CJ's Whine and Cheeze

Perceptions

2011-05-19T09:06:00.000-04:00

On my first visit, Ma seemed to be settling into the nursing home. I expected her to demand I take her home, the usual routine when she's been in and out of the hospital and rehab settings.

We had a nice visit in the solarium. From there we had a good view of the goings on of the floor. We could see the nurses' station, aides running up and down the hall, and a group of ladies parked in wheel chairs across from the front desk.

"I may be 92, but I look a lot better than most of them." Ma nodded her chin at the wheelchair ladies. Ma does look good. You know she's elderly, but wouldn't peg her age in her 90s.

After sitting in the solarium, she took me on a tour of the facility.

She stopped to give me a peek of the dining room. It was close to lunch time and the dining room was setting up for the noon crowd. The dining room is well appointed, bright and airy. A little too Victorian pink for my taste, but pretty. Small tables of four were set with stemware, silver, and linen napkins folded into fans.

I asked Ma if she was going to eat in the dining room.

"Oh, no. I don't eat in there. I eat in my room or across the hall." (Across the hall from Ma's room is a small break room.)

"How come you don't go down to the dining room to eat?"

"That's where the old ladies eat," she said with some impatience. "I want to eat with the young kids."

I think she means the 70-somethings.

Good Excuse

2011-05-18T08:24:00.000-04:00

This past year has been a difficult year for the Weebles as age has declined their mental health. It became necessary to put Ma into a nursing home. For the time being, Dad is living by himself.

Ma has been in the nursing home for two weeks. On a recent visit from Dad, she was worried about the state of the house.

"I bet the house is a wreck," she snapped at Dad. "I bet you haven't even mopped the kitchen floor." (He hasn't. Himself or I have been over to clean.)

"Well, I'm old," said Dad. "I can't do that kind of work anymore."

That will be my story if you come to visit, and my house isn't as tidy as you think it should be. I'm old. I can't do that kind of work anymore.

Occupations

2010-11-15T05:18:00.000-05:00

Just a little back story and a tease. Dad assigned us occupations for things that happened around the house. If The Brother or I broke something we were "blacksmiths". Actually @!$#$%#$ blacksmiths. If you rummaged through someone's stuff, you were a fisherman.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-10-20T22:03:00.000-04:00

The Apple

2010-08-25T09:53:00.002-04:00

While waiting in line at the WPI orientation barbecue, a woman standing next to us remarked how the Young One and I look like twins. We smiled politely and when she went ahead, we just looked at each other and shook our heads. Other than height and color of our eyes, we don't look a thing alike. The Young One has fair skin, a sprinkling of cinnamon freckles across her nose, and auburn hair. My skin tone is swarthy Italian. My hair is dark brown bordering on black with a fair amount of silver, and I don't have freckles across the bridge of my nose. The Young One is a carbon copy of Himself. The Young One and I do enjoy some of the same activities. Art, movies, electronics, sense of humor

"You don't look a thing like me." We laughed.

"No, but I have your soul."

"Poor you."

"No, poor you. It means that Grandma's curse that you would have one just like you came true."

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

OMG!

2010-08-20T15:03:00.000-04:00

OMG! Auntie Rose called this morning, and I missed the call. The Witch didn't leave a voicemail.

The Sound

2010-08-19T04:44:00.000-04:00

As a dutiful Janet, I've been filling out forms for Dad. Not sure if he can't be bothered filling them out, can't see to fill them out, or has a hard time understanding them.

I filled out a form and brought it back for his signature. Showed him where I needed his John Hancock and handed him a pen.

"Isn't there a way you could sign my name so we didn't have to do this?" Dad whined

"Yeah, there is."

"How?"

"The only way my signature would be accepted as yours, would be for you to give me power of attorney."

I heard crickets.

Eggs

2010-08-18T04:27:00.000-04:00

Dad has been complaining about having to do the cooking. Woman's work. Dad is torqued Ma hasn't been cooking meals. He lamented to me over the phone.

"I've had to do the cooking this week."

I could picture him raising the back of his wrist to his forehead. Martyr pose.

"She wasn't too happy with what I cooked for her tonight."

"What did you make?"

"The same thing I gave her last night. Potatoes and eggs."

"She doesn't like potatoes and eggs."

"I know."

I thought I detected a smirk in his tone, but I guess you have to break a few eggs.

Go Fish

2010-08-13T04:06:00.000-04:00

Himself took Dad to the Mahket. They were nearly finished going through the list when Dad announced he need "little fishies"

"Little fishies?" Himself asked puzzled. "Do you mean tuna?"

"No, I hate tuna."

"The goldfish crackers?" Dad answered "no" to a string of possibilities.

"No." Dad left in search of little fishies.

Himself picked up the few remaining items and then waited for Dad. Five minutes, ten minutes. Just about the time Himself was going to send out the posse, Dad rounded the corner.

He placed two dozen eggs in the cart.

"But you already have eggs."

"Oh."

Himself didn't pursue the matter. Just wanted to get the heck out of the mahket.

Jury's still out as to what little fishies are.

Road Trip

2010-08-09T04:35:00.000-04:00

It seemed like such a good idea. Or so I thought when The Nephew mentioned he had an old television he thought Grandpa would like. Dad's television bought the farm several months ago. This sounded like a perfect idea. Until last Sunday.

The Brother called late in the afternoon. "We brought the television, but can't find the converter box. The Weebles said Himself took it. I asked where the cables were. They said Himself took it. So I'm calling Himself to find out where these things are."

"Himself didn't take anything."

"Then where the hell did they put them?"

Himself and I both laughed. Himself suggested The Brother look in the basement just at the bottom of the stairs. Dad has a table, and he piles junk on it. If not there, then up in the attic on top of Ma's hope chest.

A short time later, Dad called. He was very excited with the visit and the television. He would finally be able to watch 60 Minutes and the news.

After Dad hung up, The Brother called to tell me he had hooked everything. I jokingly told him, I'd have Dad call him when Dad couldn't remember how to turn the TV on, or which remote to use. (There's a remote for the television that needs to be set to channel 03, and the remote for the digital converter box which is used to change the channels. The Weebles don't have cable television.)

Dad called later. Dad was having trouble figuring out how to turn the tv on, and how to change the channels. I told him, Himself would stop by Monday afternoon.

And here is thee-mail exchange I had with The Brother at the beginning of the week:

Monday

Me: Hey!

Himself is taking a tv service call for you. Dad called to say he can't change the channel. I told him about the arrow buttons on the digital box, but he claims 1. the buttons aren't there and 2. no one showed him. I'm surprised he didn't tell me 3.Himself took them. I'm sure after Himself leaves there'll be another call on how to change the channels. Btw, he's very happy you and Your Young One stopped by. He loves watching the news and said the picture is terrific. Points to you for making an old man happy

The Brother:

Nice

1. I don't make house calls (there was an emoticon of a little black sheep which cracked me up)

2. We showed him what to do and made him practice, he passed before we left and found the buttons while we were there

3 You better blog this "he can't see the buttons because his glasses are wired up and the bifocals don't sit straight (there was an emoticon of a goofy guy with glasses)

Tuesday:

Me:

Hey!

I'm sorry you gave Dad the tv. He's called 4 times today because he doesn't know how to turn the tv on.(crazy eyes) They already lost the channel changer. Himself was there yesterday. One of them unplugged the television. Though I'm surprised they didn't tell Himself you did it. (winky)
oh well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions (devil emoticon)
e're taking bets as to when the next phone call will be. Time slots still open if you want to place a bet.

The Brother:

The say you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

guess it's right.

My guess is MA unplugged the set out of spite although we showed both how the set worked.

I guess for them watching tv is a curse for you and me.

Her comments was why they were getting my junk, any way if it keeps up I can go pick up the set and bring it to my office.

So Himself has had to stop at the Weebles every day after school last week. There was a hunt to find the channel changers, plug the television back in, and to go over all the buttons, how to turn things on and off and how to change channels. Himself even wrote directions put everything in a folder by the television.

Saturday, Dad called all frustrated. He couldn't remember how to turn the set on.

"I need Himself to show me and to write down what I need to do.

"Himself did."

"No, he didn't."

