Faith God Hope Love Trust

Originally posted over at my old DeviantArt page. Reposted here since this is more of a blog thing...




For those of you who aren't aware, and even for those of you who are, my mother has had more than her share of problems as of late. She's been diagnosed with depression and cognitive disorders, as well as dementia and possible onset of Altzheimer's.

The last year of her life, and to a certain extent mine, has been extremely difficult. For three months, she was in a psychiatric hospital and only within the last week been transferred to a nursing home/rehabilitation centre. She's looking at long-term nursing care, where she can get 24/7 care and support.

She's not going to be able to come home again.

Just as background, my mother and I have always been very close. My father died when I was 11, so for the longest time, it'd be me and her. My brothers, all older, had for the most part moved out by the time I came along, settling into lives of their own. They and I both knew that I'd be the one to take care of her as she got older, and that was something I willingly accepted and enjoyed.

Over the last year, she'd become more anxious, more nervous, hearing and seeing things that weren't there, sleepless, restless...

I did everything I could for her, but it finally reached a point, three months ago, when I knew I did all I could. We made arrangement with a social worker she'd been seeing, and she admitted herself to the hospital.

Over the last couple months, I'd seen a strong woman fall apart. Someone once sure of herself disappear and this new person appear.

Every day, I'd get a phone call and there'd be some new development. Blood clots near her lungs. Falls, where she'd cut herself and they'd have to watch her because she's on blood thinners. I got to the point where I'd just wake up in the morning and wonder what would happen next, and be in fear of that inevitable phone call telling me just what that was...

Today, I got a call from the nursing home. A piece of food has entered her lungs. She's aspirated. She's forgeting how to chew her food and they're either going to have to alter her diet or, Heavens forbid as a last result, they might have to put a feeding tube in her.

When I got that phone call this morning, my brain just shut down. After making the obligatory phone calls to let my brothers know, and after talking with them for a few minutes, my brain shut down. I needed to just walk.

I always liked walking. It's very relaxing, just me, my feet, the pavement, the sounds of the world around me. When it's right, it's one of the few times I can stop thinking, stop worrying, stop wondering if I'm doing the right thing or if I've said the right thing or what's going to happen next and I can just BE. It's so rare for me to just BE. I savor those moments.

While out walking, I was crossing a bridge, and someone had scribbled these words on the railing.

Faith God Hope Love Trust

Stopping there, I leaned on that railing on those words. I'd seen them before, mind you. Such simple concepts. If you don't believe in God, you can substitute Allah, The Universe, The Flying Spaghetti Monster, whatever you wish. It's the concept of something greater than all of us, and for me, the word God works just fine. I'm not going to debate religion with anyone. My beliefs are my own, and I'm not interested in sharing them right now. Just accept these words and leave it at that.

Faith God Hope Love Trust

At some point, I know someone's gonna come along and clean those words, those powerful concepts, away. I took my crappy cell phone, used the even crappier camera and did my best to catch those words, because I believe that's something that must be shared.

So I share them with you.

Faith God Hope Love Trust

Don't bother with comments. They're disabled. Don't bother to note me about this. The thoughts and prayers are appreciated, but either you've gone through something like this before or you'll go through it yourself some day. If it's the former, you understand what I'm going through and that's good enough for me. If the latter, understand that when your time comes, know my thoughts and prayers are with you. Just reflect on this, and hopefully it will help you too.

Faith God Hope Love Trust

Settling in.

Well, The Kid is out of the hospital. She's in a rehabilitation/nursing home for some physical therapy. After three months of inactivity, she's gonna need a lot of help to get back some of her strength. I don't know how much of her mind she'll be able to get back, but right now, she's in a place where they can watch her and take care of her.

It's always interesting when she doesn't remember me. Tonight, when I asked her who I was, she said I was one of "her son's friends".

Oh, that's always fun.

Tomorrow night is Hallowe'en. Originally, I wasn't going to give any candy out, but I decided to go ahead, stop at the store, and pick up some stuff for the kiddies.

The social worker there asked The Kid what she'd like to do when she's ready to get out of there. She said she wants to go home. I'm sorry, and forgive me if this sounds cruel, but that's not an option anymore. She needs more attention that she can get here, and I've found that I actually enjoy having a life.

I've got plans for the future. I've things I want to do.

I love her and I always will, but it's time to move on.

Frustration

Been awhile since I've made any updates of worth, it seems.
Been awhile since I've had anything to say, mostly.

Maybe I can clear my thoughts here and play "catch-up".

I've been trying to find a nursing home for The Kid, but it's been difficult. I've tried six places so far, and they've all had a waiting list, except for the one that wanted two year's cash advance. Given that we're just looking for a place to accept her on her pension, her social security and medical assistance, there's no way I can afford that.

After talking to some folks who are more "in the know" about this kind of stuff, they tell me it's amazing that so many places have passed on her, since patients on medical assistance are highly sought after, it seems. The place I wanted her to go to has a waiting list of 10 people ahead of her.

I've a friend whose daughter works in the nursing home field, and she tells me there's an opening where she works. We put the referral in for that place today. I hope she gets in there, because the hospital is pressuring me to find a place as soon as possible. I figure that her insurance is running out, and the hospital is pushing me to find a place before it's totally out.

I still haven't told her that she's not going to be coming home. Every once in awhile, she makes the inferrence that she wants to come home, and I avoid it to the best of my abilities, but it's not easy. After years of perfecting her ability to guilt (four sons can do that to someone), she can still find the right button to push on occasion.

It hurts sometimes. That's why I had to unplug for a couple days, step away from my "online life" and unplug. Listen to some music. Catch up on my reading. Go to bed a little earlier. Be nice if I could sleep in, but that's not gonna happen until the weekend.

I need to focus a little more on taking care of the house. I found some bugs down in the basement that had come up from the drain in the bottom of the floor. No idea how long they've been there: The dead bodies were stuck to the underside of a rug covering the drain. I don't spend nearly enough time cleaning like I should, I know. It's not easy, as you, gentle reader, will attest. Working all day, running around during and after work, and then trying to come home and clean? By the time I get in the house, usually between 7 and 8, I just want to crash.

Spent tonight relaxing on the couch, more listening than watching Sarah McLachlan's Afterglow Live DVD. Great concert, highly recommended, and it's a bargain, if you can find the CD/DVD combo. One of my favourite discs, really.

Sarah's singing "Fallen" right now. Her voice is so relaxing, so comforting.

I had a cup of Chai tonight. Winter's come a little early, with the temperature at night hovering above the freezing point. Actually saw some snow flurries the other day. Sure, it was great to see the snow, but I am so not looking forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas this year.

My nephew had his Confirmation (Catholic) last week. It was the first "family" event that Mum wasn't present for. My brother and I both commented on that, and how...strange...it was. First of many, I'd guess.

Guess that's why I'm in a funk. I can feel a bit of depression starting to take hold, at the back of my mind. The little things I live for, look forward to, don't hold the charms like they used to, like they should. This will pass. I know it will. It's getting to that point that will take some doing.

Gee, I wrote more than I intended to write. Maybe I needed to get this off my chest, put these thoughts down in print, as it were.

If I have anything else to say, I'll say it some other time. Right now, I'm going to go back and listen to some more music, and try to relax. As a friend of mine would no doubt say, I'll just sit back and breathe.

And deal with tomorrow when it gets here.

Today...

...it's raining.

But my car window has been fixed.

Thank goodness.

...that's all...

Life or something like it

Bunch'a quickie updates, since I've nothing important to say:

• My car still has no rear passenger window. There's a plastic bag covering it. I'd hoped I could get it fixed before the start of the work week, but the body shop I went to for the estimate hasn't gotten back to me yet. They'll open Monday at 7:30 AM. I'll call 'em at 7:31.
• I spent today cleaning the house, since it'd been a good two-and-a-half weeks since the last really good cleaning. Oh, I've dusted here and sprayed there, and I took a weekend in Niagara Falls, but the house needed a good cleaning. A good six hours of housework today. It was worth it.
• Speaking of Niagara Falls, I'm glad I went up there last weekend. Two feet of snow! I-90 closed for 105 miles! I'd have been stuck in the middle of that had I gone this weekend. I read that they had to use snowmobilers to get food and water to stranded motorists. Of course, that would've been more akin to my luck.
• Last week...the trees were beautiful up there. So many gorgeous colors, streaming past at 80 miles per hour...
• Tomorrow, I'm taking down the front porch awnings. That's a sure sign of the coming Winter...

That's all. Nothing much else to add. If I think of something else, I'll write about it later.

Oh, but I can at least share a picture with you:

Never rains but it pours...

This is what I had to look forward to when I got to my car this afternoon.

Someone broke out the back window of my car.

I guess they wanted the car stereo...or maybe steal it and take it for a joy ride. I'll probably never know.

The car alarm went off, I guess, and it scared whomever off, but the damage had already been done.

Of course, they had to pick on a 10-year old Saturn, and not the Lexus next to me. That Lexus has been sitting there since the beginning of the term, over a month now, and no one's touched it. It could've been gone and no one would be the wiser for the next month or two. So instead of going after some spoiled college kid freeloading in the garage, they go after me, the guy's who's forking out damn near $100 a month to park.

