Today was fairly crazy. Actually, this whole week has been a little nuts. Well, it actually started last Friday- 11/11/11- the night of Bob's high school reunion.
We had rented a hotel room so that I wouldn't have to drive home from the city. While we were partying like it was 1991, I made sure I couldn't drive even if I wanted to. I'm not sure if it was 4 or 5 Cape Codders, but by the end of the night, it didn't matter. We ate (a little), drank (a LOT), and danced the night away.
The next morning, I experienced my very first ever hangover. I know some people just won't believe that I made it to 40 without ever having a hangover, but there you have it. I learned a few things from it, though, like I NEVER want to have another one as long as I live, driving hungover is a very bad idea, and the stories don't do the exquisite pain any justice at all.
Sunday was fun, too. We had decided to go out for breakfast and go get the new Harry Potter movie, as it was supposed to be on sale at KMart. Turns out, that was a 2 day sale that ended while we were nursing our respective ailments. So- not to be dissuaded, we went off to WalMart, where we found part 1 for $4 and part 2 for $16. All together, cheaper than just part 2 was at KMart (so YAY!). We then determined that we needed ice cream in the house and stopped at the market.. During all this walking around, I was wearing the new shoes I had bought for Friday night, so my heels were getting chewed up with every step :(
The plan was to get the ice cream, go home and watch our new movies. Charlie had other plans. The left rear tire decided it didn't want to be that any more and went flat as we were pulling out of the parking lot onto the street. Normally, not that big a deal, but one of the lug nuts was stripped and didn't want to come off the lug. Then the wheel didn't want to come off the axle. Wile we were taking turns fighting with it, I started counting cars- I saw a church van, 5 cars with Jesus fishes on them, 3 police officers, 1 tow truck (!!!), and 1 ambulance drive by and stare at us. One very nice guy did ask if we were okay on his way by, and told us he'd be right back. When it was my turn to cuss and attempt to break the wheel loose, WM called his brother to give us a hand. Calvary to the rescue!! We got it home with only 3 lug nuts, which made me a little nervous.
On Monday, I had PT, which totally killed me after the weekend I put myself through. I figured a good activity to get my mind off my assorted aches and pains would be to set up and print the invitations to the Boy's Eagle Court of Honor, so I went to the website for the company that made the cards and attempted to use their print wizard. After hours of cussing and crying over the useless wizard, I did an internet search for other free templates. After another hour of cussing out those sites for being useless to me (which is different than being just plain useless) I blew it. Just started yelling and almost throwing things in my frustration. WM decided he couldn't take any more of my histrionics and made up a template that worked beautifully (YAY WM!!). I was all set to go- all I needed was an ink color choice and a guest list. I'm still waiting on that...Anyway- the invites are ready to go, so THAT'S okay.
This brings us up to Tuesday... Ah yes- Tuesday. I had a 9:30 appointment to get new tires (made before the reunion, which makes Sunday all the more frustrating). When I got there, the line was out the door. People were pushing, cutting the line, and just standing around, blocking the line. It was a madhouse. When I finally got up to the counter (around 9:45), I was told it would be about an hour and a half. Fine, whatever, I'll be sitting over in the waiting area. The guy at the counter had asked if I wanted some very specific kind of alignment, for only $50. I said I didn't know if I needed it, and he assured me that he would hook it up to his machine and see what that said. He then said he wouldn't do anything until he talked to me. So I sat. And sat. And went outside for a cigarette, where I found some guy sitting on my car! The look he gave me when I told him to get off my car was.priceless. Almost as though no one had ever told him he was misbehaving. He shook his head and asked what I had said. 'Get off my car'. Repeating it earned me a very nasty reply, but he did get off it.
When I felt I had waited long enough, I went up to the counter to get an ETA, because I was flat out exhausted, and getting more tired by the minute, sitting in a cold warehouse that smelled like rubber. When I got up to the desk, my keys were already hanging on the peg-board. That got me a bit upset, too. When he grabbed my paper work, he just gave me the total, had me sign for my card, and I was good to go. It never occurred to me until I was on my way home that the total he gave me didn't match what I had been told when I handed over my keys. The stupid rat bastard did the alignment without talking to me! Great. Fan-freakin-tastic. $50 I didn't have, I now have to come up with because bonehead didn't go over my receipt with me, like they usually do. I think he didn't want to explain the alignment cost, honestly. I noticed they called the house at 10, which REALLY made me wonder what they were thinking, as I was there! Nasty email off to the company (because they weren't answering the phone at the shop.) telling them what had happened and how I felt about it. Surprise- no answer from them yet.
