparently poorly.” I sighed ruefully. But it was too late to worry about this meal. I’ll just have to pick it up tomorrow.

I got home, crawled gratefully into my clean-sheeted bed with the kitties, and passed into blissful slumber.

A post in which I let my dad hold it*

I woke up to t a beautiful day, but decided I didn’t feel like going to the flea market this morning. I needed to go, but I just didn’t feel like it. I had some breakfast, and then realized I had been taking my medicine almost completely incorrectly.

I wandered around online, and had a buddy come by (so much for being Off Men). After he left I took a nap. When I woke up it was afternoon. I really did need to do something productive. I hadn’t cleaned any last weekend because I felt so badly, and the place was looking distinctly shabby. I drifted towards the couch, where I looked for a FarmVille update.

I then gave myself a firm talking to, and arose from the couch to get something done.

I ate lunch, then started on some overdue cleaning out. I had to go out to do some shopping, but before I went I was going to load the car and get some stuff out of the house – a perpetual need.

I unpacked the new china I had ordered last week and put it away in the cabinet hole left from sending the Blue Willow to Lisa two weeks ago. That was quite a process. I thought packaging was bad when people send glass through the mail, but that is nothing to when they send china. One box that had four cups and saucers in it had to be 18 inches square, with two boxes, two layers of styrofoam popcorn and newspaper, and then a wrapping of paper and bubble wrap just to make sure. I mean, I’m glad everything got here OK, but it was quite a production freeing my new purchases from their wrappings.

That done, I took the styrofoam peanuts out along with the garbage. I smoothed and folded the packing paper I was keeping (a glass collector can always find a use for un-printed newspaper), and gathered up the rest to be recycled. I got together the Goodwill load (of course there was another one).

Then I loaded the car, hauled off all the (considerable) recycling, dropped the Goodwill load off, and headed for the flea market. By this time it was about four, but in pretty weather I know the vegetable sellers stay late. I was in luck, and they were still there. I got what vegetables I could at a discount, and then went on to the grocery store for a few other odds and ends.

While I was checking out at the store, the phone rang. It was Dad. He said he was calling to ask if I had spoken to Cindy last week as I had told him I would. I indicated that I had, and that I thought Cindy was mulling over calling. He then started to do the typical “I hate Cindy and Paul” routine I have been listening to for the last three years, laced liberally with a victory lap for him because he had known they wouldn’t call, etc. There was a generous dollop of the typical distain, disgust, and general calling down of the heavens upon them. During the flow of this seemingly endless invective, he told me the reason for the worry about Eve. Of course I was sworn to secrecy because “If Cindy didn’t care enough to call about her mother without needing a reason, she wasn’t fit to live.” He said something about how he “hated to put me in the middle of this”.

That was too much - the last straw. I felt as if he had set up an unfair test for Cindy, and was crowing because she had failed again. When he paused to draw breath, I started in. We pretty much went at it hammer and tongs. I told him that they had paid back the money he asked for when he send the demand letter from the attorney, and he needed to lay that down. I said a lot of things I’ve been swallowing for three years. I told him that their word didn’t hold much weight with Cindy and Paul because of the constant dramatization and tricks he and Eve had employed the last couple of years; that we were in a bit of a “little boy who cried wolf” situation because of it. I told him that I didn’t think he was in a position to sit in judgment of anyone, and asked him if that is what he has been learning at church. I told him I was sick to death of them all acting like twelve year olds and using me as the go-between. He had told me that he was worried about Eve, and that he loved her. He gave the usual “I would do anything but” speech, with the but this time being he would never “kiss Paul’s ass”. I said “Great Dad. So you’ll do anything to help her but lay down your pride. Good call.” I then hung up the phone. I was DONE.

Sadly, this is not the first time that something far more important has taken a back seat to my father's pride. We've all had our experiences at doing it through the years. My father nurses a grudge like a napless baby with a sweet. He's just always been that way. Eve is the same way. It's an area of common ground for them.