I shouldn't be surprised by this. I shouldn't be surprised that this happened. I had a good weekend last week, when I was up in Niagara Falls. There has to be a balance to life, I believe, so since I had a good weekend, I'm paying for it now with this. Karma, I guess.

So tomorrow, instead of going to work, I'm going out to the body shop and get an estimate and wait for the insurance adjuster to call me to fill out the report. And naturally, tonight's gonna be one of the coldest nights of the year, with rain and a chance of snow.

I was ready to go buy a new bed. I bought myself a new little stereo. Because I went and spent that money, I now have an unexpected expense.

Karma.

It's amazing, that with everything else going on, I haven't broken down and cried...yet.
That might change.

Details.

It's rare for me to discuss my DeviantArt page here, but I just created a new "avatar", and wanted to show you the details you're likely to miss in a 50x50 icon.




I rather like it, so I just felt like sharing.

blather blather blather

I know it's been awhile since I've written anything of any importance. It's not that I haven't had things to say...it's more that I've not been able to find the way to say them.

Feelings, dreams...more like nightmares...and their ilk. How does one express them in words when the words just don't make sense to the writer?

This week will be a little weird for me. I'll apologize in advance if I seem more out of it than usual.

It's well known that I don't like my birthday. It's gonna be even more difficult this year.

Sigh.

I'll write more when I can find the words. Promise.

For now...I'll talk to ya later.

For lack of a better word...

Since I had nothing better to say, I figured I'd just post a picture.
Hope you folks don't mind.

Took this at work. I had a minute.
Just playin' with my camera...

Just talkin'...

Yeah, I know. It's been awhile since I've posted anything.

I've been better, but I'm hanging in there. How about you?

That's interesting. I didn't know they could do that with a grapefruit and an monkey.

Me? Oh, I just stopped in my office to check my mail. Yeah, I've no DSL at home. Since I've been switching everything over to my name, there've been a couple...bumps...in the road.

Have I mentioned how much I hate that phone company that starts with a "V"?

I don't wanna put that in print. Slander, liable, and the whatnot. Although I don't think it matters, really. They've probably heard all the bad things I've said about them to the tech guys with my ISP, so they've got it recorded there. Funny thing is, most of the tech guys agree with me, so it's nice to know I'm not alone.

How's Mum, you ask? It's different every time I go see her. Some days I'll find a quiet, crying, somber woman who spends most of the time sleeping. Then there's nights when I'll find some manic person in my mother's skin who keeps screaming for WATER!

It makes life that much more interesting, lemme tell you.

I know we talked about this before, but it's just a shame that people can't grow old gracefully, with a certain dignity. Sure, some of them can, and have, but then there's the others...society's left them behind because they can't keep up with whatever the catchphrase of the day is. We shun our elderly. We put them away and forget about them. We're so obsessed with youth and staying young that we don't remember...this will catch up with us too, someday.

Yes, I know, I'm looking for a home for her and I understand the irony of my previous statement. There's a difference. I was there for her until I realized I needed help. I'd still be there with her, she'd still be home, y'know, if I thought I could do it. But, and I hate myself sometimes for admitting this, because it seems like a form of...weakness...I guess...but I couldn't do it anymore. I tried. God knows I tried.

You don't have to tell me I needn't feel that way. Most of the time, I don't. It's just that little voice pops into the back of my head...you know the one...that little bit of insecurity we all have...he tells me that I should have done more, I should have been stronger, I gave up too easily.

I mentally slap him upside the head, call Mum, have her scream WATER in my ear five or six times and that shuts him up. I KNOW I did all I could. It's wasn't a sign of weakness. It was a sign of strength and maturity and I did the right thing.

When this is all over, when she's somewhere settled in where professionals can watch her 24/7, then I'm taking a vacation. I don't think the universe will begrudge me that, do you?

Yeah, right. It will. I'll pay for it later...but I'll take the vacation anyway.

Hey, it was great talking to you again. Wanna go to lunch sometime? Cool! You know how to reach me...drop me a line. I'm gonna swing by Starbucks right now, get something to drink, and then head home. Back to work tomorrow, and all that.

Good seeing you again. Don't be such a stranger. Stay in touch.

And take care of yourself.
I mean that.

C-ya.

The Ledger

Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind...

I can remember, growing up, watching my mother whenever she went to pay the bills. She had this black ledger she always kept track of everything...and I mean everything...in. Bills. Important dates. Events. You name it, it was in that ledger.

Seems as long as she was running the house (and we're talking a long time here, folks) she'd been keeping track of the bills in those ledgers. There'd been many over the years...seems she could keep roughly a decade's worth of history in each one.

Over the past couple weeks, I've had to go through some of her old papers, old bills, looking for records. It's amazing, the things she's kept over the years. I've found bills from 1960...46 years old...stored in her room.

And some of those ledgers that I've looked through...some of the things she's recorded over the years...amazing. She's got an entry from 1962 for $2 from lunch she had at Eat 'N Park one day. To you and I, these things, might seem trivial. To her, it was noteworthy, not only because it was a lunch out, but because it was money spent from the coffers that needed to be recorded.

A few months ago, because of failing eyesight, she had me start recording the bills in the ledger. She'd still write notes for special events that might've happened...a baseball game we went to, Mother's Day gifts, things like that.

Rather ironic...and rather fittingly...I've started entering the bills in the last page of this ledger.

She started this current book in Septemer, 1996. I took a look through it tonight, remembering things I'd forgotten and some I only wish I could forget. A vacation here. A concert there. Two Towers that fell. Births, deaths and everything in between.

She'd recorded them all.

Now it's my turn.

It's my turn to keep track of things.
It's my turn to note the bills.
It's my turn to record history.

Yesterday, when I went shopping, I picked up the next ledger, the next book to record the monthly bills and important events. The next in a chain that stretches across five decades at the very least. For as much of a geek that I may be, for as much as I love my electronics and computers and all the gadgets I can get my hands on, the bills will be kept in those ledgers.

It's just the right thing to do.

Labor Day Weekend

I'm taking a four-day weekend.

Mind you, that doesn't mean I'm relaxing, per se.

Friday was trips to a nursing home, a funeral home, a human resources department and a credit union.
Saturday was spent cleaning the house and helping a buddy try to get a laptop working on his wireless network (which has locked him out, for some reason).
Sunday (today) will be spent grocery shopping, paying bills, making some sense of paperwork spread across the dining room table and maybe catching a quick nap while the baseball game is on television.
And every day, of course, has included visits to see The Kid.

So what about tomorrow? What should I do on my Day Off? What should Labor Day hold for me?

I've thought about taking in a movie. Clerks 2 looks interesting, but I might just wait for that to come on DVD.
The Pirates are out of town, so a ballgame is out of the question. (Security frowns on people going into the ballpark when there's no game playing.)
I went to Kennywood (big amusement park in the area) last week to blow off some steam, so that's done.
I'd thought about taking a long drive, but the state police will likely be out in force and the last thing I want is to get a present from them.

Odds are, I'll stay up late tonight, sleep in tomorrow and blow the day off surfin' the web. Or I might go to the mall where they'll be holding the local portion of the Jerry Lewis telethon and watch for a bit.

I've slept in the last three days. The weather has been so nice and comfortable...perfect sleeping weather. I didn't get up yesterday until 9:30.

Tuesday morning is gonna be SOOO hard when 6 in the morning rolls around.

Okay, I'm done rambling.

If I haven't said it recently...

Thank you.

Thank you for being there to listen to me.
Thank you for giving me a chance to vent.
Thank you for the understanding and the caring.

With everything that has been going on in my life.
With everything that's happened, all the changes.
With everything else that I'm trying to come to terms with.

There are those I thought I could count on.
I cannot. That hurts me more than anything else I've been through.

I hope they can find some peace in these troubles times.
I hope they find the strength to come to terms with the truth.
I hope they understand.

And yet, through it all, there were friends who have stood by my side.
Strangers and people whom I have never met who have offered me more support than I ever expected.
More support...more caring...more love than I can get from my own flesh and blood.

This isn't easy.
It will get worse.
Challenges await me that I haven't even begun to see or understand.

And all I can do is take things day by day.
And all I can do is hope I can find the strength I'll need.

Until then, I'll say it again.

Thank you.

A domesticated male

More tales of the new bachelor...

Yes. I will admit. Over the years, I've abused the housekeeping abilites of My Kid. She was more than willing to clean the house, and I was more than willing to let her. Mind you, I did learn how to just about everything pertaining to housework...cleaning, laundry, washing windows, running the vacuum, all that stuff...and I even did them myself for several years before The Kid earned Forced Retirement.

However, there was one thing that I never did, one ability that eluded me: Scrubbing the Kitchen and Bathroom floor.

When I was but a wee child, I watched Mum do it: She'd get on her hands and knees and scrubbed the floor...really scrubbed...but as the years went on and age crept in, she resorted to mopping it down.

So, today, while cleaning the house, I realized that it was now my turn.

Armed with a bucket, a mop and a bottle of Mr. Clean, I stood there, looking at the kitchen floor...

...and I can feel the cringe of every woman, wife and mother who reads this...

...I wondered, what the Hell do I do now.