So tires took up my whole morning, and the nap I had to take to try to recover took up my whole afternoon. Even more pissed!!
The Girl is happy, though. She finally got a new car, so I'm assuming she got her insurance money from the kid who hit her. He has NO idea how lucky he is that she wasn't injured more badly than she was!
On to Wednesday- today.
I had an appointment with my nurse practitioner to check my meds, and to see if my migraine med was working. She was running late, and there was some sort of glitch with the thermostat, so it started blowing cold air on me while I was waiting. FUN! I got a blanket and wrapped up in it while I was sitting there. She finally came in and called facilities about it. Then we got down to business- how did it work? How often have I taken it? Any nasty little bits to report?
She then asked the scariest question ever- "Any family history of brain tumors or aneurysms?" I almost fell down. Then she said she was scheduling appointments for an MRI/A and a neurologist. She seems to think that my eyestrain, headaches, and using the wrong words might be a sign of pressure on something. GULP
While I was pondering that little bit of life altering, Angie went into labor. After many hours, and 40 minutes of pushing, Coraline Marilyn came into the world.
Life is all good again... I have no appointments till Sunday, then PT and neurology Monday, then I'm free to harass the ex for the guest list so I can mail those invites before Thanksgiving so they don't get slowed down by the Christmas card influx. I'm afraid were cutting it too close as it is, but I cannot seem to get a fire going under his ass. The Boy should be home sometime this week, so hopefully I can get him to help me nag. Only time will tell, I suppose.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Bittersweet
Today would have been Dad's 80th birthday. 80...It doesn't fit neatly in my head. He would have been twice my age. Officially 'old'.
I'm thinking about him a lot today- how he would laugh at the stupidest jokes, watch the worst movies, and really enjoyed some of the dumbest television on television. I guess I can blame him for my taste in viewing pleasure. I can almost hear him now, laughing at Tim and Al on Home Improvement. He loved that show so much, we got him the first season on dvd so he could watch it anytime there was 'nothing good' on TV. He watched it often
I was looking through my scrapbook and found some of the things people had said about him at his funeral. I can't help but wonder if they were talking about the same person. People told me how nice he was, how friendly he was, how stiff and formal he was. It stands to reason that most of these people didn't know him very well- his best friends were gone, he didn't talk to his neighbors much, and very few people really had conversations with him.
It was fairly common knowledge that he drank coffee. That's pretty much it- just coffee. Few people know how much he liked blueberry/cranberry juice. There was so much more to him than anyone could possibly know. I'm sorry I didn't take the time to get to know him when we were both younger. I am so very grateful that I got the chance to finally meet him before he died. I learned that he wasn't nice- he was polite (almost to a fault!). He wasn't quiet if there was something he needed to say, or if there was something someone else needed to hear. He wasn't friendly- he viewed people as noisy, inconsiderate, and smelly. I also get this from him.
He never understood why people thought he was stiff and formal. I tried telling him it was because most people only saw him in his "Sunday go to meetin'" clothes, not at home in his tee shirt and slippers, doing his crossword puzzles and messing up his hair. The running joke was that I was going to bury him in his slippers with messy hair and a coffee cup. I am sorry I didn't get to do that- he would have seen the humor.
He had an incredible sense of humor. He could find the funny in almost any situation, and he was generous with his findings. Occasionally he would start laughing at a joke he heard quite a while ago. When I asked if he thought his memory was going, his response: How could my memory be going, if I can remember and repeat a joke from 50 years ago?! Lighten up!
That was pretty much his advice in any situation- lighten up. Whatever horrible thing had happened couldn't have been all bad if you walked away from it and could still tell about it. If all else failed, there was always ice cream.