And of course I felt terrible. Unlike Dad, who seems to thrive and come alive in his rage, ceaselessly banking a fire that only seems to get more boundless and bountiful, mine burns out and leaves me feeling like shit. There is no win with him. If you try the gentle approach he runs right over you. He has consistently done everything I have tried to intimate was a really bad idea from the beginning of this. If you get angry, he just gets angry back. He was born right and has been going uphill ever since. My dad would no sooner cede a point in battle than he would beat himself in the head with a hammer. And I had acted just like him.

I called Mom for a pep talk, but she didn’t answer her phone. I decided that was a selfish reason to call her anyway.

I decided to plow my frustration into cooking, and started chopping vegetables. Mom called me back while I was doing that. I apologized, and asked her if I was as big an asshole as my father. She assured me that I was not. But of course she’s my Mom, and she thinks I’m wonderful whatever I do, so I didn’t choose the most objective person to ask. After we got that out of the way, we just talked about normal stuff for a while.

I got my sauce on to simmer, but still felt bad. I sat down and tried to figure out the least Dad-like thing I could do, so I called Dad to apologize for losing my temper. I didn’t back down from the things I said, but I apologized for the way I said them. Dad, surprisingly, was magnanimous in triumph. He actually apologized back. Now I know he would have eaten nails before he picked up the phone to call me to do that, but for him it was a big change to even inkle a bit of wrong-doing on his part. Will miracles never cease. I did feel better after talking to him.

I finished up my spaghetti and packed lunches for next week, and changed out a load of laundry.

I called Billy to find out what they were up to tonight, but they were on their way back from Asheville. They had spent the day going to Asheville to take the hot springs and then were going to stop for supper on the way back.

By this time, I was pretty wiped anyway. I would have liked to spend some time with them to decompress after the dad stuff. I thought about calling Miss Kat and dana, but decided not to bother them - it was getting a bit too late to call. I started feeling cold and realized I was running a low-grade fever yet again. I ate some supper and took my pills, and just fooled around online for a while. Eventually, I fixed the bed, took a shower, and turned in. I sleep better clean, and felt like I needed a bit of pampering after a long, long day.

A post in which I have my follow up with the doc

So I went to the doc this morning. I was feeling much better. She told me that my CAT scan was 100% normal, rather than finding a tumor. Or rocks. Or a mysterious void. (I’m thinking about getting a second opinion on the scan). She also said that I was fat (which wasn’t exactly a surprise), and that my blood pressure was border line for high (which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise, but which was anyway). She’s given me three months to lose 20 pounds or she’s putting me on blood pressure medication. Heavy sigh. And so begins the slippery slope.

I’m really bummed about this. I had thought that if I tried to eat better and not gain so much weight that I could avoid the long list of health problems Dad has. But apparently the pull of genetics is just too strong. I am skeptical about this proposed weight loss lowering my bp. For one thing, the shape isn’t all that is genetic. The temperament is also. As much as I try to fight it, I have a good portion of my dad’s bad temper. For another thing, Little Boots and the Canadian Witch seem to be having a contest lately to see who can introduce more creative hell to my life. I think trying to hold my temper in may even be making things worse. But despite some notable exceptions of late, I am for the most part non-ballistic. But that isn't something that's going to change. I also think if I could just “drop 20 pounds” I would have done it by now.

Which brings me to the next thing. It seems that whatever compromise I make, it leads to another. I have been off men lately, and actually that hasn’t sounded so bad. I’ve been thinking that if I am off for good (and this isn’t just the aforementioned hibernation), then I can accept that. The re-channeled energy I spend chasing tail alone should generate a novel or two. Yet I find the thoughts of going on blood pressure medication and thereby indirectly ending my sex life for good inescapably depressing. I realize that I certainly can’t complain about not having had a good run. I wouldn’t mind a little peace and quiet from the insistent refrain of desire for a while (indeed, I was looking at that as a fringe benefit of getting older), but I find that I’m not ready to say “never again” just yet.

I feel that I’ve just finally made (a however grudging) peace with my body, only to find that said size is gonna kill me if I don’t do something about it. That hardly seems fair. And I just found FOUR pairs of jeans that fit me too. I suppose I should have known that was one of the seals of my personal apocalypse without being told.