Being an enlightened male, I do know how to RTFM: Read The F***ing Manual. So I read the directions on the back of the bottle, or at the very least, the first line: Add 1/4 cup of blue stuff to a half-gallon, or bucket, or water.

Simple enough. I did it.

I then grabbed the mop...the manual mop...and dunked it in the stuff a couple times.

Yes, it's a manual mop, and yes, I did squeeze the excessive water out with my bare hands.

I then mopped down the floor. I'd seen pirate movies where they swab the deck, so I knew pretty much what to do: Mop, dunk, squeeze, repeat until done.

So I did it. Looked pretty good, but the floor was really wet.

This is the part that confused me.

What do I do? Let it air dry? Get on my *gasp* hands and knees and dry it? Run away in panic? Find a woman who knows what the heck she's doing and get her?

Before you ask, I'll tell ya. I got one of my old scrub towels out of the basement and dried the floor off. That was probably the wrong option, but it was a multiple choice problem, and I don't always do well on those.

Still...after drying it off and brooming some of the left-over crumbs and stuff out the door, it don't look all that bad.

At least to A Dumb Guy. Odds are, I'd get a woman in here and get dirty looks because I missed a spot or didn't properly rinse or leave a chocolate on the pillow and tip the maid.

But whaddya expect? I'm new at this. I'm learning...

What is this "me time" I seem to have found?

One of the most amazing things I've found, in the midst of everything that's been going on in my life, is that all of a sudden, I have this time to myself that I haven't had before.

I've spent my life up until now being the caretaker. After work, I've come home, picked up The Kid, took her out to dinner, and if there was any shopping to be done, I'd do that (leaving her either in the car if the weather was decent, or at some bench right inside the store, since she couldn't walk around that well), and then come home. The rest of the evening was spent either pecking away at the computer or flopped on the couch watching the TV.

Nowadays, after work, I go down and visit The Kid, and spend an hour or two with her until her dinner arrives. I make sure she's got something halfway edible to eat (volumes could be written about hospital food and the paper they're printed on would taste better), and then...amazingly enough...the rest of the evening is mine to do what I please.

This is a new experience for me.

In the past couple weeks, I've gone out to dinner most of the time, for sure, but I've also skipped dinner one night. Completely skipped it! I've gone to a baseball game (and will hopefully go to another one soon), I stopped at the grocery store and picked up the ingredients for a nice, simple meal. I've picked up a Battleship and had enough for dinner that night AND lunch the next day.

One night, a week or so ago, my feet were killing me. I knew I needed to soak 'em, but I was out of Epsom Salts. In the past, The Kid would throw a hissy fit if I needed to run out to the store at night, but there was no one here to make such a fuss. I hopped in the car, drove over to K-Mart, bought some Epsom Salts and a new tub to soak my feet in. In the past week or so, I've soaked 'em just about every night: Walking 2 to 4 miles each day can wear on the feet, after all.

I know, gentle reader, that you're reading this and you're saying to yourself, "so what?". To you, these things are nothing...it's part of everyday life. To me, however, it's the little things that I've never had the chance to do because of my role as caretaker to someone who's become so frightened of the world outside her door that she locked herself away...and took me with her, after a fashion.

Don't harbor any ill will to her, please. I don't. I stood by her and did these things by my own will, by my own choice. Nowadays, she's somewhere where maybe...just maybe...they can help her with problems that I can no longer help her with, even though I know she longs to come back here to her home and prison. It's just that the safety she found here once no longer exists. What I do, I do for her own good.

As for me? Unlike my Kid, I won't lock myself into this prison once the work day is done. I'll get home...eventutally.

Promises, Promises

I was raised to believe that if you give your word, you don't go back on it.
My word is my bond. My honor depends on it. I rarely give my word on something, but when I do, it's a guarantee that I will keep it. I will not go back on it, and for my life, I have always kept my word whenever I've given it.

That is, until today.

I gave someone my word years ago about something.
Now, I must go back on my word.

This won't be easy.

Please forgive the crypic nature of this blog. Right now, I don't want to go any further. Some of you might know what I'm talking about, most of you probably won't.

Doesn't matter. As I said, forgive the cryptic nature. When I can, I will explain myself.

Ahhh.....

The kid's still in the hospital. She'll probably be there through the weekend, at the least.
Trying to get the infection cleared is the first priority.

Me? Let's see...

I'm sitting on the couch soaking my feet in hot water and Epsom Salts. I'm sipping from a glass of cranberry and black cherry juice, as close as these lips get to wine. Queen's Live at Wembley is playing on the TV. Freddy Mercury was the best, pure and simple.

Updating this blog on the laptop and then I'm gonna close 'er down.

See? I do know how to relax, my dears. No worries about me. I can take care of myself.

And now, a musical interlude.

We interrupt your usual blog with a plug:

WJAS

The above link is to one of the few terrestial radio stations I'll actually listen to. Given my love of music, you'd like that I'd have dozens of stations to choose from, sampling the sounds from various genres and formats.

However, most traditional radio stations, now that they're all owned by the same "Clear" company for the most part, play the same old songs.

I remember visiting New Orleans a few years back, excited that I was visiting one of the true homes of Jazz in the US, only to find pretty much the same crap I hear back home. It wasn't until I found a cool college station, WWOZ, that I actually heard traditional, and damn good, Jazz.

But back to the topic at hand. 1320 WJAS.

It's the station I have on first thing in the morning when I get up. It's one of the few I listen to in the car (although most of the time I've got my own CDs spinning). And now, they're back on the Internet, after legal battles kept them offline for years.

If you like traditional artists like Sinatra, Dean Martin, Perry Como, you'll like this station.
If you like some of the newer artists like Michael Buble and Jane Monheit, you'll like this station.
If you like professional announcers that don't believe they have to insult the audience to entertain, you'll like this station.

Give it a listen sometime, if you're interested. It is based in Pittsburgh, so you'll get local news, sports, traffic and weather, but you'll also get some good music.

Who knows? We might be listening to it at the same time...

A time for...me

Tonight was just for me.

This morning, I did sleep in. Was rather nice, being able to look at the clock at 6:30 and mentalling it to fsck off. By the time 9-ish came around, I decided I wanted to get up.

Just me. No one else. Didn't have to worry about anyone else being up or needing something or whatever.

Got up, did the usual bathroom stuff, the shower thing and all that, and then cleaned the bathroom after I finished. Yes, I was butt naked when I cleaned the bathroom, but no, there are no photos of that. Last thing I want to do is break the camera lens.

Went downstairs, fed the neighborhood birds and squirrels, walked over to get a newspaper, came back home, had a bowl of cereal, and started the laundry. No pressures, no deadlines, no worries.

Got out the heavy laptop and surfed for awhile. Seems I'm causing trouble over at DA again...there are a bunch of comments over there waiting for me. I answered some of them, and some of them...I'll deal with later. Nothing against them, I just decided to walk away from it for a bit.

Cleaned the house (yes, by this point, I was dressed, perverts) top to bottom. Dusted. Polished. Ran the sweeper and did my best to clean some stains off of the rug. Most of them are gone, from the looks of it, but it's dark as I type this and I'm not looking that closely.

Sure, I went down to visit the kid. She's still kinda confused, kinda drowsy, and unhappy to be there. She didn't even bother to get dressed today. I stayed for a couple hours, and my oldest brother and his wife were there for awhile. It was a good visit...she begged me not to leave, but sometimes ya gotta teach tough love, so she's gotta get used to some things.

Then...it was time for me.

I went to a baseball game. Just me. By myself. It's been awhile since I've been able to do this, and it felt nice. No pressures, no worries, just me. Got a seat on the first base line, five rows back. Great seat. Gorgeous view. Perfect night. Not too hot, not cold in the least. Pleasant.

The Pirates won. 3-2. Can't ask for more than that.

Left there, took a leisurly drive home. Stopped at Starbucks on the way. Got a vanilla creme. Sitting here at home and sipping it now.

Today was for me. I haven't had one of these in a long time. It felt...nice.

Sleep is a beautiful thing

If you haven't heard by now, My Kid...my mother...has been admitted to a hospital and will probably there for awhile.

For the most part, I've understood that this was the only logical option. I've really only had one moment of indecision, one moment of wondering if I was doing the right thing, one moment of regret.

It didn't last too long. It only too a phone call to her when she was rather nasty (something she didn't mean and really couldn't help) to remind me I was doing the right thing.

After talking with some members of the family, they tell me that there's a history of dementia in the family. Mind you, most members of her family died well before their 80's, so we have no real way of verifying what exactly is wrong.

All I know is that she's somewhere where they can help her, 'cause I sure as heck did all I could.

Oh, and for those of you who've asked about my friend...we have no real update. There's a chance the cancer might've spread to the bone, but without a baseline MRI, it's impossible to tell. She's putting on a brave front, tho. It's all just a matter of waiting and seeing what will happen.

Now excuse me 'cause I'm gonna go take a nap.

Ten Years After

Boy, this is weird.

It's been a very long time since I've put fingers to keys.  I don't blog any more, hardly ever write.  I've moved from putting words to paper (or screen, as it were) and focus more on photography for self-expression, for a creative outlet.

Yet, here I am.  Ten Years After. 