He loved to go for rides in the car to look at all the pretty colors- first flowers in the spring, the green grass and summer blossoms, the leaves changing in the fall, and even the pure white of winter's first snow. (The thrill of that last one only lasted until someone walked on it, or it snowed again, He didn't care much for winter.) No matter what season we were in, he could find something colorful and beautiful in the world outside. He said he finally got the chance to see what he had been missing all those years when he was the driver, and he wanted to see it all. Watching him look out the window was very much like watching a child who is finally big enough to see- his head would swivel to follow a squirrel into the woods, he would point out flowers that had just started to bloom, he would watch a bird soaring with pure awe. At the end of every journey, he would thank god for getting him to his destination safely, and for giving him so much to see along the way.
I guess I should thank god for getting him safely to his destination, and for giving him so much to see along the way.
I'm thinking about him a lot today- how he would laugh at the stupidest jokes, watch the worst movies, and really enjoyed some of the dumbest television on television. I guess I can blame him for my taste in viewing pleasure. I can almost hear him now, laughing at Tim and Al on Home Improvement. He loved that show so much, we got him the first season on dvd so he could watch it anytime there was 'nothing good' on TV. He watched it often
I was looking through my scrapbook and found some of the things people had said about him at his funeral. I can't help but wonder if they were talking about the same person. People told me how nice he was, how friendly he was, how stiff and formal he was. It stands to reason that most of these people didn't know him very well- his best friends were gone, he didn't talk to his neighbors much, and very few people really had conversations with him.
It was fairly common knowledge that he drank coffee. That's pretty much it- just coffee. Few people know how much he liked blueberry/cranberry juice. There was so much more to him than anyone could possibly know. I'm sorry I didn't take the time to get to know him when we were both younger. I am so very grateful that I got the chance to finally meet him before he died. I learned that he wasn't nice- he was polite (almost to a fault!). He wasn't quiet if there was something he needed to say, or if there was something someone else needed to hear. He wasn't friendly- he viewed people as noisy, inconsiderate, and smelly. I also get this from him.
He never understood why people thought he was stiff and formal. I tried telling him it was because most people only saw him in his "Sunday go to meetin'" clothes, not at home in his tee shirt and slippers, doing his crossword puzzles and messing up his hair. The running joke was that I was going to bury him in his slippers with messy hair and a coffee cup. I am sorry I didn't get to do that- he would have seen the humor.
He had an incredible sense of humor. He could find the funny in almost any situation, and he was generous with his findings. Occasionally he would start laughing at a joke he heard quite a while ago. When I asked if he thought his memory was going, his response: How could my memory be going, if I can remember and repeat a joke from 50 years ago?! Lighten up!
That was pretty much his advice in any situation- lighten up. Whatever horrible thing had happened couldn't have been all bad if you walked away from it and could still tell about it. If all else failed, there was always ice cream.
He loved to go for rides in the car to look at all the pretty colors- first flowers in the spring, the green grass and summer blossoms, the leaves changing in the fall, and even the pure white of winter's first snow. (The thrill of that last one only lasted until someone walked on it, or it snowed again, He didn't care much for winter.) No matter what season we were in, he could find something colorful and beautiful in the world outside. He said he finally got the chance to see what he had been missing all those years when he was the driver, and he wanted to see it all. Watching him look out the window was very much like watching a child who is finally big enough to see- his head would swivel to follow a squirrel into the woods, he would point out flowers that had just started to bloom, he would watch a bird soaring with pure awe. At the end of every journey, he would thank god for getting him to his destination safely, and for giving him so much to see along the way.
I guess I should thank god for getting him safely to his destination, and for giving him so much to see along the way.
Friday, December 17, 2010
(Black)berries and cream
It was recently brought to my attention that I am someone's ancestor, too. This isn't something I usually think about in my daily research for my ancestors.
My daughter sent me a questionnaire for a paper she was writing for her college writing class. It was full of 'What did you do when you were a kid?', and 'How has life changed since then?' Things we talk about around the table with our coffee.
Life seems to have changed so completely since then that any resemblance between then and now is purely coincidental. Toys in the 1970's were dolls, trucks, play sets, rocks, sticks, and mud puddles. Toys in the new millennium are cell phones, computers, video games, and high tech things that I've never heard of, and don't know how to use. The old "When I was your age, Blackberries were fruit' adage. I never realized just how completely the world had changed since I was a kid. It makes me stop short to think about how much it had changed for my parents and grandparents.
