Cynthia and Dad and Phyllis and The Subaru

 Here I am again. 

May 2, 2024. It was 13 years ago this morning that Dad called me in a tizzy, stressed to the max, because Mom had kept him from sleeping all night. The symptoms of the disease, Alzheimer's, was making it impossible for him to feel rested, and he was truly burned out. That morning, the lovely Hospice nurse arrived, and after she evaluated the situation, she suggested that we transport Mom up to their Hospice House for a night or three, so that Dad could get a break. He agreed, and later that morning, an ambulance backed into the driveway, and they loaded her on to a stretcher and took her up to Auburn, an hour away. Dad and I followed in his car.

She never came back to her house, of course. She spent her last 10 days there, in a room in the Hospice House in Auburn, where so many others had lived their final days. She was well cared for, and they were incredibly empathetic and kind to us. She died there on May 12, 2011, just two days after her 79th birthday.

I sure do miss her, and I sure do miss him, too. 

I've been kicking so much ass lately, I'm kind of shocked at myself, really. Signed up for health insurance plan through work, did the paperwork for a new carrier with home/auto insurance policies, played a gig last Saturday night, showed up to work on time and working my butt off there, keeping up with the bills, grocery shopping, meal plans, accepted a fill-in bass gig with a new band for the end of August, keeping the house clean.. and trying to get enough sleep. It's been a crazy couple of weeks.

Yesterday morning, I drove the Subaru over to Conway and dropped it off at the dealer for the big job I've been putting off for a year and a half - new timing belt, replace the head gaskets, new oil pan, plus a new heat thermometer, oil switch and probably one or two other things. It's going to end up costing us at least 3 or 4 months of my pay, but, I'm hoping, in the long run, it'll be worth it. 

Our Jeep is toast, now, pretty much. It's just sitting in the driveway, rusting away, and we are hoping to pick up a second used car at some point in the next few months. So, I keep working as much as I can, in order to earn my measly paycheck, in order to keep living. 

It's fun.

I'm hoping the Subaru, that I've decided to call Cynthia, in honor of my late mother, will keep running for a few more years. I love to drive it because I am reminded of my Dad driving it, as it was his car, and now mine. 

And, today is Phyllis's birthday. If it wasn't for Mom dying, Dad would never have met Phyllis, and so we have Mom to thank for that, too. Phyllis is one of the most wonderful human beings I have ever had the privilege to have met. Happy Birthday, Phyllis. I hope you receive the gift I mailed to you on Monday.

So, later today, I hope to get the call that Cynthia will be done, and I will drive back to Conway in the dealership loaner car (a fabulous 2023 Subaru.. so nice!) and give them my debit card to pay the thousands of dollars I will owe for the services rendered, and drive home again. Tomorrow, back to work at 8 am sharp! Go go go, Kate!

As Dad used to say to me all the time, "Good Kate!"

Last Post of 2023

Hey, look - I'm back again. One more post before the end of 2023 - what do ya say, eh? 

Well, Verdant Dude still hasn't followed me back on Xwitter. Surely because he doesn't realize that I'm his old pal "Sleepy" from this good ol' Blogger. Meh, oh well. Maybe someday I'll send him a DM there. 

I think I have snapped out of my ennui. Do I miss my dead parents? The way we used to gather for the holidays? Those golden days? The chaos, the laughs, the occasional rifts and disagreements? The stress of pulling things all together so everyone is gratified? The traveling and planning? The worry and the angst?

You bet I do.

But, the older I get, the more I come to terms with the FACT that not one of us gets out of this alive. And, that we all die alone. I probably dwell on that a little too much.. but, what can I say? I was on a roll there, for a while, with the whole "Swedish Death Cleaning" trip (without knowing that that was what I was doing.) But, the last year or two, I've eased up on the tossing of things.. and well, now that we are rolling into a new year, I feel the urge to get back at it again. I cringe thinking about leaving all of my mess in the hands of my younger brother, who will surely outlive me. 