"Yes, he did. He put the instructions in a folder with the channel changers."

"Where did he put the folder?"

"By the television."

Dad went on to whine how frustrated the new fangled gadgets make him feel. (Make him feel!)

Like they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Hey Good Lookin'. Whatcha Got Cookin'

2010-07-12T04:34:00.000-04:00

I get calls from Dad at least once a day. The calls fall into two categories: I'm Lonely and I Need a Buddy or Complaints. I've been getting complaint calls all this week. Most of the complaints have gone like this:

"You know Himself took me shopping last week. I spent $250.00 on food."

"Yup."

"Well, I haven't had a meal since we brought the food in."

"What do you mean you haven't had a meal?"

"She hasn't cooked! Not a thing!"

"And your arms and legs are broken so you can't make yourself something to eat?"

I tried to explain to Dad that Ma isn't going to make home-made raviolis ever again. Cooking is one of the activities that's beyond her. She doesn't have good control over her hands. I reminded him how often she drops things: silverware, cups, papers.

"It's dangerous for her to try to cook. Moving hot pans about."

"What am I supposed to do?" his voice rose with frustration.

"You have a few choices."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, you either pay to have someone come in to cook." I know this won't be an option as he also rides Ma's I'm Not Paying Train. "You can have meals on wheels brought in, which would be cheaper on your grocery bill in the long run."

"No, I'm not doing meals on wheels. The food is garbage."

"And you know this because you've eaten it?"

"No, but it's garbage." What he means is it's not Italian. No home-made gravy. No home-made ravioli, eggplant Parmagiana, no braciole.

"Then your only option, besides starving, is to take over the cooking."

At this point in the conversation, Popeye could be heard grumbling. "Cooking is woman's work..."

"Well, if you don't want to starve, cooking better become man's work."

Legal Eagle

2010-06-23T04:41:00.003-04:00

As I mentioned before, Dad had a secretary named Janet. He loved Janet's efficiency and how she took care of the nitty gritty of his office. I've been helping Dad with his finances and paying the bills, and I'm his new Janet.

On a recent visit he handed me papers he received from the Board of Bar Overseers, forms for license renewal.

"I want to renew my license to practice law," he said. He signed the forms. "Send these out for me, will you? And see that the fee is paid."

"No worries."

Tonight my boss called.

"Did you take care of the thing?"

"For your license renewal?" Dad is sometimes vague about what he talks about.

"Yes."

"Yup, made copies for you and mailed everything out this morning."

"Good. You know this will be my 60th. year practicing before the Bar. I want to keep it up because it will look good in the paper."

"The paper? You mean your obituary?"

"Yeah."

Palm to forehead.

Sorry Wrong Number

2010-06-16T04:13:00.010-04:00

If I am going to be out of the house for more than an hour, I transfer the home telephone calls to my cell phone. While running errands, a call came through. Dad. Since Dad's calls tend to be 43 minutes or longer, I told him I would call him back.

(Note: this is an interactive blog. Click on the links. You will need to use your browser's back button to continue reading the blog.)

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ma. It's me. How are you?"

"Eh." ( similar to "meh", not the Canadian "eh")

"Dad called me while I was out. Is he in?"

"Yes." And she began shrieking his name until he picked up the extension.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad. It's me. What's up?"

There was a long pause as if he was listening to something.

"I just wanted to know when my doctor appointment is this week."

"Your appointment is...."

"When?"

"Thursday."

"Is that you huffing?" Dad asked. He was clearly irritated. I could tell he wanted to talk to me. Mostly to vent about Ma, but he was leery.

"Me? No."

"Who is it then?"

"I think it's Darth Mater"

Change

2010-06-03T07:11:00.000-04:00

Himself, as usual, was patiently listening to me whine about the Weebles.

"Remember in the old days you would hear parents complaining about their kids?" He said it more as a statement of fact than as a question. "Now the kids are complaining about their parents. Times they are a changing."

Grave Statement

2010-03-18T07:39:00.004-04:00

I was with Ma at her bank. The customer service rep was helping us negotiate some paperwork. Ma was extolling the virtues of both the customer service rep and myself.

"I hope you don't die before me," Ma said turning to me. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

I think I finally understand the expression "a goose just walked across my grave."

Tax Season

2010-03-10T04:05:00.001-05:00

Helping Dad fill out the tax form.

"What do you put down for your occupation?"

"Retired"

"And Ma?"

"Shrew"

Charming Elderly Couple.

2010-02-24T04:46:00.002-05:00

Saw this on a friend's Facebook page.

Elderly Couple of 62 Years

by Sydney Schatz (videos)

1:14

An elderly couple walked into the lobby of the Mayo Clinic for a checkup and spotted a piano. They've been married for 62 years and he'll be 90 this year.

Check out this impromptu performance. We are only as old as we feel, it's all attitude. Enjoy! They certainly do

Sadly, these are not my weebles.

Stop In The Name of Love

2010-02-19T04:43:00.005-05:00

"After we finish with the doctor, and it's not too late, can you take me to the bank?" Ma asked.

Deep sigh. I hate the location of her new bank. Right on Main Street. Angled parking that's always full, and if you're lucky enough to get a space in front of the bank building, it's always in between two giant Sooves (Dad's word for SUV) so you can't see to back out into traffic.

I made the turn onto Main St. I could see the last space in front of the bank was open. And then the @$# car in front of me, pulled neatly into that last @$@% space!

The street next to the bank is more of an alley than a street. It's so narrow, hard to believe it's a two way with parallel parking on one side. I might be able to find a space towards the back of the bank building. I made the turn and pulled next to the corner curb to let Ma out. All the while speaking in tongues.

She just wanted to find out if her pension check had been direct deposited. The pension people had "lost" the paperwork and owed her 3 months of checks. Why couldn't she just call the &$^^@! bank from the comfort and convenience of her home? No, we have to make a trip downtown. Where there's no parking. Or parallel parking. I can't parallel park to save my soul.

I was still muttering in tongues when I slammed the driver door shut and turned to walk to the passenger side of the car to let Ma out.

In front of me, a police officer pulled his enormous Soove into the opening of the alley and hit the flashing blue bar on the top of his vehicle.

For the love of $&!#* I could see the officer mouthing the words MOVE THE CAR NOW

I walked to the police vehicle, and the officer rolled down his window. He was telling me I couldn't park there and I was blocking the crosswalk.

I think I might have said to him "Give me a break" I know I was thinking it along with some other phrases. I put my hands up to him. He probably thought I was praying. I actually had my wrists together begging him in mime to arrest me. Handcuff me! Take me to jail! Do not let me pass go! Then I wouldn't have to deal with the Weebles at all.

He must have caught sight of Dad exiting the car.

"I love old people, too. Let 'em out and then MOVE your vehicle."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

The officer disappeared as I got Ma out of the car, got her walker, and got her toddling up the sidwalk.

"Where are we supposed to go?" Dad meekly asked.

"The %#&*% BANK! It's right in front of you!"

I got back into the car, turned over the engine, and was about to pull away from the curb, when I saw Dad reaching for the passenger side back door.

Ma's ^#&!*#^ pockabook was on the back seat!

Have to say one thing about the beater of the station wagon I drive. The doors really hold up well to slamming.

With the pockabook retrieved, the Weebles heading to the bank, a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure the police officer hadn't circled the bank to ticket me for being too slow, I pulled out into the alley. There was an open spot right in front of the back door of the bank, but as I said I can't parallel park to save my soul. At the end of the alley at the corner were two empty parking spaces. I could just pull up to the curb. I maneuvered neatly. Put the car into park, turned off the engine, and looked in the spare change bucket for a quarter to feed the meter. I had myriad numbers of dimes, copious nickels, a few pennies, and not one @$!@$! quarter! Not one!

"^!%$@^&^", I screamed and banged the steering wheel. No good deed goes unpunished.

Once again I gave my door a solid, satisfying slam, turned the engine over, and pulled out into traffic. Behind the bank, there is a small parking lot for bank customers. It's usually full. I pulled in and started the circuit to the exit as every space I could see had a ^%@^* car in it. Late Thursday afternoon, why were these people at the bank? Doesn't everyone have their paycheck direct deposited now?