My grandparents lived through two world wars, depression, the moon landing, assassinations, the advent of television and affordable automobiles. My parents lived through one world war, the 'Age of Aquarius', the creation of NASA, flower children, presidential resignation, Watergate, and the advent of women's lib.
Until I answered her survey questions, I never really thought about what I have lived through in terms of ancestors or family history. I have seen space shuttle launches become common place, the first civilian on a shuttle, and the explosion of that shuttle, the end of NASA, and the advent of home computers, the internet, and cell phones.
Long distance communication has gone from letter writing, to telephone calls, to text messages and emails. I have heard that the next generation finds emails too slow, and they are demanding instant options, but don't use their phones to talk anymore. While all the technology is impressive, I wonder if it creating a generation of socially inept and isolated people. ADD is diagnosed and medicated more and more often, as are autism, depression, and social anxiety disorders. There is no place for people to interact in real life (or IRL in chat speak), unless it is in 5 minute sound bites. Family dinners seem to have gone the way of the dodo, and people schedule every minute of every day, so that they don't have to over think any one thing.
When I was a kid, my friends were outside, and I would just go out and play with them. Now days, parents schedule 'play dates' for their children. Children now spend roughly 18 years in school before they graduate high school, between day care, pre-kindergarten, kindergarten and assorted after school programs. Kids have had their childhoods stolen by their parents and the school systems.
Recently, I got the opportunity to talk with my cousin's daughter (who CAN'T be older than 8, can she?!) She was talking about an article she had read, that stated that by the time today's kids are in a position to have sex, they have been subjected to so much pornography that they aren't excited by it. They have unrealistic and unhealthy opinions and ideas about what sex 'should' be, and don't know how to enjoy the act itself without 'toys' or videos.
One of my father's favorite sayings was "Isn't progress wonderful?" (said with disdain). Although I always understood what he meant by it, and agreed completely, I never saw the depth and scope of the 'progress' the way he did. Until now.
It saddens me to think about what we as a society have done to our children, and it horrifies me to think what they, in turn, will do to their children. I find myself thinking it wouldn't be such a bad thing at all if the internet crashed and took all the cell towers with it. There would be mass panic for about a day, and then people would learn how to talk to each other again. Maybe they will even learn how to write instead of type. Maybe they will start sending "snail mail" again
.
I can hope, right?
My daughter sent me a questionnaire for a paper she was writing for her college writing class. It was full of 'What did you do when you were a kid?', and 'How has life changed since then?' Things we talk about around the table with our coffee.
Life seems to have changed so completely since then that any resemblance between then and now is purely coincidental. Toys in the 1970's were dolls, trucks, play sets, rocks, sticks, and mud puddles. Toys in the new millennium are cell phones, computers, video games, and high tech things that I've never heard of, and don't know how to use. The old "When I was your age, Blackberries were fruit' adage. I never realized just how completely the world had changed since I was a kid. It makes me stop short to think about how much it had changed for my parents and grandparents.
My grandparents lived through two world wars, depression, the moon landing, assassinations, the advent of television and affordable automobiles. My parents lived through one world war, the 'Age of Aquarius', the creation of NASA, flower children, presidential resignation, Watergate, and the advent of women's lib.
Until I answered her survey questions, I never really thought about what I have lived through in terms of ancestors or family history. I have seen space shuttle launches become common place, the first civilian on a shuttle, and the explosion of that shuttle, the end of NASA, and the advent of home computers, the internet, and cell phones.
Long distance communication has gone from letter writing, to telephone calls, to text messages and emails. I have heard that the next generation finds emails too slow, and they are demanding instant options, but don't use their phones to talk anymore. While all the technology is impressive, I wonder if it creating a generation of socially inept and isolated people. ADD is diagnosed and medicated more and more often, as are autism, depression, and social anxiety disorders. There is no place for people to interact in real life (or IRL in chat speak), unless it is in 5 minute sound bites. Family dinners seem to have gone the way of the dodo, and people schedule every minute of every day, so that they don't have to over think any one thing.