But I didn’t have brooding time really. I had to get to work. So I did. Work was blessedly quiet today. Thank God.

About quitting time, Russ called to tell me that Joanne and Rob had come in tonight (not tomorrow as I had been thinking) and that they wanted to get together. Of course I said yes.

Rob said he wanted seafood, and for some reason Russ headed towards Greer. We ended up going to The Tadpole, of all places. Joanne, being a typical Yankee in many ways, was underwhelmed. Going to the fish camp is kind of a southern thing.

But everyone ate and listened to Joanne as we did it. They didn’t have any vegetables except potatoes and cole slaw (being extremely hard core, The Tadpole doesn't boast a salad bar see below), but I didn’t do too badly. I had the ‘small’ plate, which consisted of: two broiled possibly flounder fillets, an enormous baked potato (of which I ate half), hush puppies, and cole slaw. The only thing I could figure was that it was, indeed, piled up onto a smaller plate. Meh. It’s better than what I would have eaten usually. My mouth was just watering for somethin’ fried, I can tell you. Being at the fish camp and not getting something fried is kind of like jumping in the water and refusing to get wet. But I didn’t do it.

(OK, I've looked it up, and wikipedia doesn't have a definition for fish camp. For non-southerners, allow me to interpret. A fish camp is kind of the redneck equivalent of a sugar shack {an traditionally unlicensed bar usually run out of someone's house}, except they don't serve alcohol. It's a typically backwoods country restaurant that primarily serves seafood. The prices are usually cheap, and the food is typically fried. They usually started because the owner became the one always called upon to do the "fish fry" for the churches and stuff and finally decided to charge for it. Many were originally based out of private homes. There is usually a salad bar which will always have the following ingredients:

- pepperoni {It is just not a redneck Night Out with no pepperoni on the salad, for some reason. I don't make the rules, I just live here}
- cottage cheese {for Mamer's diet}
- shredded cheese {sometimes American, but usually cheddar, for those not on a diet}
- a couple of pale pitiful grocery store tomatoes for show {Only those in the throes of the most stringent diet will actually eat these. The appearance of these on some portly woman's plate gives her the officially sanctioned right to say "I try - you can see." [and point to salad bowl, mournfully] "My weight problem is just glandular. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it." This of course before demolishing a pile of fried shrimp that would stuff an average high school football team.}
- nasty chemically produced 'bacon' bits {Actually, the only remaining market for this food-like substance is the salad bar. If you know anything about food, you would never buy these; but if you're a redneck, these are too fancy to actually have in your home, but again denote a Night Out.}
- pickled hot peppers of some kind {To prove manliness. These can be anything from pepperoncini rings to homemade little round ones that look like deadly nightshade and may well precipitate the replacement of the singed drop flap on your long johns. Allows you to say "Hey ya'll, watch this." In a social setting that includes women with 'wash n' sets' without censure.)
- dill pickle chips {I don't know either}
-Pepperidge farm tiny croutons {There isn't any white bread in the restaurant to make croutons out of, if it indeed crossed anyone's mind to do so. Which it doesn't.}
- pineapple {for weird exotic eaters like me}
- a large plastic bowl of basic iceberg lettuce salad mix with red cabbage and carrots and nothing else {or in a hard core fish camp, iceberg lettuce only - don't worry, if you don't know what a fish camp is, you'd never find one of those}
- and always, always Thousand Island dressing {now being replaced by the ubiquitous Ranch in more typical restaurants, some redneck will start a riot of there is no Thousand Island on the salad bar at the fish camp.}

Apparently I need to do a wikipedia entry on this.)

I also told them the latest chapter in the family drama saga. While I was updating, the little voice in my head was saying 'If Dad heard you telling this, he would blow a gasket' loudly enough to make me look around. I thought I was safe. As we were walking up to pay, here came Dick and Eve - from the other side of the restaurant, fortunately. But I just know that couldn’t be good for my blood pressure.