And there in front of me, a whole row of handicap spaces! A whole, empty row and I had Ma's handicap placard with me!

When Ma concluded her business, I made her walk to the back of the bank, exit the back door and walk to my car. No way was I going to drive around to the front of the bank to try to pick the Weebles up. No good deed goes unpunished.

Shhhh

2010-01-26T04:09:00.000-05:00

Poor Whine, sorely neglected. Apologies. When we last met, Ma was recovering from a fall. Just before Christmas, she took another, more serious spill. To say things were at sixes and sevens would be an understatement. After another vacation in the hospital and rehab, Ma is home again and things are returning to normal. Bang head here.

I had a little list of anecdotes, but I seem to have misplaced the scrap of paper. Fallout. I'm turning into a weeble.

I have one piece of news, but you have to swear you won't say a word to the Weebles. I usually operate on the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy of the military where the Weebles are concerned. And when confronted, I take my cue from Senate hearings. "I have no recollection of that at this time, Senator."

Down the road apiece, about 5 or 6 miles, a new grocery store opened up last week. Yup, you guessed it in the cheap seats, it's a brand new Mahket. Just like the one I take the Weebles to only newer, shinier and cleaner. So I'm told. Himself went shopping there on opening day. I have yet to set foot in the store, and if I play my cards right, I won't ever have to.

Business Calls

2009-11-19T02:31:00.005-05:00

Ma recently changed banks. Dad said he would call social security to notify them of the change. I was able to find the phone number for her union office. Dad said he would call them too.

After a week, the calls hadn't been made. I wasn't sure if he just didn't want to be bothered or if it was his way of paying Ma back for all her griping. She wouldn't make the calls herself. And he wasn't going to call. A catch-22.

A friend told me, he was probably confused by the automated answering menu. Maybe. I found myself making phone calls and chasing down paper work for direct deposit of her social security check and pension check. I had her sit by the telephone with me so I could hand the phone to her so she could verify her identity. These people don't want to talk to me. The Privacy Act is good and bad.

I was relaying my irritation to Himself. Ma for all her claims to be Ms. Independent is very dependent. There really is no reason she can't make these calls herself.

"I don't like to talk on the telephone," I mimicked in Ma's whiny voice. "I don't know what to say."

She might not like to talk on the telephone, but she has no qualms about picking up the phone and making calls to Auntie Rose's buddies in ^#$^# * Jamaica!

What A Crock

2009-11-18T02:55:00.000-05:00

While visiting with Ma, the conversation turned to the fare I served for the holy days of obligation. When cooking for a crowd, I usually cook in the crockpot. Chicken cacciatore or shrimp Creole served over rice. We've done chicken, steak, hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill, if the weather has been nice. Lasagna with eggplant Parmagiana (courtesy of Himself). Turkey for Thanksgiving. Shrimp scampi or creole for Christmas Eve (a nod to the Feast of the Seven Fishes because I hate most of the traditional fish (eel, salted cod). All the meals are served with fresh baked bread, salad, and The Brother and his family bring dessert, coffee, and sometimes salad. The meals are all crowd pleasers at least where my family is concerned. I've made home-made ravioli though they fell short in Ma's estimation though Himself assured me my ravioli were better than Ma's.

"Well," she sniffed. "You don't serve the kind of food I do. Your meals are cheap."

A friend recently told me "No one can burst your bubble faster than your mother." How true! Ma it seems doesn't care for "casseroles." Now I realize her statement comes more from the fact that she has to relinquish control to the younger generation. It's classic OPD. She can't do things the way she used to. Still, I was a little hurt by her comment.

In my defense may I say I find cooking in the crockpot convenient. I don't have to spend days cooking for an event only to be worn out, I can't enjoy the company. Like Ma and all the aunties did in the old days. I can start a meal early in the morning, and it's ready when company shows up. I don't have to worry it will dry out when Himself will call to tell me the Weebles are running late.

On the way home, I planned the menu for Thanksgiving, the next holy day of obligation. We're having Chinese food.

Illegal Use of Hands

2009-11-17T02:07:00.002-05:00

After her two week vacation in the hospital and rehab for her dislocated shoulder, Ma had to see the orthopedic surgeon for a follow up. Her appointment was a day or two before a mahket run. With her arm in a sling, I didn't want to deal with Ma trying to maneuver the scooter around the store. She can barely control the damned thing with two hands. I couldn't imagine her trying one handed. Can you imagine the havoc she'd wreak on the poor Little Debbies?

After having an x-ray, the doctor told Ma her shoulder was healing. She had torn the rotator cuff and other ligaments in her shoulder. She will never be able to reach overhead, but as long as she can get herself bathed, dressed, and fed, we'd call it good.

The doctor was about to dismiss us when I moved closer to him so I could talk without Ma really being able to hear.

"Tell her she can't go to the Mahket."

"There's no reason she can't go shopping."

"Tell her," I hissed.

"You tell her," he said looking at me perplexed. I know what the young doctor was thinking. To him, I'm a weeble so he was wondering what the heck my problem was. He could tell I was agitated, but he didn't know I was worried for all the lives of the fruits and vegetables and Little Debbies if Ma careened around the store on the scooter one handed.

"She won't hear it from me. You're the authority figure. You tell her," I inched closer and nudged him in the ribs.

His eyes grew round, and he looked from me to Ma.

"Ma, you can't go shopping. You need to keep wearing the sling. I'll see you again in three weeks"

Ma nodded.

I beamed at the doctor. Such a pleasant young man.

"Thank you, Doctor."

The Telephone

2009-11-16T02:05:00.003-05:00

The telephone in Ma's room while she vacationed in the hospital, was a modern wonder. No longer the bulky desk phone that would crash to the floor when the patient went to answer the phone. The telephone was just a sleek handset. There was a round earpiece that tapered to the mic like a lollipop shape. A light flashed on the handset to let one know a call was coming in. Press the flashing light and the call is connected. The handset also controlled the bed and the television.

I was heading to the hospital for a visit and decided to call to see if there was anything Ma wanted me to bring. I also wanted to let the Happy Wanderer know I would take him home after I visited with Ma.

The telephone rang a couple of times and I heard Dad answer though his voice sounded far away.

"Hello?"

"Hello..."

"Hello? Hello?"

"Dad? DAD! It's me!"

I could hear Ma in the background faintly ask "Who is it?"

"I don't know. There's no one there."

"DAD! DAD IT's ME!"

Click.

I tried again.

"Hello?"

"Hi Dad, it's..."

"Hello? Hello? There's no one..."

"DAD! It's ME. DON'T HANG..."

Click.

"Damn it!"

Dad must have been holding the handset upside down with the mic to his ear and the rounded part near his mouth. I could hear him, albeit faintly, so he must have pressed the flashing light.

From the sun room came the sound of laughter. No, not laughter. Chortling. Himself was comfortably ensconced in his lounge chair, feet up, and he was dying of laughter.

The phone converstation with Dad, or rather the lack of a conversation had annoyed me. I didn't want to get up to the hospital to find Ma wanted a certain nightgown, or lotion, or any number of things I could have easily picked up as I sailed by their house on the way to the hospital. I did not find Himself's guffawing the least bit endearing.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Oh," Himself wiped tears from his eyes. "It was such a classic routine! The timing was perfect. You really should take that act on the road."

"I just live to amuse you."

Fun Fact

2009-11-07T03:55:00.001-05:00

Ma does not like Chinese food. When she was a kid, some bright spark told her the meat used was cat meat.

She won't touch Chinese food. She wouldn't even try it when her good friends celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary at a Chinese restaurant.

Weebles Wobble And They Don't Fall Down Is A Lie

2009-10-26T02:53:00.000-04:00

I apologize that Whine has been sorely neglected this path month.

One day, Ma decided she had to go to the bank. She had to go to the bank at that very minute. Did she call a taxi? Nope. You have to pay for a taxi and tip the driver to boot. Both Weebles are so tight you can hear them squeak when they walk. Did Ma call moi to let her know she had to get to the bank. Nope. Ma decided to walk. Yup, you heard me in the cheap seats. Ma decided to walk. Dad tried to protest, but in the end walked arm in walker down the street with Ma. Yup,OPD at its finest. All together now: take the palm of your dominant hand and slap it against your forehead.