When I was a kid, my friends were outside, and I would just go out and play with them. Now days, parents schedule 'play dates' for their children. Children now spend roughly 18 years in school before they graduate high school, between day care, pre-kindergarten, kindergarten and assorted after school programs. Kids have had their childhoods stolen by their parents and the school systems.
Recently, I got the opportunity to talk with my cousin's daughter (who CAN'T be older than 8, can she?!) She was talking about an article she had read, that stated that by the time today's kids are in a position to have sex, they have been subjected to so much pornography that they aren't excited by it. They have unrealistic and unhealthy opinions and ideas about what sex 'should' be, and don't know how to enjoy the act itself without 'toys' or videos.
One of my father's favorite sayings was "Isn't progress wonderful?" (said with disdain). Although I always understood what he meant by it, and agreed completely, I never saw the depth and scope of the 'progress' the way he did. Until now.
It saddens me to think about what we as a society have done to our children, and it horrifies me to think what they, in turn, will do to their children. I find myself thinking it wouldn't be such a bad thing at all if the internet crashed and took all the cell towers with it. There would be mass panic for about a day, and then people would learn how to talk to each other again. Maybe they will even learn how to write instead of type. Maybe they will start sending "snail mail" again
.
I can hope, right?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Stollen*, Anyone?
Ah yes- German fruitcake with nuts...A more fitting description of August Allenspacker is hard to find. James August Allenspacker was born in New York to (Johann) Nepomuk and Sophia Allenspacker on August 28, 1864. He found a (presumably) nice girl named Mary Mulvey, and married her in September 1887. Little is known of their life together, except that they lived in Dedham, MA and had a daughter named Eleanor Vincent.
At some point before July 1907, they separated, possibly divorced, and he went to Maine. While he was there, he met, wooed, and won Catherine Hurley, a Canadian born Irish girl who spoke mainly French. They were married July 13, 1907, and had Clayton John on October 1st of that year. They had 4 children between 1907 and 1918, all born in Maine- Clayton (1907), Theodore (1912), Pauline (1914), and Catherine (1918). By the time the 1920 US census rolled around, they were living in Dedham.
Here is where we depart certified fact and enter the land of family legend...
It has been passed down that shortly after arriving in Dedham, Catherine was at the local market doing her grocery shopping, when she overheard some local gossip. The only words she could understand were "August" and "other wife" (or possibly "second wife"). Understandably upset, she went home and confronted him about what she had heard. No one seems to know the content of that conversation, but the result may well have been scandalous- he had her committed to Medfield State Hospital, where she would spend the rest of her life.
Of the children, we know that Clayton and Teddy stayed with their father, as they were 'old enough' to be put to work. Catherine and Pauline were taken in by members of the local Lutheran church, who took pity on the girls. Teddy spent most, if not all, of his adult life in and out of the state facility in Wrentham, in treatment for alcoholism. As far as I have been able to discern, he never married. Clayton, Pauline, and Catherine all married and had families.
I like to think they all lived 'happily ever after', but if they did, I wouldn't have so many stories to share : )
*Stollen is a rich, sweet, yeast bread filled with dried fruit and nuts and often marzipan and dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Germany’s answer to “fruitcake”, Stollen has been made in Germany since 1329.
At some point before July 1907, they separated, possibly divorced, and he went to Maine. While he was there, he met, wooed, and won Catherine Hurley, a Canadian born Irish girl who spoke mainly French. They were married July 13, 1907, and had Clayton John on October 1st of that year. They had 4 children between 1907 and 1918, all born in Maine- Clayton (1907), Theodore (1912), Pauline (1914), and Catherine (1918). By the time the 1920 US census rolled around, they were living in Dedham.
Here is where we depart certified fact and enter the land of family legend...
It has been passed down that shortly after arriving in Dedham, Catherine was at the local market doing her grocery shopping, when she overheard some local gossip. The only words she could understand were "August" and "other wife" (or possibly "second wife"). Understandably upset, she went home and confronted him about what she had heard. No one seems to know the content of that conversation, but the result may well have been scandalous- he had her committed to Medfield State Hospital, where she would spend the rest of her life.
Of the children, we know that Clayton and Teddy stayed with their father, as they were 'old enough' to be put to work. Catherine and Pauline were taken in by members of the local Lutheran church, who took pity on the girls. Teddy spent most, if not all, of his adult life in and out of the state facility in Wrentham, in treatment for alcoholism. As far as I have been able to discern, he never married. Clayton, Pauline, and Catherine all married and had families.