The date on this entry says 2006, but it's not.  In August of 2006, my life was a wreck.  I was, at this point, existing on around 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night.  I was living back in my old home in Swissvale, taking care of my mother, who was waking me up in the middle of the night, claiming she had to go outside or generally acting up.

See, in the course of the last nine months, at the time, she'd begun to change.  Her baby sister died the previous year, and she wasn't taking it well.  Her personality was...off.  I'd attributed it to one of the many UTI's she'd had, but her doctor gave her a (relative) clean bill of health.  After every test came back clean, he said her problems might not be physical, but rather, mental.

I'd made an appointment with a geriatric psychologist she'd been to, ironically, a decade before, and they prescribed anti-depressants for her.  She'd started to take them, but they told me it would take two weeks for me to see any effect.  We never made it that far.

I don't think I've put the following down in words.  I've told people, but never wrote about it.

Middle of the night on August 7th, My Kid (as I've always referred to her) came into my room and was acting worse than ever.  She was hyper, rambling.  I tried to calm her down, but she was borderline hysterical.  She insisted on going to the hospital, and told me she'd hit me if I didn't take her.  I said she wouldn't, but she insisted. 

The slap across my face...it wasn't a hard one.  But it was enough of a wake up call.

I'd called for an ambulance.  They took her to the hospital in Braddock where they gave her something to sleep.  They'd told me their psych ward was full or else they'd admit her, instead, telling me to take her home and call her doctor in the morning.

Got her home, got showered and went to work. Called her doc, and she said they'd get her into Western Psych, but they didn't know when.  They'd call me when there was a bed available.  It would be another 24 hours before they could take her.

Another night of three hours of sleep.

Tuesday, August 8th, 2006.  I was at work, around 10:30 in the morning, when I got the call that a bed had opened up in Western Psych, but I had to get her there before Noon.  Now, anyone familiar with Pittsburgh will be impressed when they hear I was able to drive from CMU to Swissvale, get her, and get back to Oakland in under an hour.  Speed laws were broken that day.

She left her home of 40 years that day, and she never came back.

It took some convincing for her to admit herself, rather than have a judge admit her.  I had to be the one who finally convinced her to do it.

She wouldn't leave that place for more than three months.

In the beginning, I was convinced she'd be able to come home again.  I'd bring her home after they were able to help her, and we'd go back to the same old routine.  But there was no coming back from this one.

She'd been diagnosed with depression and cognitive disorders, dementia and onset of Altzheimer's.  There was no coming back from this one.

---

You may ask, why am I writing all this now.  Why am I up at 2:30 in the morning, unable to sleep, like I couldn't 10 years ago? 

I remember anniversaries of important dates.  First time I talked to Julie, first trip out to DeKalb to meet her.  Our wedding day.  I remember them all, just as I remember August 8th.

But decades have always been big for me.  I've seen over the course of my life how things have...changed...as each new decade starts.  I've changed, as it were, with each decade of my life.

I think we all change a little every 10 years, or else we experience something new every decade.  We reinvent ourselves, making changes. Some big, some small.

So it's been a decade since my mother left home one last time, went into Western Psych, and ultimately the nursing home where she spent the last two and a half years of her life.

It's been a decade since I accepted she wouldn't come home, that the house was mine, lost my job, met my true love, moved 500 miles from the only home I'd ever known and became a step-father, and a step-grandfather.

Ten years after.

Nowadays, when I wake up in the middle of the night, it's because I'm too hot.  It's not because My Kid came in the room in the middle of the night swearing she had to go next door to the flower shop (that's not there anymore).

I'll get up and go stretch out on the couch until I cool off enough to go back to bed, where the most amazing woman is waiting for me.  I'll climb back in, and she'll reach over and take my hand, and I can sleep for a couple more hours before I have to get up and face the day.

Yeah, it's been 10 years today, and I may seem a little...introspective, but I'm better today that I was back then.  10 years ago, tonight, I came home and I didn't have to worry about someone waking me up because the demons in her head were telling her things.  Maybe tonight, I'll sleep though the night, to celebrate that anniversary.

It's a decade thing, you understand.

Insert "sleep" song title here

Three and a half hours sleep.

That's what I'm working on tonight.

Three and a half hours sleep.

It's amazing what you can accomplish with that little sleep.

Three and a half hours sleep.



And I wonder how much sleep I'll get tonight...

What then?

The human mind is an amazing thing.

Art...music...poetry...so many wonderful things have spawned from human thought, from a three pound lump of muscle.

But what happens when the mind starts to fail? What happens when something you've relied on your whole life, to make decisions, to guide, to provide rational ideas, does the opposite? What happens when the mind cannot stop thinking, and the thoughts you have make no sense...even to you?

What then?

I am bearing witness to the failing of the human mind, even as I type this.

Frustration. When the thoughts running through your mind make no sense...what happens then? Sure, there are medications that might help, but they take weeks to take effect...and there's no guarantee that it will work.

What then?

Sitting. Words you speak that make little or no sense, even to you. You spend hours and days trying to remember something but you don't know what that is but you know that you should be doing something even if you can't do it and it's not your fault but you still can't stop and...and...and...

What then?

I have no answers to that.
I can't offer any advice.

All I can do is sit and watch...and wait.

Life is seldom fair

I've a good friend. Everyone else in her family drinks, smokes or both, but not her. She's done a good job of taking care of herself over the years.

She's married to a great guy. They have two wonderful kids. They lead a simple life, but they are happy, and I must say, it shows.

A few months ago, she noticed something was wrong. A lump. Small little thing, but it was enough to concern her.

On Thursday, she was admitted to the hospital. She has stage four breast cancer, which has spread to her liver. The pain was too much for her to bear any longer. They've admitted her for observation.

I just finished talking to her husband on the phone. He said that everyone in her family has said "why her". I find myself asking that self-same question. Why her?

Of course, when he called to tell me about what happened, his first question was about how My Kid was doing. He knows she's got problems, and showed just how great a guy he was by checking in on The Kid before telling me about his own problem.

I've been praying for them both. I hope she pulls through.

If Sunday is a day of rest...

...why did I spend it busting my butt?

Let's see...

* Up early this morning to take The Kid to church, come home, get a shower and then back over there to pick her up.
* Out for breakfast, full tank of gas, and then grocery shopping.
* Back home, put away the groceries, read the Sunday paper.
* Go out back and wash and wax the car.

While I'm watching the car (and The Kid's sitting on the back porch watching), we get a visitor in the form of a cat that's been roaming around the neighborhood for the last few weeks.

This cat is extremely friendly. My neighbor believes that it belonged to someone who moved away and didn't bother to take the cat. The cat just wandered around, between me and The Kid, getting love and attention (and a wee bit of milk).

When I finished with the car and came in for lunch, the cat stuck around, sleeping in the sun on the chair on the back porch. My Kid went to put the paper in the recycle bin on the porch, and didn't see the cat sneak past her into the house.

I'm sitting in the living room, in a chair, half watching the baseball game and half falling asleep, when the cat comes walking in as if it owned the place. As soon as it sees me, it jumps right into my lap!

I call The Kid...she's out on the porch chatting with the neighbor...and she comes in and says "what". I say "look at this. Takes her eyes a moment to focus, but she sees the cat on my lap.

:/

I get the cat back outside. It wasn't too happy about that, and it's been hanging out on the porch and "mrrows" every once in awhile.

Now the Pirates, who were winning 3-2, are going into the top of the ninth, losing 4-3. After the game's over, it's out to dinner, sneaking past one unhappy cat in the process no doubt.

So...I wonder what I'll have for dinner...

Why?

Why can't people grow old gracefully?
Why must the elderly suffer so?
Why can't the golden years be truly golden?

The parent becomes the child, and the child becomes parent.
In that sense, I understand what other parents go through when they see their child suffer.
It's a feeling that hurts you to your core, to your soul.

And we know that it'll never get any better.

Bloody hot as Hell...

At one point earlier today, Weather Underground said the temperature for my area was 97.3 degrees with 100 percent humidity. The dewpoint was in the 90s and the heat index was 187 degrees.

While I think the last couple stats might be incorrect, it was hot as Hell today.

I hate the heat.

And they say only rock stars get the groupies...

Moochers!

Neighbors are wonderful things. They help out when you need them, watch the place, and generally make a neighborhood a better place.

Until they start to become pests. Constantly stopping over when you're in the middle of something else, waking you up too early when you're trying to sleep in, and always wanting more.

Mind you, I'm not talking about my human neighbors. I'm referring to the other animals: Birds, Squirrels and the whatnot.

What did you think I was talking about?

We have a couple bluejays in the area, and they have the most beautiful song...when they want to sing it. However, they also have this...squawk...that sounds like it's coming from something five times its size. Lately, it's figured out that it can squawk and we'll toss peanuts out to it. I'm not sure who's been trained to that Pavlovian response: Me or the bluejay.

This morning, my one morning to sleep in, I heard it out there squawking...at 5:30 in the morning. I rolled over, mumbled something about the lines of "forget about it you crazy bird" and went back to sleep.

And then there are the squirrels...or as my friend Gabbie would call them...the Twits.

They come around my back porch like little beggars looking for peanuts. Mind you, they're somewhat used to me now. I can open the back screen door a crack and offer them a peanut, and if I get low enough, they will take it from me. (I do keep my fingers well away from their teeth...I ain't that dumb.)