I have sorted mom and dad's papers and stuff in bins, and they are labeled. It's not perfect, but it's pretty well sorted. I'm proud of that task completed last year. But, I still have a lot of fucking stuff. Maybe not like, at hoarding level, but.. what will my brother do with my basket of Breyer horses? My two or three bins of assorted small toys and mementos? My suitcases of old journals? My files of more writings (pretty bad writing, at that.) I did go through my old college papers and eliminate most of those.. gawd, that was terrible writing on my part. I really sucked at academia.

Is it time for me to finally let go of more stuff? Before I get too old and sick to deal with it? Yes. I think it is. Go, Kate, go! DO IT!

Well, happy new year to me. Because, I'm sure NOBODY is reading this post! HA! 

LOVE YA ANYWAY, NOBODY!

We were promised the sun today, after days and days and days of rain and clouds, but it's still overcast, and that's really pissing us off. Soon, we will venture out for a short trip to town to pick up a couple of things. I plan to make a batch of Split Pea soup, because we have left over ham from our humble Christmas meal, and, plus.. we're strange. We love it. PEA SOUP IS GOOD.

I'm relived to NOT have a gig tonight! Even though the weather is agreeable (no snow or ice), I have never been a fan of "working" on New Year's Eve (though, usually the pay is better..) 

Just as well to stay home. Watch the hip hop and the ball drop and get buzzed up and then slink off to our cozy bed. Works for me.

Here Again

 It's a Saturday, December 16, 2023. I sure do miss this place, Blogger. I was scrolling through Twitter (aka X) the other night, reading a short thread by a writer out of Boston that I follow, when who did I see leave a comment on that thread but the very recognizable name and profile pic of Verdant Dude. I couldn't believe.. I knew it had to be the same guy from Blogger. I went to his profile and it checked out, so I hit the follow button. He hasn't followed back, though. Oh well. We will always have Blogger circa 2011.

With Christmas just around the corner, I once again slide into that feeling of ennui, which is defined as "a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement." I'm 58 and my parents are dead. I have no children, my siblings are 3 hours away. And actually, that's okay, to not have to worry about other people too much. Selfish, maybe. So often I am reminded of the line that Micky Rourke slurs out to Faye Dunaway in the movie Barfly, when she asks him if he likes people, and he replies, "yea, I like people.. but I seem to like them a lot better when they're not around."

Now that I'm back in retail, I'm around people a lot again. And, you know, I don't mind it that much, but it sure is a relief to clock out after the shift and get home to my man and my cat. Just us three. Only our problems to deal with. Selfish? Maybe.

I do as much as I can to contribute to other peoples shit. I wish I could be one of those amazing angels that do so much good! The big stuff! Doctoring, solving the Big Problems, canvassing and organizing! Ah, to be that amaze-balls~ 

I do the little things.. I am the gluer. I compliment, I listen and I help, in my small ways. Occasionally, I give financially, but truly, not that often, because I barely get by as it is. 

Anyway. Tonight we play a gig. And, as usual, I have anxiety about getting through the night without catching Covid or running into a deer prancing across the road.. you know, the usual.

Wish us luck, though, I'm sure it will all be fine.

Hope to come back soon, Blogger. These were the good ol' days.

A Moment I Remember

 

Twelve years ago today. Seven in the morning. Laying in bed, sleeping light. Troubled. Mom was dying. She had been in hospice for eleven days, morphine for the pains, dying. Dad had decided, at the last minute, the day before, to go and stay overnight in the room with her. I lay troubled, my head a dull ache from tears and too much wine a few hours earlier. It was early May, the morning sun was filtering through the black curtains and the sound of Don's soft breathing was comforting. I was in limbo. Waiting. Present.

Then, I knew what it was. My phone, laying on the bedside table, rang. Don woke. I reached over and saw it was Dad calling. 

"Hi Dad."

"Kate? Your mommy is gone. She died, Kate. I can't believe it."

The words I had been anticipating for weeks were now out. They had been said, and there was no taking them back.

The first version of his story was shared, preliminary plans for the next few hours were made, and the phone call ended after a few minutes. My vision blurry from tears and my face wet, I lay on my back for a few minutes, absorbing the shock of the news, and closed my eyes to black.

My mother had died. My father was with her, numb and in disbelief. I had to get up and drive to him, to be with him, to help him.