Have to give the old lady credit, she nearly made it to the bank. She was in sight of the bank when she took her tumble. Weebles wobble and sometimes they fall and can't get up.

A couple of young men happened by and tried to help. I'm sure they wanted to call an ambulance, but Ma insisted she was fine. So they picked her up and helped her to the bank. Ma was not fine and someone from the bank called an ambulance.

So Ma won an all expense paid vacation to the hospital with a few days at a rehab because she dislocated her shoulder.

I thought Dad would be dancing a jig since he would have his own vacation in a Ma free zone.

When I called later in the week to see how the old guy was doing, he sighed heavily on the phone.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm lonely. It's so quiet here without her."

I guess any attention, even negative attention is better than no attention at all.

"Well, I can yell at you like Ma does. I know all the verses to "The Stupid Song."

Not My Monkey

2009-09-21T06:40:00.000-04:00

The Weebles recently had a new roof put on their house. I had recommended the company that remodeled our bathroom. The Roofer met with them, and they picked the color shingles they wanted. Fox Run Grey. A light grey.

The Roofer had called and left a message on my voicemail.

"Please call me right away. I have some very bad news." His voice was filled with dread.

I though the roofing crew must have found a weeble dead on the floor. With nervous fingers I dialed the Roofer's number and tried to keep my voice calm as I asked him what had happened.

"The crew was 3/4 of the way finished, when your dad noticed the color of the shingles are charcoal grey and not the light grey they ordered."

I almost laughed out of relief.

The Roofer apologized for his mistake. No one bothered to double check the product shipped was the product ordered.

On one hand no one ever died because the roof was charcoal grey. Afterall, the quality of the shingles or the workmanship was not the issue. The roof would keep the Weebles warm and dry. On the other hand, the roof was "not white." (This is a reference to the issues we had when ordering the white tiles for our bathroom. The only difference is we discovered the problem before the not white tiles were adhered to the walls.)

I think the Roofer was hoping I would make the decision to resolve the problem. The Weebles want a light grey roof. I'm happy the decision is not my monkey.

Pogo

2009-09-20T06:12:00.000-04:00

"What happened to you?" asked Himself as I limped into the house.

"It started out as as typical Mahket run. I got a handicap space. Ma got a scooter and I trailed behind her at a safe and respectful distance. We cruised through produce..."

"Were any veggies murdered?"

"No. Though one tomato saw us coming, and he leaped from his heap and ran away."

"You mean he suicided?" Himself sat down getting very interested in the story.

"No, he jumped and ran away. Rolled as fast as he could towards the produce room."

"Okaaay. What happened to you?"

"We had made a first past blessing the meat when Ma decided she wanted to go back to look at the pork."

"I thought Ma didn't eat pork."

"She doesn't but she wanted some sausage for Dad. So she makes a turn around the frozen fish case and parks in front of the sausage case. The nose of her cart is pointing back toward produce. I'm behind the scooter pawing through the packages trying to find a package that's not full of fat but cheap in price when a stock boy comes out of the meat room with a baker's tray filled with pork."

"What's that he got?"

The stock boy stopped near us. "Pork," he said.

"What kind?" asked Ma.

"All kinds", answered the stock boy.

"He starts moving behind me to stock the pork chops. Ma decided she wanted to see what he had on the cart so she thumbs the reverse switch and rammmed into me. I'm backing up and yelling stop, stop. Her thumb is frozen on reverse and she accelerated into me. I then tumble like a domino and into the lap of the stock boy."

Himself is laughing.

"Kinda gave new meaning to porked."

"It's a pogo," Himself managed to get out in between laughs.

"A what?"

"Pogo. Pork one, get one." Himself started to laugh uncontrollably.

The limp should be gone in a few days. I just hope that young man doesn't have to spend a long time in therapy.

Bookworm

2009-09-16T06:00:00.001-04:00

No points, but what are the odds?

How do You Spell Stress?

2009-09-13T11:19:00.002-04:00

W-E-E-B-L-E-S

Man Posts Parents for Sale on Craigslist

2009-09-06T18:34:00.003-04:00

Man posts parents for sale on Craigslist. Maybe he's onto something. Nuff said.

Lottery

2009-09-01T06:05:00.000-04:00

We pulled into the service station.

"While I pump gas, you go in and buy two lottery tickets, "Himself said to me as he handed me two dollars.

Yes, occasionally we worship at the altar of Auntie Rose just like Ma. Unlike Ma, we play the legitimate lottery sanctioned by the State. Himself only plays the lottery when the jackpot is in the hundreds of millions. The jackpot was $250 million.

"Play our numbers." He handed me an official lottery form. "And ask for a quick pick."

I came out of the gas station convenience story holding the two holy white squares. Money can't buy happiness, but it certainly would come in handy. The girls' college education paid for in full, home equity loan and credit card paid off, a row of deciduous, no a row of flowering crab apple trees bought and planted along the Leaf Lady's side line. On the ride home, I chuckled.

"What's so funny?" Himself asked.

"If you win, Ma is going to be so ticked. You realize she would expect you to take care of her for the rest of her life."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's been talking about moving lately."

"Yes, I'll see that she's moved into a new home."

Crackers

2009-08-18T07:55:00.003-04:00

I've been trying to decide which day would be the best day to go to the Mahket. Which day is the least crowded. Weekends definitely out. First through the third of the month, the day weeble social security checks hit the bank are definitely out. Tuesday and Wednesday had possibilities until Prissy mentioned these days were senior citizen days at various stores. I have enough problems dealing with my own weebles without dealing with everyone else's. That left Monday or Thursday. Hmmm, Thursday probably the day people wanted to get a jump on the weekend. Monday. People would have already crammed the store on Saturday and Sunday. Monday seemed like the logical choice.

Monday off to the Mahket. As we pulled into the parking lot, I spotted not one, but two free handicap spots! Maybe Monday would be the best shopping day afterall. The weather was also blistering hot and humid, and I was hoping that would keep the crowds away. Course, people might find relief diving into the frozen food cases. If getting my choice of handicap spaces was an indication, I'd hope for the best.

I sent Dad into the store to get a scooter while I helped Ma out of the car. The carriage boy, the one who collects the empty carriages from the parking lot and pushes them back to the store, and the one who glares and makes faces at me when I park at the end of the store in the fire lane and load weebles and groceries approached me.

"Will she need a scooter?" he asked solicitiously.

Whoa, he must have had a visitation from three ghosts the night before.

"No, thank you, my father is bringing one out to her." And on cue, Dad brought the scooter to Ma.

Inside, the store wasn't horribly crowded. I breathed a sigh of relief though that was short lived as Ma rounded a corner and nearly bowled an elderly gentleman over.

He gave me the look. The one I use on parents of young children who are getting out of hand. Mind your young, or eat them.

I gave him a cool look. If you think you can do a better job, you're welcome to her, pal.

Ma worked her way through produce and ended at tomatoes. Plum tomatoes were too expensive. Big Boy tomatoes looked like some sort of mutant cross. Smoothness and color of tomatoes but the size of small pumpkins. The tomatoes on the vine weren't a bad price and at least looked normal size.

"Get three pounds. But make sure they are solid," Ma admonished as I opened the plastic bag and started feeling up the tomatoes.

"Solid". Dad's word. He must have given her shopping instructions before I arrived.

The woman next to me offered some helpful advice. "There really aren't many good ones."

"Last time, the tomatoes you picked turned all white inside," said Ma.

I waited for her to tell me the tomatoes were "touched" so I could retort I knew who really was touched, but she didn't say anything further. She just sat on her scooter throne watching which tomatoes I was chosing.

"Here. If you don't like the tomatoes I pick, then pick your own." I held the back open and Ma groped through the tomatoes selecting a couple.

"Just like these."

Fine.

With produced picked we headed to meat, but Ma got sidetracked when she spotted the cleaning aisle.

"I need the stick to mop the floor."

The stick. The Swiffer dry mop. Ma loves them.

"But you bought one two weeks ago when we were here before."

"I want one to use with the dry cloths and one to use with the wet. Oh, and get the cleaner for the cook top."