After supper we went back to R&B’s for a little R&R. We ended up watching The Secretary. It's a great movie, and I hadn't seen it in long enough that I could watch it again almost as if it was the first time. Of course no one could forget the riveting scene near the end where she proves her devotion. Joanne had no patience with it though. She confessed later to not being a 'movie person' - hmm, not a huge shock. It was a nice evening though.

A post in which there is very exciting news about health care!

Despite former misgivings, I read the most exciting thing I have read about the health care bill today. I'm really stoked about it now!!

A post in which I deal with family drama

I woke up feeling better than I have in about a month. Tired, but not hurting. By the time I finished the morning routine I was tired, but I figured I could handle that. Alan was back today. I had intended to talk to him and explain that I wasn’t sure I could stay all day, but he was so busy I decided to wait and see how things went.

As I was getting in to the groove of the day, Dad called. After the general trashing of Cindy and Paul, he told me he wanted me to call Cindy and tell her to call Eve. “If ever she has needed a friend in her life,” he said with dramatic portent, “she needs one now. She needs for Cindy to be her friend.” Of course I asked him what was going on, but he would reveal no detail. He told me mysteriously that what I didn’t know I couldn’t discuss, and that he would sit down with me at some point in the future when he would talk to me face-to-face about the situation, which would “have to stay strictly between the two… but then I can tell you all this later.”

OK, my dad is more than a bit of a drama queen. He is prone to sweeping portents of doom, and brilliant dramatizations of the mundane or trivial. All the men in our family are larger than life in one way or another, and I get my flair for the dramatic from him. It’s a blessing and a curse.

So while it could be a complete tempest in a teapot, there could also be something serious going on. The problem is that you just never know. But the fact that it was important enough for him to make contact with Cindy (through an intermediary or not) – and to confess he was asking me to act on his behalf because he felt I could be more diplomatic – tipped the balance to credibility.

Since I had told him I would call, and since I had intended to call Cindy anyway (her birthday was yesterday), I called her.

Cindy and I don’t talk that often any more. We had some bad blood when she took BB’s dishes, which had been promised to me, and haven’t spoken that often since. But I have laid down any anger about that, and I’ve tried to be good to my nephew Brenden. I talk to Paul, my brother-in-law, pretty regularly, and we get along pretty well. I’ve been kind of acting as buffer/diplomat between them and my parents for the last couple of years with limited success. It’s a job that I would really love to be able to quit, but they keep casting me in the role whether I want it or not. But I digress.

At any rate, Cindy seemed pleasantly surprised to hear from me. I talked to her about her birthday, which was apparently nice. She had a quite celebration this year without a party or friends. We agreed that at this stage of life, getting through the day with quiet dignity is the way if you can manage it. We compared rueful notes on getting older, and I gave her the Reader’s Digest Condensed Version of my recent health contretemps. She and Paul are doing quite well. They’ve started running, have apparently lost a lot of weight, and are feeling great, I was glad to hear.

Eventually, of course, I had to deliver my message. She was pretty diplomatic about it, all things considered. I hadn’t been sure what to expect. She was much less blunt than she reportedly was when Lisa called her about BB’s death.

We talked about them; of course Dick and Eve are a fascinating case study if nothing else, and she actually seemed to be mulling over calling. Either way, I had done what I said I would do by calling her, and I did my best to get her to call Eve.

Work went fine, but it was a long day.

I ran by the grocery store, and then home.

I re-did my whole farm tonight on FarmVille. I got to the level I could by a farm house this week. Yep folks, it’s life in the big city.

When I went to bed tonight the phone buzzed. It was Chip from Columbia. His grandfather is dying of cancer. He’s coming to spend the weekend in Union and had thought about me. I know it’s hard. I told him some anecdotes about Granny and Grandma Shumate from my last visit to try to cheer him up, but tried not to talk so much that it was all about me. We talked about the challenges of caring for the elderly, and of course that led to talking about when we get old. Of course I won’t have any family to take care of me. He’s a sweet guy, and I hope I helped.

Reflecting ruefully that if things keep going the way they are I won’t have to worry about elder-care for myself, I turned off the light and went to sleep, Jinx under my left hand, and Crooner having some kind of sneeze-fest in the other room.