But first, I lay on my back, my head cradled by pillows, in the comfort of my bed. Like the womb that I came from. My mother.

A Short Essay

A short essay my father wrote for an English class in high school. He graduated in 1946. In the summers, he worked in his father's apple orchard, which was behind their house in Westford, Massachusetts. I've copied his handwriting as closely as possible. At the top of the page, it was graded in a faded red pencil with a B+. It's a cute story, I think!

An Unlucky Day by M. Seavey

"Oh, what a beautiful morning," I thought as I skipped merrily down to my farm work one bright summers day of August. I joyfully did my chores, loaded the trailer with the apple boxes, and got in the tractor. Singing lustily, I stepped on the starter, but, the starter would not step. With my spirits still high, I hopped out of the tractor and began to crank it, but, the crank would not budge. With my spirits decreasing, I gave the starter a few whacks and again got in the B-17, as we call the tractor, and stepped on its starter, but, the starter would not step. With my spirits at a low ebb, I grabbed all the wrenches within my reach and commenced to take the stubborn starter apart. In about three quarters of one hour, I thought I had the thing fixed. I jumped in the bomber again, and, ah, the starter stepped and the engine began to churn. Making a deafening roar, the B-17 pulled out of the barn and lumbered down to the orchards. As I was rumbling down over a hill, the usual backfires turned into an explosion which rocked the bomber and smoke began to pour from her dirty engine. B-17 coasted silently down the hill and stopped. "What's the matter with the thing now," I asked myself as I lifted the hood and peered in at the smoking engine, or what was an engine. Disgustedly, I slammed down the hood and trudged doggedly back to the barn. Well, I had to borrow a neighbor's truck that ran, for the rest of the day. I got down to the apple picking about two hours after I had come to work. But my troubles were not yet over, for when I was at the top of the 26 foot ladder, I reached out for the last dangling red apple on the limb. My fingers touched it, and, slip, snap, crash, slush I found myself stuck in a box full of rotten apples. The ladder was divided across the borrowed truck. No words could express my fuming anger.

I could go on and tell you about more unlucky things that happened to me that dreadful day, but I hate to be reminded of them. So, a moral of this story could be, "NEVER be overconfident."

Love Note

One of many notes my mother wrote to my father when they were dating, 1963 or 64. It's beautiful.

My dearest Marden, 

Perhaps you are not, and will never be, the shining image of success that some wish to be. But, in my honest and quite perspective glance and appraisal, I esteem you as a man who feels correctly, who estimates situations with a sensitivity that stirs me; I love your sensitive body as well, the "Gestalt" of your sensuous mind/body complex that emanates into a total whole of warmth, kindness, and love. Very few men have captured the quality of waiting warmth you've got - rather a mixture of patient humor and warm impetuosity. Do not feel small or unworthy. Every time you comfort me, understand me, you have grown, and have helped me grow. That is the finest thing a man can do.

It is fantastic - love. It keeps recurring, doesn't it? At times my thoughts of you are those of security, placid happiness and pleasure that you're there. But, at other times, as now, my thoughts of you are of absolute necessity, vital in their insistence; so that I am almost helpless because of the coldness without you.

R.I.P. Spooky

Just read my last post from a few weeks ago. 

I finally made the call and we brought Spooky to our wonderful veterinary hospital on May 14, 2021. She was so weak, I just picked her up and held her in my lap as Don drove us over. She was so ready. I was sad, but more relieved to have her out of pain. We brought her body home in a box and buried her little fuzzy corpse wrapped in a white sheet in a deep hole Don had dug the afternoon before. I found a sweet little poem about losing a cat, which I quickly read through tears, and then we covered her up. Found a piece of slate to mark her grave. Gone but never forgotten. My sweet Spook-A-Boots. 

Lot's Of Loss

 Been so distracted with things lately, I only just now remembered that today is the 10 year anniversary of Mom's death. I really can't believe it. Ten years! And now, Dad's gone, too. Almost 3 months since he's died. GAWD! It's been so weird without them, especially with Dad. I miss him so much. 