Ma scooted up the cleaning aisle and rounded the corner nearly knocking over a young woman kneeling on the floor harvesting cans from a low shelf.

"What's this?" Ma asked.

"Cat food," I said.

"Oh, I thought it was tuna fish."

"It is, but not for you." Please Gawd, don't let her try to sample the cat food.

The other end of the pet aisle was clear and the aisle was surprisingly wide without carriages and shoppers. Ma opened up her throttle and nearly collided into another shopper's carriage as Ma tried to roar through the intersection. I could almost hear the tires of the scooter squeal.

Back towards produce because Ma caught sight of white grapes for 99 cents per pound in a refrigerated case across from poultry.

Happy she found the grapes, Ma left produce again and zipped towards meat. She didn't quite negotiate the turn around the case where she first spotted grapes and she slammed into a pallet of cardboard cases. Three boxes shot into the air like canon balls and landed with louds smacks that brought the entire meat department to a stand still.

Undaunted, Ma backed up, without looking, made her turn and continued on as if nothing happened. A hit and run.

I picked up the three cardboard boxes and was relieved to find they housed crackers. I was happy the cartons weren't loaded with jars of pickles. At least cracker boxes come with the some contents may settle during shipping disclaimer.

I heard a tuneless whistle and knew Dad was close by. He shuffled by his carriage laden with a dozen items. We were closing in on the hour and a half mark in the store and I was amazed his carriage had so few items.

"We're almost done," I informed him. "We just have to get some frozen vegetables."

"Did she get the Italian bread?"

"No. Go get the bread and meet us in the frozen food aisle."

I had retrieved a two pound bag of mixed vegetables, and peas. Dad rounded the corner so I put those items in his carriage. I continued down the aisle shouting to Ma if she needed this vegetable or that one.

"Do you want some cauliflower"

"No!" shouted Dad.

"Yes," said Ma.

"Which is it?"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Oh, let her have it!" snarled Dad.

I wasn't too sure if he meant for me to retrieve a bag of cauliflower from the freezer or to whack Ma upside the head with the frozen bag.

"You know, shopping with you two is like being in an Abbott and Costello routine."

Ma exited frozen foods and headed to the opposite end of the store. The end where Dad had supposedly done the shopping.

"Where's she doing now?"

I looked at him. "She's playing pinball. Stay close so we don't lose her."

Ma turned up cereal and called, "Get me three boxes," as she zoomed past.

I picked up three boxes of Ma's special cereal, store brand mini wheats.

"Go long!" I called to Dad as I chucked the boxes in his carriage.

"Why does she need three boxes?"

I could see the dollar signs cha-chinging in his eyes. One way or the other, Dad pays.

"Now where's she going?" he whined.

"She going to get into the checkout line."

Sure enough, I found Ma waiting in the 10 items or less line.

I directed Ma to the next cashier. I should have waited to see if a ruckus ensued because Ma had ten times the required limit in her cart, but then I would be the one blamed and scorched by eye glare from the other shoppers. Madame, control your weebles or eat them!

Hope you're happy, Langley. I know you've been hoping that Ma would take out an entire endcap of Little Debbies. Keep wishing and praying. (-;

Don't Fence Me In

2009-08-11T08:29:00.004-04:00

After a recent visit to the doctor's office, Ma wanted to go to the Big Orange Box Store. She needed new windows. The "men" have been slashing the windows. No amount of arguing or eye rolling would dissuade her.

"I need windows for the porch."

The porch was a structure Dad built some 50 odd years ago. When I was a kid, it was a place to play on a rainy day. In later years, it became a place to store the trash barrel, odds and ends, and the patio chair cushions.

With Popeye in the back seat mumbling "he wasn't going to pay", we went to the home improvement store.

We found a scooter for Ma to ride in. Last time we were here, Ma pushed her walker all the way to the back of the store where washers were located. I was glad we didn't have to listen to Screeee! Screeee! echoing through the store.

Ma hit the accelerator and roared down the main drag. So different from her careening down the aisles of the Mahket where pedestrians have to weave and dodge out of her way.

I found a window sales associate who kept directing his inquiries to me.

"Talk to her because she's interested in getting windows."

I stood next to Popeye while the salesman asked Ma questions.

"How wide are you windows."

Ma blinked like an owl. After 20 minutes of shrugging and blinking, the sales associate made an appointment to send a salesman to the house to measure the windows and to show some window samples.

Errand done or so I thought.

"I need a door for the kitchen."

"How wide is your door?"

More blinking.

The sales associate told Ma the salesman could measure the door when he came to measure the windows.

Good. Errand done.

"I need a fence."

Popeye and I both mumbled. Popeye still on the I'm not paying hobby horse and me I was tired of the home improvement goose chase.

We found a sales associate in the fencing aisle.

"I need a fence to keep them from parking their cars on my lawn," began Ma.

"How big is your yard?"

Blink. Blink.

"I need the fence. It's terrible with the men in the yard."

The sales associate blinked at me over Ma's head.

I smiled politely. Yup, ragtime.

"It's terrible. They put beds in the yard and do things you can't really talk about."

"Oh. Well, you really need to talk to your building department because they regulate what kind of a fence you can put up."

He offered Ma some other helpful advice about building codes.

"Well, we seem to be done here," I announced.

As the sales associate moved by us, I thanked him for his time and his patience.

"I know what you're going through."

So How Do You...

2009-07-28T06:44:00.004-04:00

I had heated leftovers in the microwave for my lunch. Two small rolls would make a yummy addition, so I popped those on a paper plate and set the microwave for 12 seconds. I turned to get utensils from the drawer and was anticipating a nice quiet lunch in the sunroom.

Suddenly, I became aware of the smell of smoke. My rolls! I pounced on the open door button of the microwave which would open the door and stop the microwave. Smoke roiled out of the microwave chamber and filled the kitchen. The smoke wasn't that pleasant, blue, haze that fills the kitchen when frying bacon. This smoke had the acrid tang of charcoal.

I could barely make out the 2 rolls in the microwave. The paper plate began to smolder like a funeral pyre. I slammed the microwave door shut before I set the kitchen on fire. Obviously, I had set the microwave for 12 minutes and not 12 seconds. Only a minute or so of time had gone by. I think. Hard to tell exactly how much time had elapsed since some of the LED lights have burned out on the microwave timer. The countdown just shows lines in patterns instead of numbers. Single lines. Double line. Horizontal parallel lines. The countdown looks like some sort of alien language like Klingon.

I turned on the kitchen fan and the fan in the dining room in hopes of dissipating the smoke before the smoke detector went off. The old smoke detector with its blaring horn blast freaked out the kitty. The new smoke detector has a pleasant female voice who calmly calls out "Fire, fire, fire." Sometimes the smoke detector voice calls out "Supper, supper, supper" as sometimes burning food and supper time coincide. The smoke detector remained mercifully quiet.

The smoke was so thick in the microwave chamber, I couldn't see the little rolls. The fans had done of a good job of clearing the smoke though wisps of smoke were leaking from the microwave. I took my lunch to the sun room and waited until I could open the microwave door without causing a backdraft and immolating myself.

A half hour later, I was able to retrieve two lumps of pure carbon and dumped them in the trash. No delicious rolls and no diamonds for The Little Princess. When Himself called later in the day, I related my sad tale.

"You are such a Weeble!" he laughed.

"I know!"

The rolls are gone, the mess cleaned up. So how do you get that burned smell out of the microwave? I carefully heated up a bowl of water and lemon juice. That didn't work. I ripped open a pouch of activated charcoal used to absorb odors in the kitty litter. That didn't work. Any advice?

Doctor's Visit

2009-07-26T12:13:00.004-04:00

Thursday was the follow up appointment to check Ma's thyroid levels. She had zoned out while we waited in the waiting room. The Doc helped me rouse Ma.

I was invited into the examination room so I could hear what was going on. Blood levels good. Blood pressure excellent.

Ma asked whether she had to take that pill twice a day. That pill is a 1,000 IU Vitamin D. She had asked me a few days earlier about the dosage. I told her one tablet would be fine. The doctor concurred with me.

"I'll write down a list of the medications your grandma is taking," said the Doc.