This morning, I was out of peanuts. I didn't pick them up at the store the other day, and this one was hanging around waiting for peanuts. The Kid made popcorn (with light butter and salt) for the birds earlier, and saved a couple pieces for The Twit. He wouldn't eat it. Tossed 'im out a cracker: He wouldn't touch it. I kept telling him I didn't have anything (yes, I talked to the squirrel...and no, I'm not sure who's the bigger twit) but he didn't move.

Finally, I hit upon inspiration. I took another cracker and put a little peanut butter on it. Opened the door, he came over, sniffed it, and went to town!

So, I go back and sit down to finish my breakfast (interruptions...sigh...), when I hear a "skritching" on the back screen door. It was the squirrel...climbing on the new screen, looking inside the house! I grabbed the camcorder (thankfully, the battery hadn't totally run down) and took a short video of him on the screen. It's a new mesh: His claws won't scratch or rip it. I got the heavy-duty screen material. I know the neighbors. ;)

For his performance, he earned a peanut-butter cracker. He took it from my hands, ate on the porch, and then scampered right off.

Maybe I was wrong about neighbors who overstay their welcome... :)

One of these days...

...I am so gonna get my butt kicked.

As I was leaving the parking garage tonight, after a long day of work, I realized that the idiot behind me decided to cruise through the barrier while on my tail. That way, he didn't have to pay for parking.

I sat in my car at the light and yelled at him, cursed him out like you wouldn't believe.

I pay $80 a month to park in that garage, and this jackass is sneaking out for free! And this isn't the first time he's done it. I've seen him do it at least three times before.

Next time, I swear, if he does it to me again, I'll put the car in park, call the campus police and have them ticket his ass. I don't care if they site me for obstruction. He tries anything, I've his license place. Anything happens to my car, I'll find him and blame him for everything.

Man, that pisses me off.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

One thing about me...I'll never be a good capitalist. I've tried...Lord knows I've tried.

I've helped folks out with major, complex computer problems, and all I've ever asked for, in return, was maybe a bottle of water, if that. I'm just not good at putting a price on my work.

For years, folks have been suggesting I sell some of my pictures. The concept seems foreign to me. How can I put a price on them? They're just pictures. Granted, some of them seem better than others I've taken, but I can't put a price on them.

I've talked at length with a friend of mine who runs a successful flower shop. She's offered to sell some of my pics through her shop and help me with setting prices and the like. She's said there's a market for some of my prints, especially there, where it's harder to buy gifts for husbands, fathers, and boyfriends.

Case in point...



I'm especially proud of this picture, taken last night at the baseball park. It's rare for me to get a GOOD night picture, and this is one of the best (in my not-so-humble opinion) that I've taken. I've added the watermark and the text, and I've printed an 8x10 here at home that I'm going to try and sell...but there's this nagging little voice in the back of my head telling me not to.

It's not saying that the shot is not good enough...my ego is stronger than that...it's telling me Who the Hell do you think you are to try and sell a picture? You're no Ansel Adams...you don't even call yourself a photographer. You're just some schmuck who took a good picture. Get over yourself!

Tell me, then, you who view this journal, and be honest. Is the picture good? Should I see if I can sell it? Would it be worth it for me to try and market my pictures? And, most importantly, do I have the right to do so?

'Cause I sure don't know...

I saw her standing there

About a year ago, I lost my best friend.

I met her back in college, lo those many moons ago. She was one of those people who, when you met her, you liked her instantly. She had that aura around her, an open, friendly, pleasant personality that just drew you in and made you feel comfortable.

I'd be lying if I didn't say I had a crush on her from day one. Had fate not intervened, and she was dating one of my friends at the time, I would've asked her out then and there, but that's not something I do. It's not honorable...it's not proper.

Still, we remained friends for years. After college, we both found work at that University, albiet in different departments. I'd visit when I could, we'd hang out on occasion, share laughs, e-mails, and the what-not. She was still dating my friend, so there was no thought of relationship, just of friendship. But there was something about her that drew me closer to her, that made me want to spend the time with her.

That made me fall in love with her.

Still, she was with someone. I was honor-bound not to act on my feelings, but I still told her. I should have listened when she told me she didn't feel the same, but fools in love who listen to their hearts never hear such things.

Years passed. We remained friends, even though we both left that University for other jobs. After an 11-year relationship with my friend (who I hadn't seen in a long, long time by this point) fell apart, we spent a little more time together, hanging out, going places, being together. I did my damndest to ignore that little voice inside me. It was persistent, but I ignored it. She was just getting over someone. I had to wait. Be patient. Stay there for her as a friend and hope it would work out.

Looking back, I should have seen the signs. I should have realized she still didn't feel the same, but...well...you know.

One year, I wanted to spend my birthday with her, but she kept blowing me off and blowing me off, until the point that I didn't even bother talking to her for a couple months. I went to another friends wedding and met someone there who I really hit it off with. Sure, she lived on the other side of the country, but we stayed in touch, and I was loyal to her.

A few months after that, she called me and wanted to get together. I told her up front I was seeing someone else. I can't help but wonder if that's when she decided to start seeing other guys...guess I'll never know. Doesn't matter. That was the end. Although the woman I met at the wedding and I didn't stay a couple, but still remain friends to this day, the damage was done.

Flash forward a year or so. My best friend and I became closer, and I got my hopes up. Could it be the time? Could it be she's starting to feel the same as I do? I poured my heart out to her, telling her things I'd held inside for years. She didn't say a word, instead just listening to what I had to say. I told her to think about what I said...even though foolishly I apologized a short time later, thinking that her lack of response meant I went too far in saying what I said.

See, it always seemed like I was the one pouring my heart out to her and she never responded. Maybe she didn't feel comfortable with it. Maybe she didn't know what to say. Maybe she didn't feel the same and didn't want to hurt my feelings. Damned if I knew.

Trust me on this one: It's better for someone to come out and tell you bad news than to never say a word to you. Knowing, even if it hurts, is better than not knowing.

There's an Elton John song, "Funeral for a friend/Love lies bleeding" that's been going through the back of my head for the last month or two. There's a line in it...

"No, it doesn't seem a year ago to this very day,
She said I'm sorry honey, if I don't change the pace, I can't face another day."

It's been about a year since I've spoken to my best friend. She called me on Sunday evening, to catch up. It'd been about six months since we'd spoken, and although I knew she was with someone else again, my heart always skipped a beat when I talked to her.

Here's a piece of advice for anyone willing to listen: Never tell someone who's admitted they were in love with you that you've told someone else you love them. It's worse, especially since I told her "I love you", and never once did she say it back to me.

It was then I ended an 18-year friendship.

---(*)---

I saw her on the street corner on my drive to work this morning. She'd just come from Starbucks, sipping the coffee she needed to start her day. She never was much of a morning person.

I was a good 10 feet from her and she didn't see me. Typical. She never was observant of her surroundings.

She's lost weight. She looked good, even though she looks like she hadn't gotten that much sleep the night before, but then, she did have trouble sleeping.

The light turned green. I drove right past her...if she was paying attention, she would've seen my car. The license plate's a giveaway: She would've known it was me right away. But she just kept looking the other direction. Didn't really surprise me.

I got a block away, and the skies suddenly opened up and the rains poured down to the ground. It's like the skies knew of all the tears I'd shed for her over the years, and wanted to return the favor, crying for me since I no longer cry over her.

Might take me a little longer than most guys, but eventutally, I do get the message. I finally accepted that she never loved me, and despite the way we parted, I wish her nothing but happiness.

It's just the right thing to do.

Roses (not from the south)

A pretty picture to brighten up your day.



That's all for now...

No title can really fit here, so...

* The kid had some tests done today, and we probably won't get the results of them until later this week. She's nervous...more like scared...about them, and is really depressed about it. I've done just about everything I can to cheer her up, but it ain't working.

* I found some white chocolate M&Ms, by the way. They're not too bad. Don't "ewwww" them until you try some.

* I'm going to shoot for getting tickets to Saturday night's Pirates game. Of course, I'm gonna take the kid, in the hopes to cheer her up a little. She's got a new pair of binoculars (bought them for her last week) and she's been itching to try them out.

Mind you, when I gave her the binoculars, you'd swore I'd given her a solid gold bar. She was so thrilled, so happy...it's the truth that little things given from those you care for most mean more than anything.

* Oh, and I bought myself a new ring. (As a friend told me recently, retail therapy does do wonders for the soul.) It's a nice, simple ring, a nice sized Amethyst (even though it's not my birthstone, but I already have a Star Sapphire...), and it looks good on me. Here's a pic of it:



Okay, that's all for now. When I think of anything else to say, I'll say it...er, ah...type it...whatever.

Oh. My. God.

I just saw a commercial that will cause me no end of problems.

They're now making White Chocolate M&Ms.

I must hunt down this creature...this elusive prey...and make it my own.

Damn. White Chocolate M&Ms. I've gotta try those.

What's the big deal with 6/6/06 anyway?

The number "666" doesn't mean much to me, really.

When I was a kid, they rigged the state's Daily Number lottery so the number 666 would pay off. I never watched The Omen (scary movies and I don't get along, period), so I never knew the connection between the two until years later.

