Please note: This is a very old entry - possibly a year old. I tried to edit it, and it jumped to the top of the blog list. Still, I didn't want to erase it, so I just left it. E.B.
I am not going to apologize for my rant.
For weeks we have consumed and been consumed by Charlie Sheen's stupid drama. Rarely does a day go by when you won't see the phrase "We're watching a train wreck...," (or a variation of the phrase.) All we have to do is not watch. Charlie Sheen will either get better, or he won't. Period. His condition will not change my life (or yours) one bit. If we stop watching, he will either go away and get better, (good for him.), or continue to insist that he is the warlock, and burn himself off. (Might also be good for him - he will be in a "better place.") He is wasting his life, his talent, and our time. We need to stop buying tickets for this performance.
I woke up yesterday. (Good) I was in an "iffy" mood. (Nothing bad had happened, but neither had something good. Well, waking up was a start for good, but I sensed something in the air. Here, I started preparing myself for the worst: that something unpleasant had befallen my 100 year-old grandmother (whom I love very much); my nieces and nephews (all of whom I love so much, I could burst each time I think of them - which is often); my sisters (one, with whom I have an OK relationship; I wish we were closer; the other, with whom I don't have an OK relationship; I wish we had an OK relationship, but we probably never will. Still, I don't want anything awful to befall her.); my dog, Bella (I love her very much. I don't walk her enough, and she is getting old.); my job (I am doing OK, but still...); being an "old-Maid" (Feminism be damned. I am angry that I have not been in a relationship that warranted some sort of permanency. I don't want a knight in shining armor - just someone to talk to at 2 in the morning; someone who would light up the room for me, and would allow me the responsibility for lighting up the room for him. I am tired of being alone, and tired of not being in situations in which to meet that "him." Dont' tell me that crap about "happy, creative, older single women." And to the married women who tell me that I am not missing anything, I say, "I don't see you getting a divorce.") OK, that is something that I am definitely in a bad mood about.
Then I read about Martha Stewart being a grandmother. After years of fertility treatments, at $20,000 a month, her daughter got a surrogate, and the surrogate had a baby. The rich are very different from me. For two of those fertility treatments, I could have adopted a child; for one, a fairly decent car that would last a while; for ten, an apartment or adequate cottage in some not-overinflated area; for two, payback a student loan for one year in graduate school; for another two, finish graduate school; fo another two, take care of some debts that I don't care to write about. With the rest, I could have a nest egg, and stop worrying about my future.
28 April 2012
"I did everything I could..."
Sissy, my dear grandmother, celebrated her 101st birthday on September 24, 2011. that's quite a feat. She has outlived er husband, both of her children, her youngest sister,and all of her friends. she has outlived many, if not all of my mother's friends.
Lately, she hasn't been doing so well. Her health is a roller coaster. Sometimes she sleeps for hours. Sometimes she won't eat. Sometimes it is difficult to understand her. When she is alert, she is very alert and wants a lot of attention. (She has always demanded, and for the most part received a lot of attention. Then again, she has always given a lot of attention, so the scales of the oblique are more-or-less balanced.) I call her every evening. Sometimes I don't get through because she cannot lift the telephone. If someone is visiting her or preparing her for bed, I am in luck because they will pass the phone to her.
I was lucky this evening. A nurse's aide was getting her ready for bed. She passed the phone to my grandmother who sounded very weak. She said her mouth was dry and it was difficult to talk. She proceeded to ask about my day, my dog "Bella", and my fish, Max/Otis. The more she spoke the stronger she sounded. She remarked that she hadn't spoken to me in a couple of nights. (True about that) I explained that I try to call when I think someone is visiting her because I know she can't reach the phone. She asked me what I had eaten today. (I lied about that.) She remarked that I sounded like I had a cold. (I explained that I thought it was an allergy...) When I told her that I had a friend who always threatens to dip Max/Otis in corn meal and fry him, and that he rolls his eyes when he sees her, she just laughed and laughed! She sounded just like my Sissy, just older. At the end of our conversation, she sounded stronger and more animated.
We always end our calls with "I love you." If I sing it, she sings it back. That's what she did this evening.
I know that nothing is guaranteed. I could get a call in 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 months...that Sissy has gone to see our grandfather whom she misses so much.
One of my sisters is very close to our grandmother, and I believe, is grieving Sissy's eventual passing. She cannot talk about it, and her story is hers to tell. Our grandmother has been such a staple in my life, that I cannot imagine her not being around. I cannot wrap my mind around this eventuality, so I am not doing such a good job of preparing myself. This is the woman who taught me to pray, braided my hair, tried to teach us to make taffy, but let us each the sugary mess when the taffy didn't happen; she took us to Girl Scouts, gave us music lessons, and taught us how to "fix our faces." (The search for the perfect red lipstick continues.) Not long ago, I thanked her for all she did for me. Her response, "I did everything I could." I am grateful she didn't chastise me for not practicing my piano lessons.
How can I possibly imagine her not being here?
I will never be ready for that.
Lately, she hasn't been doing so well. Her health is a roller coaster. Sometimes she sleeps for hours. Sometimes she won't eat. Sometimes it is difficult to understand her. When she is alert, she is very alert and wants a lot of attention. (She has always demanded, and for the most part received a lot of attention. Then again, she has always given a lot of attention, so the scales of the oblique are more-or-less balanced.) I call her every evening. Sometimes I don't get through because she cannot lift the telephone. If someone is visiting her or preparing her for bed, I am in luck because they will pass the phone to her.
I was lucky this evening. A nurse's aide was getting her ready for bed. She passed the phone to my grandmother who sounded very weak. She said her mouth was dry and it was difficult to talk. She proceeded to ask about my day, my dog "Bella", and my fish, Max/Otis. The more she spoke the stronger she sounded. She remarked that she hadn't spoken to me in a couple of nights. (True about that) I explained that I try to call when I think someone is visiting her because I know she can't reach the phone. She asked me what I had eaten today. (I lied about that.) She remarked that I sounded like I had a cold. (I explained that I thought it was an allergy...) When I told her that I had a friend who always threatens to dip Max/Otis in corn meal and fry him, and that he rolls his eyes when he sees her, she just laughed and laughed! She sounded just like my Sissy, just older. At the end of our conversation, she sounded stronger and more animated.
We always end our calls with "I love you." If I sing it, she sings it back. That's what she did this evening.
I know that nothing is guaranteed. I could get a call in 5 minutes, 5 days, 5 months...that Sissy has gone to see our grandfather whom she misses so much.
One of my sisters is very close to our grandmother, and I believe, is grieving Sissy's eventual passing. She cannot talk about it, and her story is hers to tell. Our grandmother has been such a staple in my life, that I cannot imagine her not being around. I cannot wrap my mind around this eventuality, so I am not doing such a good job of preparing myself. This is the woman who taught me to pray, braided my hair, tried to teach us to make taffy, but let us each the sugary mess when the taffy didn't happen; she took us to Girl Scouts, gave us music lessons, and taught us how to "fix our faces." (The search for the perfect red lipstick continues.) Not long ago, I thanked her for all she did for me. Her response, "I did everything I could." I am grateful she didn't chastise me for not practicing my piano lessons.
How can I possibly imagine her not being here?
I will never be ready for that.
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