"Excuse me, but I'm her daughter, not her granddaughter."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said the Doc as if he had grievously offended me.

"No worries. I'm flattered."

The Doc grabbed a pad of paper and in his crabbed doc handwriting began making a list of medications and dosages Ma is supposed to take. I tried not to make a "tsk" sound at his appalling penmanship.

"There. Well, is it my imagination or does Ma seem less sleepy?" asked the Doc with a large grin on his face.

Hello! You had to help me rouse Ma when it was her turn for the examination!

"It's your imagination," I said smiling politely.

In The Works

2009-07-10T10:45:00.002-04:00

Himself and I stopped at the big orange box store down the road apiece, next town over. (approx. 6 mi.)

"What's that going up?" he asked.

"Rumor has it, it's going to be a grocery store. Prissy told me The Mahket. I'm hoping it's a movie theater."

"Nope, doesn't look like a theater. Looks like a grocery store."

"Won't Ma love that."

"She ain't shopping here."

Veggie Tales

2009-07-09T07:47:00.003-04:00

Another Mahket day.

Stomach knotted in worry.

Guilty memories.

Split watermelon grins smiling up from the floor.

Never mind.

A new day. A new beginning.

Piles of green beans littered the floor like so many green pick up sticks.

A sigh of relief. I didn't do it.

The produce boy next to me piled yellow summer squash into the bin.

A squeak.

A roll.

Summer squash cascaded to the floor.

A sunshine avalanche.

A sigh of relief. I didn't do it.

Looking at bags of apples.

Bright, red MacIntosh.

Another produce man pushed a cart of cardboard boxes past me.

He lifted a box.

A rumble.

Cucumbers tumbled to the floor like so many giant green crayons.

A sigh of relief. I didn't do it.

Your Weeble is Showing

2009-06-18T18:27:00.009-04:00

Friday is approaching. Friday is another trip to the Mahket. Yeah, I can hear you all tittering with glee. As usual, I'm not looking forward to it. Besides hating the expedition, I'm worried. The last two times we went to the Mahket all the little scooters were in use. Ma had to use her walker. Pushing her trolley took a lot out of her. I barely was able to get her up the stairs into the house.

I'm also nervous about a repeat performance that happened to me last time we went shopping.

We were in the produce department. A display of personal watermelons caught Ma's eye.

"Get me one of those."

Personal watermelons. I looked at the sign. Looked at the produce and looked at Ma. She had shuffled off to the about to rot markdowns.

Personal watermelons. Look like little watermelons except they are round. They are about the size of a 10 pin sized bowling ball. I need to make that distinction because here in New England, we play candle pin bowling. The bowling ball is the size of a grapefruit.

Get the picture? Bowling balls piled in a pyramid. I went to take one from the top and the whole pyramid began to slide and one watermelon jumped and hit the floor with a sickening splat. It looked up at me with a wide, red, watermelon grin.

Ma turned around from looking at the display.

"I don't want that one."

No duh! I felt horrible. I had murdered a watermelon. Me! I looked around and there was no one around so I moved the watermelon under the counter with my foot. I grabbed another candidate and turned to put it in the carriage I was pushing. Another woman near the rotting produce had seen my interaction. She gave me a cold look. Her mouth in a taut line. J'accuse.

Ah Ha

2009-06-14T06:00:00.000-04:00

Three Stooges fans, Himself and I had enjoyed the clip from The Three Little Pirates. Himself was passing through the kitchen on his way to the bathroom.

"Ma ha?"

"Ah ha."

We continued with the routine and burst into a gale of laughter. At this time, The Young One happened by.

She gave me a side-long look. "Scary," she said.

"I'm scary? You don't know scary. Wait until I'm 90. I've seen my future."

Himself's voice floated out from the bathroom. "It's not pretty."

Theater of the Absurd

2009-06-13T06:00:00.005-04:00

After much nudging and the fact Ma had some sort of a spell on Sunday, Dad finally called the doctor to tell him about Ma's visions. The doctor requested Dad make an appointment for Ma and I was to come along too.

The only thing I could think of was the doctor would talk about long-term care facilities. Why else would he want me to attend this meeting? After all, I've been driving Miss Daisy for three years and he's never asked to see me before.

The appointment was for Tuesday at noon. When I arrived, Ma was just eating breakfast and then she had to spend the time cleaning up the kitchen. Cleaning is a classic OPD delay technique. Obviously, she was nervous as she was crabbing at Dad and me.

"We can't leave if the house is dirty," Ma grumped as she scrubbed the table.

It's one of Ma's classic mantra's. Ranks up there with having to wear clean underwear in case you're in an accident.

Course, it didn't help Dad kept hissing at her not to tell the doctor about the men in the yard or the fact that she had the God-given gift of being able to see through walls.

"They'll put you away!"

I wasn't sure whether Dad was giving her a warning or wishful thinking.

We were late for the appointment though the doctor as usual was running behind. After a 15 minute wait, he called us into the exam room.

He looked at me and asked if Ma was taking the thyroid pills.

"No," I said while in the same space of time Ma said, "Yes."

"Which is it?"

"I'm taking my pills," Ma said emphatically.

I touched the tip of my nose and pulled my hand forward. Pinnochio's nose is growing. After a brief interrogation Ma admitted she had been taking the pills since Sunday.

The doctor made the uhhum, I see kind of doctor noise and then pulled a scratch pad of paper and began a diagram and medical school lecture about the function of the thyroid. How the pituitary gland in the brain, sends a signal to the butterfly shaped thyroid at the base of the Adam's apple to produce TSH, thyroid stimulating hormone.

Boiled down, the thyroid and hormones control other body systems, like the heart. Without sufficient amounts of TSH in the system, functions begin to deteriorate and the patient may experience auditory and visual hallucinations.

"It's called Myxedema Madness." The doctor beamed with his diagnosis.

I was sitting there smiling politely, nodding in all the right places and wondering what the f...heck I was doing there. The doctor's next statement gave me a clue as to my function.

"You must make your mother take the thyroid pills."

"I don't live with them, and I don't live close by."

"I know, but you must make her understand."

There was more discussion how the latest pills he had prescribed were a stronger strength.

The gong sounded. I was here as the interpreter. I almost burst out laughing because I started thinking about the Three Stooges routine.

"Ma ha?"

"Ah ha."

"Rasbany fiddy buddy uchy. This, how you say pickle puss, he asky tasky whats you got?"

The doctor looked at me expectantly.

Now, Ma is as deaf as a haddock. Actually, she's selectively deaf as a haddock, but I took my cue and turned towards her. Ma was looking at me, waiting for me to speak. I bent close to her ear:

THE DOCTOR WANTS YOU TO TAKE YOUR THYROID PILLS," I shouted.

Ma nodded. The doctor beamed at me.

More discussion concerning the color of the pills. We all became confused as to whether the old ones were white and the new ones yellow. The doctor charged me with taking the old pills from her so she couldn't take the remaining few.

At the house we argued the white pills were the old ones. The new bottle was empty. Watson come quick I need you. The old ones had a more recent date than the new ones. But the Rx indicated the old ones were of a higher dosage. I took the empty bottle.

"Take these."

The doctor had reassured us that as Ma built up her thryoid levels, the halluncinations would disappear. Like Auntie Rose would disappear, but I hope he's right. With the men in the yard, a woman and now a man and two small girls building a room over the garage, the little Weeble house is getting crowded.

D-TV Day

2009-06-12T06:00:00.001-04:00

Today is the day that television stations must stop broadcasting an analog signal and broadcast a digital. A few months ago, Himself hooked up a digital converter box for the Weebles. There were several panic calls about blue screens and several lessons on using both remote controls, one for the television and the other for the converter box. Phone calls stopped and we thought all was well and found that Dad had brought another portable television from the attic to the living room.

The other day, I reminded Dad the spare TV would no longer work on 12. June. I turned to the television with the converter box to see if it would work.

"Where are the remotes?"

He handed me the remote to the television.

"Where's the remote for the converter box?"

"I don't know," he shrugged.

I pushed the power button on the television remote. The screen came to life in a blaze of static and looked like the VHS player was on. I set the remote to chanel 03 and a nice clear picture came through.