Mind you, numbers fascinate me, but I didn't do much different today than I do any other day.

Tomorrow, the Kid's got a doctor's appointment, so her regular doc can check her out after the dry heaves last week. She hasn't seemed to have the heaves since, 'cept for a couple times. I'm not sure if it's the medication they gave her or whatever bug she had has passed. Either way, this is disconcerting. I'll admit it. I'm concerned.

Right now, I'm just gonna relax and watch the baseball game...

And so goes the weekend...

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon around here. Relaxed in the easy chair, Pirates game on the TV, typing away at the laptop...

The Kid's still got an upset stomach. She's still taking medication before she eats, and I've gotta make an appointment for her to see the doc soon, see what could be causing these problems.

It's been raining off and on all weekend. There were some incredible cloud structures yesterday, but naturally, I didn't bring the camera with me. Such is the way it goes, I believe: Some things aren't meant to be recorded on film. They're meant for the camera in the mind's eye only.

Last week was rough. Some things happened that have never happened before. Some changes were made. Some plans have been started that will lead to further changes.

I just wonder what this week will bring.

Wake me when it's over.

Another late night last night...

During dinner the Kid said dinner (after she was mostly done with it) didn't taste right, and she started to get a little sick. I told her, if it didn't taste good, why did she eat it? She said she was afraid I'd get her something else...I tried to tell her I wouldn't do that, but by this point, she was having the dry heaves. Quick trip to the ladies room, but nothing came of it.

Took her home. She's still heaving. Got her some pepto, but it didn't help. Only after she gave out three belches that put me to shame, she said she felt better.

Of course, it didn't last. By 8 she was heaving again, and nothing would stop her. It's off to the emergency room for the evening...and of course, once again, the doctors did the usual litany of tests only to find nothing wrong. They gave her an injection which helped calm her down and she started to feel better...so they gave her some pills and let her go.

No sooner do we get home and she starts to get sick again. No heaves, thank goodness, but she's afraid she gonna get sick, so she's home, relaxing, trying not to talk.

Me? I'm back at work, running on about five hours sleep, when I'd rather have had a good seven hours. Forgive me if my face falls into the keyboard and gets smooshed...

Never forget

Take the moment today and remember those who have served.
Those who've given their lives.
Those who have sacrificed.

It's called Memorial Day for a reason, folks. Doesn't matter your political beliefs, doesn't matter what you think or feel.

Show them the respect they deserve.

Oh, What a night

(and it wasn't even late December, back in '63).

We left the house a little before 5 yesterday. I was debating whether to park on the South Side and take the water taxi over to the game (which I love to do), or just park next to the ballpark so the Kid and I wouldn't have to walk very far. I took the long way downtown, through the surface streets (because trying to navigate the highways around here is insane, but that's a rant for another time).

I finally opted for parking next to the ballpark, simply because it was cheaper. There was a time you could save money parking across the river and taking the 'taxi, but not on the weekend. This would turn out to be the right decision, later.

We went inside, and after a bit of a walk, I found a place for her to sit while I went and got dinner. Picked her up a burger and got myself a smoked pork sammich from Manny's BBQ (still the best place to eat at the ballpark...I've yet to find another place as good as that), and after we ate, we made our way slowly to the seats.

Back at the first row again, right field side. The usher there is beginning to get to know us. He keeps saying the Kid is a good luck charm, and she flirts like mad with him right back. ;)

The game got started just after 7. First we were up, then Houston, then we rallied, then they did. It was 6-5, going into the bottom of the 8th, when Burnitz hit a homerun pinch-hitting to tie the game...

...and there it stayed. 9th inning. 10th. 11th. 12th. (Finally, the Kid fessed up she needed the bathroom. For someone who goes every two hours like clockwork, I was impressed she made it that far.) 13th.

The 14th inning stretch (double the traditional 7th inning stretch) was a nice touch.

It was the 15th inning, and it was past Midnight. I knew she was tired. She was getting cranky. I asked her if she wanted to leave, and she said what do you think? What's more important to you, me or this game.

It was a no-brainer.

I wished the folks well in our section, said goodbye to the usher and we walked out. All the while, the Kid is crying, upset because we had to leave because of her. She was tired, I knew, and if I was by myself, I would've stayed...but I can't do that. I have to think of her and put her needs first. She had her medication she still had to take, and she's usually fast asleep (waiting for the next two-hour bathroom interval) by this time.

It was the end of the 16th inning before we finally left the ballpark. (We don't walk too fast, y'know). Got to the car for the start of the 17th, and she thinks I'm mad at her. Really, I was just concentrating on driving, and still listening to the game at the same time. Houston was up in the top of the 17th, and they scored. 7-6. I figured, well, they'd been trying to lose it for the last couple innings, they'd finally given up.

Took surface streets back home (if I take the highway here in Pittsburgh, I have to go through a big tunnel, and I'd lose the signal for the game, and besides, it was such a nice night, I did feel like a little crusing).

Bottom of the 17th. First batter, Jose Castillo. First pitch, he hits a home run. These Pirates haven't given up yet. Gawddamn, I yell! They tied it up! It's still gonna go!

We get home, she gets her pills, and I turn the game on. She's gone upstairs to do whatever women do in bathrooms (y'all know, so I don't have to elaborate), and I stand in the archway, watching the game. It's the middle of the 18th. I get my copy of the Media Guide to check on what the longest game they've played: 19 innings, 6+ hours. We're getting close to that.

Bottom of the 18th. The Kid's downstairs. She's sitting on the couch watching. I've got too much energy to sit down, but to keep her calm, I do. Jason Bay at bat. He gets on first. Steals second. The go to intentionally walk Craig Wilson, and there's a wild pitch! A wild pitch during an intentional walk! It's unheard of (mostly)! Bay on third.

Castillo back up at bat. He hits a sac fly to shallow center. Bay's going home...the catcher for Houston drops it...the Pirates win! Holy crap in a hat! They're celebrating like mad down there!

(What is it with Canadians saving sports in this city, anyway? Lemieux did it with the Pirates for years, and now Bay's doing it with the Bucs.)

Game over. I watch a little of the recap and flip on Baseball Tonight on ESPN to see what they have to say about it. Typically, they're anti-Pittsburgh anyway, so they play up more to Houston. Feh. I don't let it bother me.

It was, for the most part, a magical night. An incredible night. Yeah, it was cut short, but if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

Oh, and for the curious, if we had stayed, and the Pirates needed an extra hand, methinks the Kid was ready to jump in... ;)

Third time's a charm

Okay, this is the last post for today. Promise.
I just had to share this with you:



The rhododendron is in bloom out front. I rather liked this shot...

Slight change of plans

Okay, so I get down to the movie theatre, intent on seeing Over the Hedge. Alas, they stopped showing OTH with the VIP section.

(For those wondering what I'm talking about: I like to go to the AMC Loews theatre at the Waterfront in Pittsburgh. They have a section in the balcony they call their VIP section. The tickets cost a little more, but you also get a coupon for $3.50 off food at their restaurant. The plan was to get down there early, have lunch at their restaurant, and then see the movie. They've got some great food, too...and the $3.50 off makes it a great value.)

The only movies they had with the VIP seats were The Da Vinci Code and X-Men: The Last Stand. Being the geek I am, I opted for X-Men.

It was good.

There was some trepidation from the comic book crowd when they heard Brent Ratner was taking over for Bryan Singer (who moved on to helm some film about a guy with a big "S" on his chest), but the movie was well done. They took elements from the last 30 years of X-Men comics and combined them together flawlessly. It could've been a little longer...I imagine they'll have a director's cut DVD with elements they could have added, but didn't. If you didn't see the first two X-movies, you won't understand some of the characters, but thankfully, they've been showing them on cable the last few weeks to allow folks to catch up.

Even THE KID had no problem following the movie, which shows that it was easy to follow.

It's recommended. Go see it. Hopefully, we'll go check out Over the Hedge next week.

Other than that...tomorrow night...might go see a ball game... ;)

Ah...the four-day weekend

I'm taking today off work.
Monday is Memorial Day.
This means (for those unable to do the basic math) that I'm looking at a four-day weekend.

It's a good thing. Trust me. ;)

I slept in this morning, and I might just take in a movie this afternoon. "Over the Hedge" looks funny as all get out, and since I do love me a good comedy...odds are, I'll go see that. I'll even take THE KID with me, even though I know she'll swear we've seen it already. S'all right. It'll still be a good time.

Folks, have a good weekend.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Once again, "anonymous" decided to grace my journal with another insightful comment. To wit:

Why do you always insist on calling her "The Kid"? She is a grown woman who may be failing in her health but is still not a child. Have some respect for the years God has allowed her to have, please. Call her your mother, not your kid. It just seems demeaning to her, somehow.

Okay, I'm guessing that you know me...but you don't know me all that well. For the record, I respect, care for, admire, and all around love this woman. She is my mother, yeah, but I rarely call her "mom", "mum", "mother"...whatever.

Ever since I was barely an inch taller than her, I've called her "Shorty". One time, I asked her if that bothered her, me referring to her that way, and she said no...in fact, she liked it, especially since I got tall enough that she could rest her head on my chest when she hugged me.