I like to think they all lived 'happily ever after', but if they did, I wouldn't have so many stories to share : )
*Stollen is a rich, sweet, yeast bread filled with dried fruit and nuts and often marzipan and dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Germany’s answer to “fruitcake”, Stollen has been made in Germany since 1329.
Nuts, Anyone?
I have been tweaking the appearance of this blog, adding links, and neat little 'gadgets' (I love that word- it makes me giggle) to make it a little easier to understand what it is I'm trying to do. I don't know why, but the links I tried to post to my online family trees don't work, so I'll be working on how to get them on the main page. In the meantime, this brings you to the tree on tribal pages, and this brings you to the tree on ancestry.com. I hope you will take a few minutes and look them over (they don't have all the same info- the tribal pages is more complete, but some people like ancestry better). If you find anything or anyone I missed, please let me know. That goes for stories, too. We all have our favorite memories, and no two stories match, I'm sure. I'd love to hear your stories, and compare notes!
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Cream, No Sugar
This one is pretty much all about me . . .
There are so many stories, from so many people that I want to write before I forget them. The hard part is getting them exactly right- Was that guy a lieutenant or captain? What was that guy's name? Does it really matter?
I heard so many great little tales from Dad, that they have all sort of blended together. It's almost like I knew these people, but can't get the right name to go with the story. There was the guy who 'patched an airplane propeller', the other guy who was all set to gamble away his car and house on the turn of a card, the one with the locker full of money and a heart of gold... I want to bring them all back to life, if only momentarily, because they make the story worth hearing.
There were days at Gram's house when we would 'give the maid the day off, and make our own lunch'. The dish of horehound candy Grampy kept (yuck!). The muffins Aunt Lea made. The man named Friday.
There are days I can't remember anything, and days I can't forget (even if I want to). One of the joys of fibromyalgia, and one of the main reasons I started this blog. Some of these stories will die with me if I can't pass them on, and I can't pass them on if I can't remember them. If memory serves, though, they are all worth passing on, if only to remind us of how life used to be.
I don't plan on making too much of this blog about me, but I felt a little background wouldn't be a bad thing, in case anyone ever actually reads this and wonders why I'm doing it.
There are so many stories, from so many people that I want to write before I forget them. The hard part is getting them exactly right- Was that guy a lieutenant or captain? What was that guy's name? Does it really matter?
I heard so many great little tales from Dad, that they have all sort of blended together. It's almost like I knew these people, but can't get the right name to go with the story. There was the guy who 'patched an airplane propeller', the other guy who was all set to gamble away his car and house on the turn of a card, the one with the locker full of money and a heart of gold... I want to bring them all back to life, if only momentarily, because they make the story worth hearing.
There were days at Gram's house when we would 'give the maid the day off, and make our own lunch'. The dish of horehound candy Grampy kept (yuck!). The muffins Aunt Lea made. The man named Friday.
There are days I can't remember anything, and days I can't forget (even if I want to). One of the joys of fibromyalgia, and one of the main reasons I started this blog. Some of these stories will die with me if I can't pass them on, and I can't pass them on if I can't remember them. If memory serves, though, they are all worth passing on, if only to remind us of how life used to be.
I don't plan on making too much of this blog about me, but I felt a little background wouldn't be a bad thing, in case anyone ever actually reads this and wonders why I'm doing it.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Black with Sugar, and a Blueberry Muffin
Life with Dad (William H. 'Bill' Morrissey)
It occurs to me that the most recent conversations with an ancestor happened over the course of a year and a half, and many cups of coffee (black with sugar, and a blueberry muffin) over 2 years ago. I was laid off in July 2006, and very shortly thereafter, started going to visit Dad once or twice a week. We didn't know it then, but he was in the last 2 years of his life. He was sick and tired, and sick and tired of being sick and tired. He was going for blood transfusions every week or so, and this made for a perfect reason to visit. Treatments often took the better part of the day, leaving us with nothing to do but talk. We had some laughs, my dad and me.