"You have to keep the television remote set to channel 3."

"But I want to watch channel 4"

"Right. Keep this," and I waved the remote, "on channel 3. You can change the channel you want by using the up and down arrows on the converter box." I pushed the arrows and the television screen flickered through a few channels."

"Just put it on channel 4. That's all I watch."

I set the channel on the converter to channel 4 and turned the power off on the television remote. Himself had told Dad not to turn the power off on the converter box and the power light was happily gleaming a bright cobalt blue.

So, Dad's ready for the digital television transition, well his television is. I wonder how many hours will pass before we get the dreaded "the screen is blue" call.

Any bets?

Alien Thinking

2009-06-09T05:43:00.000-04:00

From time to time, I pop into Caring.com a blog devoted to elder care. I always hope for a magic answer to dealing with elders, but so far, nothing. A month or so ago someone posted a question how do I help my mother stay less stressed while caring for my father? A reverse of my weeble situation so I went to take a look.

Look into ways you can simplify the number of things she's responsible for. Make sure she's using automated payment systems for household bills wherever possible, for example. Arrange for yard care, housecleaning, or online delivery of groceries.

Was this supposed to be a head slapping moment? Why didn't I think of this? Peapod, for gawd's sake, it's so simple! And then I thought what planet does this woman live on? My weebles certainly aren't going to pay for yard care, house cleaning and though I have begged and begged grocery delivery is out of the question.

Consider an elder-care companion, someone who can spend time with your dad a few hours a week to give your mom a chance to get out of the house

The author makes this sound like the service is free. My weebles certainly wouldn't pay to have a stranger come into the house to "rob them blind." As it is, there are men roaming all over the yard, and a man and woman building a room over the garage.

Though the suggestions are reasonable, I think the author hasn't dealt with elder care or is dealing with young elders. Baby boomers who may find these suggestions appealing. She certainly doesn't seem to be dealing with elders from the depression and WWII generation. The author missed the main point of OPD is control. All the suggestions above take control away from someone. She certainly isn't dealing with elders like my weebles who are resistant to change and can become mule stubborn at the drop of a hat.

I'd like to know what planet she's on. Might decide to move there.

Nightmare

2009-06-08T06:00:00.001-04:00

Ma was convinced there was a box of animals or bugs in her closet. She took me into her room. The closet door was barricaded with some furniture and chairs.

Ma carefully slide the door open.

"I have to do this slowly because they fly up into your face," she whispered

Part of me knew there was nothing there. Part of me worried that Ma had seen a mouse or spiders. Part of me remembered she's using the room that was mine when I was little. I thought for a minute. No, I wasn't afraid of anything in the closet. I had an imaginery friend, Zippy (named after a stuffed monkey Himself had) who lived in the closet. Zippy didn't inspire fear even though his mouth looked like rick-rack. There was an alligator that lived under the bed, but I can't recall he ever relocated to the closet.

I cautiously peered over a chair. I knew if I saw a mouse or spider I was going to freak.

"See? In the box." She pointed to a rectangular object on the floor.

There was something on the floor. It could have been a box though it wasn't deep. The lid of a box perhaps. In the dark, I couldn't make out much.

"It's moving! See?"

"There's nothing moving Ma. It looks like a box of junk." I thought I saw a doll's head and maybe a leg or an arm. "Maybe some junk from the girls' dollhouses."

"Can't you see them moving?"

"There's nothing moving. I'll show you."

I reached into the closet to retrieve the box. Please God, don't let there be a dead mouse or a spider in here or I'll freak.

The object on the floor was a magazine. The doll's head was a picture of a woman bathing a dachshund in a sink. An ad for Kohler. I gave a nervous laugh mostly from relief.

"It's just a magazine. See? A Martha Stewart Living magazine.

Ma didn't look like she was convinced, but she dropped the subject.

All her men in the yard, animals in the fireplace and the closet started me down a rabbit hole of "what ifs" What ifs based on the old Twilight Zone episode Nightmare at 20,000 Feet starring William Shatner. If you don't remember the episode or were too young to ever see it, you can watch the You Tube synopsis.

What if Ma's right and the rest of us just can't see?

Bottoms Up

2009-06-07T12:07:00.003-04:00

Sometimes dealing with the Weebles, I feel like a new parent. How do you handle first time situations? The first time your toddler says "no", the first time they speak in tongues. Dealing with weebles has a lot of firsts and dealing with weebles can feel like dealing with toddlers especially when elders dig in their heels and become stubborn. Terrible Twos isn't just about toddlers.

The only difference is with toddlers is the wealth of information from other parents with older children. With elders, we just don't seem to talk about certain issues and the issues become dirty little secrets.

Ma has been "seeing" men in the yard. They were sleeping in her bushes or the yard in the dead of winter. This all stems from her fear and worry about being left alone. She's called the police twice for them to investigate prowlers.

So what do you do? You can't really agree with her because that just feeds the fear. Though it is tempting. When Ma was singing no one does anything for her, I almost suggested she gets the men in the yard to do things for her. I wouldn't mind a bit if one of them took her to the Mahket.

The men do provide some amusement. Ma had looked out the window and said one of the men had a bed and had a girl in the bed.

"Ma, why would they have a bed in your yard?"

"Hmm," she said in a knowing way and then looked at me as if I was dolt if I couldn't figure out what would be going on in the bed. It was amusing.

You can't argue with her because that just turns into a whizzing contest. I also was accused I was crazy because I didn't see the men.

She's also convinced there are animals in the fireplace. They frightened her so badly, she lit a roll of paper towels and tossed the lit roll into the fireplace to burn the critters. Scary because she could end up setting the house and herself on fire.

I've told Dad he needs to talk to her doctor. The hallucinations could stem from something as simple as Ma being dehydrated, a common problem among the elderly. She's also refused to take a new thyroid medication the doctor prescribed. The new medication is more expensive than the pill she's been taking for the past 50 years. Ma thinks the doc is swindling her. I almost pointed out Auntie Rose is the swindler. The doc is just concerned about her welfare.

Of course, Dad doesn't want to say anything because he doesn't want Ma to go into a nursing home.

"She doesn't deserve that," he's told me on a number of occasions.

Course I think on days when she's really ragging on him, Dad would send her in a heartbeat just to get some peace and quiet. He's worried that if Ma goes into a nursing home, he will lose the house as a legacy for The Brother and myself.

So what to do? Shy of body slamming Ma to the floor and forcing pills down her throat, I can't make her take them if she doesn't want to. Neither of them has authorized me to talk to the doctor on their behalf so a call to him is just stonewalled with a polite reference to doctor-patient privilege.

Guess it's just the usual bottoms up.

Oldies

2009-05-16T06:05:00.000-04:00

Himself and I finished running errands so we picked up The Eldest and headed over to the local ice cream stand. Friday night and the place was packed. We stood patiently in line and over the noise, I heard a radio piping music out to the crowd.

"Oh! I haven't heard this song in a zillion years!" I told Himself.

And I started humming along to the Everly Brothers Devoted to You. I love the oldies from the 50's and early 60's Most of the oldies radio stations only play Beatles and stuff from the 70's.

We placed our order and I hummed along as Ricky Nelson crooned and Chuck Berry rolled over Beethoven.

"Man, I wish I knew what radio station they had tuned in."

The young girl at the window passed The Eldest's and my order and we headed to the car leaving Himself to pick up the tab and to get his order.

A few minutes later, he settled himself in the car.

"I asked the girl what radio station they had on. You know what she said to me?"

"What?"

"Why? Is it that terrible?"

Oldies, indeed.

Weeblogic

2009-05-12T09:06:00.004-04:00

The other day, Ma was enjoying one of her favorite pastimes, spouse bashing. She listed a litany of complaints, most of which had to do with housekeeping or lack thereof.

HE does not change curtains or bedspreads. (Ma used to change these items twice a year, Spring and Fall.)

I laughed and told her men don't really care about those types of things.

HE doesn't do housework. (He does, just not HER way. All of this is really a control issue, the heart of OPD)

HE doesn't flush the toilet!

I laughed out loud. "Ma, he does that to save on the water and sewer bill. If you use less than a certain amount of water, the town does not charge you a water and sewer bill."