Our relationship is close. She knows how I feel and care for her. She knows how much I love her, and that I'd do anything for her.

In the "online" world, I go by the nom de guerre "Onestar" (or Onie for short). Over at DeviantArt, the character Onestar took on a whole different meaning. He's the character who goes around on Wednesday wishing folks "hump" day greetings, talking about boobies and being a goofball constantly flirting with the ladies.

Over here in this blog, it's closer to the real "me", but I still won't use my real name. I don't like to use my real name online. It's a personal thing...names have power, and I won't have it spread all over the place. To that end, I don't refer to my mother as "Mom", but rather "The Kid".

There's a natural order of things to life. When children are young, parents take care of them. As they get older, the children take care of the parents. Yeah, it's role reversal. It's the right thing to do. So I refer to her as "the kid" in journals and online...in real life, we both know who the parent and who the kid is. It just so happens that there's some blurring of the lines these days.

So, anonymous, there ya go. I hope this helps. Oh, and by the way, congratulations. You've managed to something doesn't happen every day: You've pissed me off. I had to wait a couple days to write this, to cool off. Trust me, the previous version of this journal were nowhere near as kind.

I've a good idea who wrote that. I know where you're coming from, but do me a favor: Back off on this one. I've had a really shitty couple weeks and am not in the mood. Don't bother trying to apologize or anything. Soon, I'll feel a bit better and won't be as pissy as I am right now. For the moment...I'd recommend leaving me alone. You said what you said. I've said what I said. Leave it at that. Taking it...and me...to the next level would not be in either of our best interests

What a week it was

When I wasn't at work, life was good. A bit expensive (Andre Rieu concert, baseball game, brakes for the car), but it was good.
When I was at work, life sucked. Little problems, big problems, frickin' huge problems...I was not having fun.

why do we have to work? What's the sense of it? Make money...for what reason? Only reason why I work is to keep a roof over my head and my kid taken of. Sure, I spend a good bit of cash on music and electronic toys, but I can live (believe it or not) without them.

Some folks define their lives with their jobs. I'd rather have spend my time exploring my world, find myself, and go to more baseball games. ;)

Why couldn't I be wealthy and not this damn handsome? (sarcasm mode off)

The goofball danced

Somewhere, in Andre Rieu's video archive, there is video of me dancing like the goofball that I am.

But you know what?

Sitting there, second row left, two seats from the aisle...it was worth it.

Baseball been very, very good to me

Tickets. First base line. Front row for me and the kid tonight.
And I'm sitting at home watching the game on TV.

It's been raining for the last four, five, twenty days here. I'd hoped it would stop by game time, but it hadn't. We had warm clothes (it was in the mid-fifties) and rain ponchos to keep us dry. We got to the park, it was raining. We ate, it was raining. We sat in the seats waiting for the game to start and it still rained.

After about an hour and a half, I realized the water was ponding down at my feet. My shoes were soaked...and I was worried about the kid (diabetic neuropathy), that she wouldn't realize her feet were getting too wet.

I made a decision I rarely make. I told her we were leaving.

We left. Got in the car. Started to leave the parking lot. I turned on the radio to the game...and they said the game was gonna start in 15 minutes. There was a break in the rain. They were gonna play...but we'd already left, and once you leave, you can't go back in.

Yet it was the best decision. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

The kid's health is more important than a game. We're gonna go see Andre Rieu tomorrow night. I'd rather she be healthy to see that.

I'll be back at the ballpark some other night, preferrably some dry night.

Oh, and for the record, as of this writing, the Pirates are winning 7-3 in the top of the 8th. It started raining again after about five innings.

Yeah. It was the right decision.

Working hard or hardly working?

The weekend. The time when we take all the things we should be doing around the house all the time and try to cram them into two really short days.

Joy.

Painted the front porch yesterday. My bud came over with his power stripper, and we got a good bit of the old paint off. After he finished, I proceeded to put paint to porch, only to have the kid (supervising, of course) sit down in wet paint.

:|

So much for that skirt, I suppose...but the colors match fairly well, so it might not be a total loss.

Taking the kid out to do some shopping this afternoon. She wanted to get a new jacket for the concert this Wednesday, and a new nightgown. Problem is, the clothes she likes went out of style 30 years ago. It's difficult trying to find something she likes, but I'll take here whenever she wishes to go to shop.

But first...I'm off to take a nap.

An experiment...

Hmm. I've never tried to post a photo here.
I wonder what it'll look like.



I guess it'll look like that.

PNC Park at night, after a game last month.
That's all for tonight.
Maybe I'll have something more interesting to say next time when I'm less tired.

Summer's officially here, I guess

About a month or so ago, I ordered new front porch awnings. The old ones I threw out last year...they were torn and starting to look a little...bad. I think I started to see mold on 'em, and at that moment, I knew it was time for them to go.

So, the guy from the awning company told me they'd take about a month to be made, and they'd call us before they came out.

This afternoon, they showed up at the house without calling. Told the kid they were here to hang the new awnings.

Gotta love that.

When the front porch awnings went up, that was, for me at least, the unofficial beginning of the hated time of year: Summer. I've never been one for the heat. Give me cold weather any day (or night). Like a computer, I work better when cooler.

The screens are in the doors. The windows are open. The ceiling fan's spinning, and I'm on the couch with the laptop and my shorts are on. If it must happen, then please, please...if there's some greater being out there...let it be a cool Summer? Please?

There is a balance to life, ya know

Good news: The kid doesn't have an infection. Tests come back negative.
Bad news: She's still perpetually cold and "sick" this afternoon.

Someday, she'll accept that this is a part of growing old. Nothing more than that.

I just pray I go before I get old. I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just afraid of growing old.

Note to self

The Philly Cheesesteak flavor of Hambuger Helper is hereby put of the Permanently Banned From My Diet list.

I have no idea what they put in there, but Montezuma's Revenge has nothing on that stuff...

What about me?

In my last post, some anonymous person left this:

Anonymous said...

What about things for you ?

What about me? Hey, I'll be the one going to the ballgame. Really and truly, that's what I enjoy more than anything, and I'll be doing that for me.

As for the other stuff, especially taking care of the kid...

I was raised to take care of others before I take care of myself. It's a value that was instilled in me early on. Make sure everyone else has something to eat before you eat. A host takes care of his guest before he worries about himself.

My kid's needs are more important than mine. My friends needs are more important than mine. Yeah, I'll take care of myself, and I will...only after YOUR needs are met.

That's part of who I am. That's part of what makes me me. That's not gonna change.

If you disagree with me, I'll respect your decision, but you're not gonna change my mind. Taking care of those I care about means more to me than taking care of myself.

Pure and simple.

Almost a life.

May is shaping up to be a busy month here.
Two baseball games (for sure)
Andre Rieu in concert
Long Memorial Day weekend.
Plus a oil change/brake repair for the car, three different doctors visits for the kid, and whatever else life will throw at me.

I'd better be careful. I might just be getting a life here... ;)

More of the same, less of the usual

Took the kid to the docs today. I like her doctor, and he's got a good understanding of my kid's problems. Sure, some of it is physical, but some of them, she puts on herself. Someday, she'll learn to act her age...maybe.

This is gonna be a busy month, doctor wise. Pacemaker checkup. Podiatrist checkup. Stress test. She's not gonna be happy about 'em, but it happens...

Of course, I've got a couple things to look forward to this month as well. Two Pirates games. Andre Rieu in concert. New awnings coming in. Of course, the downside is that I'm probably gonna have to get the breaks fixed in the car as well, but getting them fixed would probably be a good thing. Folks don't like it when you crash into 'em.

Mayday

Had to take the day off work today. The kid wasn't feelin' too well.
She'd been sick all weekend...sick at the stomach, and sitting out in the sun in 70 degree weather with her sweater and jacket zipped all the way up to her neck, and STILL she was cold.

Took her to the emergency room. They ran the usual litany of tests, but couldn't find anything. I wonder about that hospital sometimes. I have my doubts if they actually know what they're doing sometimes, or if they aren't missing something.

I was ready for them to admit her for a couple days, but alas, she was sent home without even a lollypop.

Back to work tomorrow, and she'll be home all alone again...

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

This is an archived post from my old blog.

Baseball.

The “Great American Past time” as it has been referred to in the past. While some folks no longer believe this to be the case (more people watch NASCAR racing these days, and American “football”, for some reason, is an obsession with many), baseball has had more than its fair share of problems over the past 20+ years.

Between scandals, strikes, and steroids, The Boys of Summer have seen their images tarnished time and time again. Sure, they've lost some fans, but every year, starting with Spring Training, the faithful return to ballparks across the nation to enjoy warm evenings, hot dogs and foul balls.

And as for me, more than ever, I'm there with them; watching the game, cheering the home team and savoring every moment of it all.

Yeah, I still love baseball. Despite it all, I'll be in the stands cheering, clapping, booing and having a good old time.

Baseball, when all is said an done, is really just a simple game. Whether you're quoting Tim Robbins' character from the movie Bull Durham, when he says “this is a simple game: You throw the ball, you hit the ball, you catch the ball”, or George Carlin, who's said the purpose of the game is to “go home”,
there is nothing like being there.