It's been a crazy few months, year, really. Trying to get back into action. Have had plenty of setbacks. Had one of my wisdom teeth extracted yesterday, after a couple of weeks of agitation. Got my second Moderna Covid 19 vaccine a week ago today. I had terrible side effects that night and all the next day. It had been so long since I've felt sick. Chills and body aches, a sore arm, lethargy. And my gums were throbbing from the sad little wisdom tooth. 

Ah. All of that is thankfully behind me now. Next? Time to muster up the gumption to call the vet and make an appointment to have our dear Spooky euthanized. She's kind of miserable these days. She has only been pooping once every few days, and she pees a lot, mostly on the newspaper an old sheets I have put down on top of her special bed in the corner of the living room. She won't use the litter box anymore. So, this last week, I've been changing out her bedding about 5 times a day. Her appetite is waining, too. So, it's time. Just got to do it. And I don't want to do it. But, it must be done. Kind of like when I had to agree to get my wisdom tooth pulled. Just got to do it, and it turned out to be not as bad as I imagined it would be.

Though, Spooky has been with us since June 17, 2007. Which was a Sunday, Father's Day. And, she's the sweetest little thing. But loud. Her meow is wretched. And, it's become worse. I think she might be partially deaf and blind now, too. Oh GAWD, just got to do it.

So. There has been A LOT of loss for me lately. I miss by friend Wally a lot, too. I'm so bummed that he died. I can still hear his voice. It's going to be so strange to play gigs without him there in the audience.

A lot of loss.

And I still have SO much I have to do. Get going Kate. Go. Do it! GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phoebe Bridgers: Tiny Desk (Home) Concert - *flawless vocals ***

 8:10

Phoebe Bridgers - I Know the End (Official Video)

Totally in love with this song and this musician, Miss Phoebe Bridgers. 

Hold On

Mardy agreed to the transfer to the assisted living apartment. He still has some misgivings, which is understandable, but we all think it's for the best to do it now before he becomes even more frail.

The Covid factor, of course, makes the process and outcome all that much more challenging. I am doing my best to remain calm. One might even say, adult. Ha.

After the weekend Zoom meeting with the family, minus Himself, we agreed that it would be me to make the proposal. Monday, he had had several visitors so Phyllis advised against me saying anything that night. 

So, yesterday morning, after a sleepless night of sleeping on it, I ended up writing him an email about the idea, listing the pros and cons. Later in the afternoon, he responded and agreed that it did seem like a good idea.

After that, I emailed the director of admissions at the assisted living facility, letting her know things are looking like a go. I called Dad around 4:30, and he was defiantly a bit aggravated and annoyed, but mostly because he was suffering from pain in his bottom. Phyllis was still out doing grocery shopping (she's been going every Tuesday and doing his light food shopping, as well), so I think he was distressed that she wasn't there, too. He expressed concern about losing the assistance of the home health aid, Tracy, who he absolutely loves. She apparently is the best bather he has ever had in his life, and he doesn't want to give her up. But, in the whole, he seems to have warmed up to the idea. I told him I would ask the hospice team to be sure that they would all still be working with him after the move.

Then, I emailed the social worker to fill her in, and this morning she replied with the good news that, yes, the hospice team would stay the same and still be working with him. She's going to call me in a little while to run over a few more things.. one being that his insurance will not be renewed in 2021. Typical bullshit. Well, I guess they are changing it or something, in light of him being closer to dying. Assholes. 

Anyway, so much to worry about and arrange and plan and execute now. I am not allowed in to see the apartment, so that will be a challenge to know how much of his furniture and stuff we can get over there for him. Plus, I won't be there to help arrange.. arg. So frustrating. I plan to drive up on Friday, and at the very least, I'll be able to look into the windows from outside and get a sense of the space. Before I leave from visiting with him, I'll grab a few things that I know he won't be bringing to the new place with him. I'll bring the roller with me, I guess. 

This sucks. Just saying. But, once he's all moved, and we can empty out his apartment, and get the rest of the stuff that won't be going with him somewhere (some in our barn, I guess), it will be a relief to know that he will be more closely monitored. Poor guy. 

The vaccines can't get here soon enough! And, come on January 20, 2021! 

Hold on, people. Hold on.