That November, my husband and I (finally) managed to convince him to spend Thanksgiving with us. We had discussed him coming to live with us before, but agreed not to push the subject as long as Dad was comfortable living alone. That November, he agreed to come for a week to celebrate with us. The day after Thanksgiving, he had a transfusion appointment. After that, he was going to go home. We had finished for the day, and I was driving him home when he said "I don't want to go there. Do I have to?" The one thing my heart had been hoping to hear.
And so, for the next year and a half, I was once again living with Dad. The last time we lived under the same roof, I was a teenager- headstrong, stubborn, 'persecuted', typical. He was an 'old man'. Nearly 40 years older than me, to be precise (sort of), and he knew everything I was going through, and he knew he had to let me go through it.
This time around, we promised ourselves and each other, would be different. Adult/adult relationships with parents are very different from child/adult relationships. He always told me that he was 'not your pal, not your friend.' That changed when he came home in 2006. He was still my Dad, but now he could be something else, too. We could finally be friends. It was something I had looked forward to for so long, I wasn't sure I was prepared for all that meant. I think he was looking forward to it, too.
For about the first month, our newly redefined family was all about best behavior, and indoor voices. Then something strange and wonderful happened- a cup of coffee and a muffin for breakfast, and a pair of silly 'toe-socks'. It was an appointment day, so we were off on an hour+ car ride to sit in the hospital for a couple of hours (at least), and I had worn the toe socks my daughter had given me for Mother's Day.
Usually, our hospital visits were pleasant enough- calm, quiet voices, coffee and cookies while waiting for the transfusion, but I had decided to try to lighten the mood a little. Just as Dad got to the 'what's on TV portion of the program, I took off my shoes, propped my feet up on the edge of his bed, and waited for him to notice. I can still hear his laughter.
Over the course of that wonderful, scary, happy, year and a half, I got to know a man I am so happy to call my friend.
It occurs to me that the most recent conversations with an ancestor happened over the course of a year and a half, and many cups of coffee (black with sugar, and a blueberry muffin) over 2 years ago. I was laid off in July 2006, and very shortly thereafter, started going to visit Dad once or twice a week. We didn't know it then, but he was in the last 2 years of his life. He was sick and tired, and sick and tired of being sick and tired. He was going for blood transfusions every week or so, and this made for a perfect reason to visit. Treatments often took the better part of the day, leaving us with nothing to do but talk. We had some laughs, my dad and me.
That November, my husband and I (finally) managed to convince him to spend Thanksgiving with us. We had discussed him coming to live with us before, but agreed not to push the subject as long as Dad was comfortable living alone. That November, he agreed to come for a week to celebrate with us. The day after Thanksgiving, he had a transfusion appointment. After that, he was going to go home. We had finished for the day, and I was driving him home when he said "I don't want to go there. Do I have to?" The one thing my heart had been hoping to hear.
And so, for the next year and a half, I was once again living with Dad. The last time we lived under the same roof, I was a teenager- headstrong, stubborn, 'persecuted', typical. He was an 'old man'. Nearly 40 years older than me, to be precise (sort of), and he knew everything I was going through, and he knew he had to let me go through it.
This time around, we promised ourselves and each other, would be different. Adult/adult relationships with parents are very different from child/adult relationships. He always told me that he was 'not your pal, not your friend.' That changed when he came home in 2006. He was still my Dad, but now he could be something else, too. We could finally be friends. It was something I had looked forward to for so long, I wasn't sure I was prepared for all that meant. I think he was looking forward to it, too.
For about the first month, our newly redefined family was all about best behavior, and indoor voices. Then something strange and wonderful happened- a cup of coffee and a muffin for breakfast, and a pair of silly 'toe-socks'. It was an appointment day, so we were off on an hour+ car ride to sit in the hospital for a couple of hours (at least), and I had worn the toe socks my daughter had given me for Mother's Day.
Usually, our hospital visits were pleasant enough- calm, quiet voices, coffee and cookies while waiting for the transfusion, but I had decided to try to lighten the mood a little. Just as Dad got to the 'what's on TV portion of the program, I took off my shoes, propped my feet up on the edge of his bed, and waited for him to notice. I can still hear his laughter.
Over the course of that wonderful, scary, happy, year and a half, I got to know a man I am so happy to call my friend.
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