I've sat in the outfield, keeping score on the scorecard (yes, I do know how to score a game, even if I still have problems doing the math for the averages and the concept of the “balk” continues to escape me). I've sat on the right field line, hoping a foul ball would come my way (and I'd be paying attention and not have it go off my back...again). I'm there from the first pitch until the last out. I'm watching for the vendor to come around with Cracker Jack (since I don't drink) and sit there and munch the whole bag down.

I'm standing there with my cap over my heart for the National Anthem. I'm there for the seventh inning stretch, singing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” slightly out of key. I'm on my feet when there's two outs in the bottom of the ninth and the home team is one pitch away from winning the game and sending the fans home happy.

Sure, there have been problems with the game as of late. There's scandals with steroids. Anyone who takes a look at a picture of Barry Bonds today and compares that to when he played for the Pirates in the late 80's-early 90's knows he's on the juice. Ain't no way he could've developed THAT many muscles at his age.

This isn't the first scandal baseball has had. It's suffered before, back in '94 when the strike canceled the World Series. A man named Cal Ripken, Jr., breaking a record many believed would never be broken, won back a lot of fans. Sure, there are over-paid players, but for every Yankee paid ten times his worth by Steinbrenner, there are dozens of hungry young guys trying to make it to the majors, who know where they came from, who will stay there and sign every autograph for every kid who asks.

Is the game perfect? No. Nothing in this world is perfect, and nothing ever will be. If everything was perfect, then the world would be a bloody boring place. We take this game with its flaws, its spoiled overpriced crybabies, and the second mortgage we have to take out on the house to get dinner for the family.

Why?

Because we love this game. I love this game. Even though my hometown team, the Pirates, haven't won a season for the past 14 years, I still love them as much as I love the game.

And you'll find me, out there in the stands, enjoying another warm Summer's night at the ballpark.

Join me there sometime. I'll even share some of my Cracker Jacks with you.

Dang it

Looks like I re-injured my right foot again.
I was playing with the neighbor's dog, running around the yard, chasing it...some kids never do grow up, I suppose.

It's hurtin' tonight, but tomorrow, it'll just be sore...again. Sigh...

Thankfully...

...the back isn't hurting as much today, and my foot's doing better as well.

Amazing. I'm 38 years old, and I'm already bitching about how much things hurt. Guess that's what happens when you get old early. C'est la vie, and all that...

Every day life...

So, I've decided to use this "blog" the same way as everyone else does: Blather on about daily life, things that happen, my ups, my downs, and bore everyone.

I'll save the rants, the columns and the pieces of that sort for my Joeuser blog. It's a better fit for that.

Still no promises that I'll update this frequently, but I might fool ya. Might fool myself, even.

---

My back's trying to go out on me. I can feel it...lower back, above the left hip. It twinges every once in awhile, reminding me its there and telling me to watch it. S'all right...shouldn't be too much in the way of heaving lifting (I hope).

Gonna rain tonight. Gonna get cold too. I need to get a new bed, that's all there is to it...

A followup on the consequences of punching a wall...

Originally posted at my old blog, archived for posterity...

Oh, yeah. You knew it.


My right hand is broken. It's a boxer's fracture: A bone in the knuckle of the pinky, and a fracture in the meticarpule itself.

At least I don't have a full cast on...just a half-splint that I can remove to shower.

Doesn't hurt, but it's a life lesson...for both me and my kid.

Oh, well...

The consequences of punching a wall

Originally posted on my old blog, archived here for posterity.

Another tale of raising an 80-year old kid...

My hand hurts.

Of course, when one proceeds to punch a hard wall (although, in my defense, it was carpeted and I believed it to be well paded...which it wasn't), one should expect pain afterwards.

Punching things isn't the smartest thing to do, but when you're angry, upset, or mad, rational thought isn't exactly at the forefront of one's mind.

But yeah, I punched a wall today...all right, it was more of a partition...and now I'm paying for it. My hand's swollen, and while my pinkie hurts, I do have full range of motion and can use my hand, albiet with only a minor amount of pain.

So, I'll bet you're wondering what could nake me do something really stupid like punch a partition?

My kid. If you're not sure what I'm referring to, please check my last journal entry.

My kid has an obsession with the yard. If it's messy, uncut, out of sorts, she hates it. Wait...this is a good use of bold...hates it. With a passion. And I won't hear the end of it until the grass is cut and everything looks neat.

Well, it's getting close to Winter. Days are shorter. I haven't had time to cut the grass, and I figured it was going to get covered with snow soon, so there was no sense in cutting the grass.

My kid figured otherwise.

She called me at lunchtime and told me she'd cut the grass. Needless to say, I went ballistic.

I was so mad, I couldn't talk to her. I had to put down the phone and walk it off.

Please let me state this before I go further: Yes, I have a temper, but 99% of the time, I can keep it under control. When I do feel the need to express it, I generally kick things, always inanimate objects, like doors, walls and boxes. I was so...angry...that I had to lash out at something, and the victim of my blind anger was a discarded partition wall.

What can I say? It had carpeting on it. I thought it was padded...but I was proven wrong.

It was the first time in my 38 years on this planet I ever truly...really and truly...punched something with all my strength. Probably the last time I'll do it too.

I called my kid back to apologize. She'd been crying...she knew I was upset with her, and couldn't understand why. I told her I shouldn't have been angry, and I was sorry.

She couldn't remember why I was angry with her...

I told her she'd told me she went to cut the grass. She can't see that well and she can't walk that well, and carrying a heavy (electric) lawnmower up the stairs from our basement might have been deadly...that, more than anything, was what upset me.

I've assured her I'm not mad at her. She's accepted it, and she's trying to calm back down.

So, right now, my hand hurts. There's a good bit of swelling, but I can still type. I'll consider this a reminder than, when you have kids, you've gotta take your time and be rational, not angry, because there are always consequences to our actions.

I'll get the hang of this parenting thing yet.

I have a kid

This is an archived post from my old blog.

I have a kid.

Granted, this isn't a spectacular revelation. Many people in the world have kids, so that doesn't make me any better or worse than anyone else.

However, my kid is a little different. She has problems with her health...so she has some special needs, and requires a bit more attention than other kids her age.

She can't see that well. She has trouble walking. She doesn't have the best memory in the world. She's got diabetes. She needs help in doing the littlest things sometimes, even something as simple as getting up off the couch. So I'm there to help her whenever and however I can.

She needs a bit more attention than some other kids might, but she's my kid, and I love her with all my heart.

Taking care of my kid sometimes seems like a full-time job, but I don't look at it that way. Despite the fact that I'm still somewhat young (although, at 38, I feel older than I should), I don't go out like some folks my age do.

I come home from work because my kid is lonely and she needs a little attention. She's fairly self-sufficient...I don't need to put her in a daycare...and my neighbors help out by keeping an eye on her for me while I'm at work. They love her just as much as I do.

Sometimes she gets sick. She forgets where she is, what day it is, what time it is, what she should be doing. I do my level best to be calm and reassuring, and try to tell her not to worry about things and to relax, but it can be very frustrating. I never did like to repeat myself, and there are times I'll have to tell her something over and over and over and it still doesn't sink in. It doesn't happen too often, thank goodness, but when it happens, it can be very stressful on the both of us.

She's got her fair share of doctor's visits, and thankfully, I'm in a job where I can get the time off to take her where she needs to go. From her "regular" doctor, to the Ophthalmologist, to the Urologist, to the Podiatrist...sometimes, it just seems like it's a never-ending stream of doctors. But it's all right. I'm there with her, to help her remember what she needs to remember, to tell the docs, and it's quality time for us, even if it a waiting game sometimes.

My kid's seen her share of highs and lows. She recently lost her sister, which has hurt her deeply. It's not easy to lose someone you're so close to...especially when it's your baby sister. She's been crying...a lot...but I hope she's come to accept that her sister is no longer hurting and is in a better place.

You never want to see your kids suffer, and there are times, when I see her in pain, unable to walk up a flight of stairs or struggle to see something, that it breaks my heart. I want to help her, but I can't do everything for her, so I just stand there and smile and be there when she needs her.

Yeah, taking care of my kid is a full-time job, and it has...cost...me. I've lost friends, lost women I've loved, because I've had to put my kid first. I've tried to explain to them that she is a part of my life, but it's not easy. They don't feel like they're first in my life, and although I've tried to reassure them that they are in my heart, it doesn't help. Yeah, it hurts...it hurts both of us...so I've had to give up a little of my happiness for my kid. I only pray that someday the women I've loved and lost understand that, and they forgive me. Maybe someday, I can forgive myself.

I have a kid. My kid is 80 years old.

She's my mother.

Don't get me wrong and don't misunderstand what I'm saying here. I love my mother. I'm happy to be able to help her any way I can.

It's just that the whole parent-child relationship has changed over the years, as she's grown older and has had more problems develop. I've had to take over some roles that she did for years.

All I'm saying is...I have a kid. She's the apple of my eye. Anyone else who has had kids...whether they be their own, or their parents...will understand exactly what I mean.

I'd move Heaven and Earth for her, I'd do anything within my power to help her while she's still here. Yes, I would love to be able to share my life with another...and maybe someday, I can, but for now...I am where I'm needed. This is my life, for good or ill.

I have a kid. And I love her.