"If he didn't drink water, he wouldn't need to use the toilet and he'd save on the bill," she harrumphed.

You just can't argue with that kind of logic.

Extension

2009-04-25T06:31:00.002-04:00

Ma, Dad,and I were sitting in the doctor's waiting room. Across from us were two elderly women. Ma, per usual, nodded off and Dad and I found ourselves chatting with the two ladies.

Dad began telling the women, he was going to live until the year 2032.

"But, I think I'm going to ask Him for an extension."

"If you ask for an extension," I said, "I'll have to ask for an extension because who's going to haul you around? Wait! Who's going to haul me around?"

In the Year 2032

2009-04-16T06:02:00.001-04:00

During Easter dinner, Dad made an announcement.

"Y'know, I used to say I wanted to live until the year 2013, but I'm asking for an extension. I want to live until the year 2032" This would make Dad 113 years old.

With my fork poised to jam into my mouth, I said, "Yeah, but I won't be taking you to the Mahket then."

Wishes

2009-04-15T06:05:00.000-04:00

A few days after the milk expedition, Dad called.

"Ever since the other day, all I've been hearing from your mother is 'buh-pup-buh, buh-pup-buh, buh-pup-buh'. Like a damn broken record. Even up here, I can hear her still."

"You're up in your room?"

"I had to get away from her. I can't take it anymore."

There was a pause. A companionable silence.

"Y'know, that's another reason I don't want her in the same hole. All I'll hear for eternity is bu-pup-buh, buh-pup-buh, buh-pup-buh."

The Mahket

2009-04-13T06:02:00.001-04:00

After weeks of being blissfully mahket free, the bathroom remodel came to and end and so had my excuses, it was time to make another expedition to the Mahket.

According to Ma, there wasn't anything to eat in the house. (Though only a few days before, they had spent $60 on groceries.) According to Dad, there is some 60 odd pounds of pasta in the downstairs bunker. I think the 24 cans of beets and the 20 loaves of bread are long gone.

When we got to the Mahket, I was hoping it would be so busy, I'd have to park in Nebraska. Any excuse to prolong having to actually go inside and help do the shopping. There was a handicap spot right in the front row.

Dad and I got Ma settled on the red scooter and she was off shoving pedestrians out of her way before I got back from stowing the walker in the car.

I found her in the dairy aisle, on the other side of the world from produce. She wanted shredded mozzarella, part skim Ricotta, cottage cheese with pineapple and she said we would have to stop at the deli so she could get some provolone.

"It's a fast(ing) week [Holy week]," she explained when I questioned all the cheese products she was buying.

"The fasting rule doesn't apply to you because you're too.." I was going to say old but the tight set of her mouth had me amend my phraseology "to over 70".

She called for a gallon of orange juice and two gallons of milk. I tried to tell her Dad should be buying these items as the basket on her cart wouldn't hold all the produce I knew she would buy. She left me in the dairy aisle arguing with myself. Effit. My reasoning wasn't going to do any good.

The deli department was backed up so Ma headed to produce and would go back to deli when she was finished. She careened around corners, banging into the cases and a couple of other shoppers. I ignored the glares as Ma seemed to be having a high old time for herself.

She fumed about the price of grapes. Seems over the weekend, grapes were 99 cents a pound. On the day of our shopping expedition, a happy sign proclaimed the price at $1.29 per pound.

"I'm so mad at your father. I told him to call one of his friends to take me shopping. I wanted those grapes, but he refused to call his friend."

A three hour shopping expedition on a Saturday and Dad could kiss that friendship goodbye.

At the meat department while offering her meat candidates for the blessing, a couple of firefighters were doing their shopping and they were talking to one of the butchers.

"We're making beef stroganoff, and we need...", said one of the firefighers, and he showed the meat man a shopping list."

Ma finished her blessing and headed over to frozen fish.

"Beef stroganoff sounds good," I said as I passed the firefighters. "What time's supper?"

"Six o'clock."

I smiled. I'd bring the Immodium.

A couple of circuit of the store, and Ma was finished with her half of the list. We hadn't caught sight of Houdini [Dad]. It's amazing how he can disappear.

We finally caught up with him over by the bread aisle. Ma's list had a notation for loaves of bread, if they were a good price.

"You can go pick out the bread you want," Ma told him. She headed over towards the bakery and a display of pies where she got stuck. Left, right, backwards, forwards, she got confused about the direction and kept slamming into the table. Of course it didn't help that two dozen other weebles suddenly appeared and they all began shouting instructions to Ma.

"Turn to the left"

"Turn to the right."

"Come forwards."

"Go backwards."

Ma kept whacking the pie table and I thought for sure it was going to go over.

Finally, I was able to wrestle the steering controls from Ma and maneuvered her out of the pie jam. I got a round of applause.

With the shopping done, I remembered Ma didn't get her provolone from the deli so I offered to run back and pick it up for her. There were a lot of people waiting and I glanced at the ticket I had to see what number I was. My ticket read October.

I tried alternating holding my breath and breathing through my mouth because next to the deli is the fish department and the fish department was reeking. I don't pretend to be an expert shopper, but I know fish isn't supposed to smell like it's rotting in the sun.

The now serving numbers weren't going down. I tried to see what the hold up was.

One woman was asking for a taste of this cheese and that cheese and a piece of ham, and then turkey. Va Napoli! She was having her lunch while the rest of us waited.

Finally, it was my turn. I ordered Ma her half pound of provolone, and raced to the front of the store where the Weebles were getting in the cashier's line. I tossed the cheese in Dad's cart.

"I'll be waiting for you at the car."

Back at the house, Ma started singing the stupid song as we unloaded the groceries.

"You bought two gallons of milk?" she yelled at Dad. "I bought the milk! You stupid..."

"You're stupid! The milk wasn't on your list. But no, you have to poke your big Arianese nose where it doesn't belong!"

As I was about to scoot out of the house, Dad thrust a gallon of milk in my hands.

"Take this home with you."

So, I went home with a gallon of milk for my trouble. The milk looked white and not brown like the meat so that was a good sign. The sell by date was ove a week away. They don't wash old sell by dates off and restamp new dates on the old milk, do they?

Your Weeble is Showing

2009-04-11T06:50:00.001-04:00

While talking on the phone to Dad, I reminded him of The Brother's birthday.

"You might want to give him a call to wish him a happy birthday."

"Yeah, I was going to do that. How old is he?"

"Let's see. He was born in '49 so..."

"No, he was born in '59."

I laughed.

"No, Dad. I was born in '55 and he's six years older than me. So that would make him..." I paused to do the math. "Oh my gawd! He's sixty!"

"He's an old man!"

A case of the pot calling the kettle black. And I'm not that far behind.

Just for you, Kid. A picture of your role model.

My Way

2009-04-10T05:03:00.001-04:00

The subject of the food delivery service has become a sore spot of late. Ma doesn't like the idea of someone else squeezing her tomatoes, and she doesn't like the idea of having to pay a delivery charge (even though the first 60 days delivery is free, and if she doesn't have to have her order this very minute, the delivery charge is five bucks)

As usual, Ma decided to take matters into her own hands. Remember OPD is a control issue. So Ma was going to show us and she waddled to the supermarket. According to Dad, it took a good couple of hours for her to make the two mile walk. Though you have to admire her ba...grit.

Ma did her shopping and then at the checkout told the cashier, the supermarket could deliver her order.

"They wouldn't deliver my groceries," she yelled at me during a phone conversation. She was very indignant and more so with me as if the whole thing was my fault. "I was so mad with them, I almost left the food there!"

It's hard to explain to her the food delivery service isn't really part of the supermarket though the supermarket lends its name to the service.

"After I picked out all my things and paid for them, they should have delivered my order!"

I'm pretty sure she wanted her order delivered for free, too.

"Ma, it doesn't work that way..."

"Well, it should! I want them to do it my way!"

Sing it, Frankie.

Take A Walk in My Shoes

2009-03-30T06:02:00.002-04:00

At the last doctor's visit, Ma was whining that her "legs wouldn't go." They would go if she didn't spend hours on end sitting in a chair taking care of her "business." They would go if she got up and moved around a little bit.

The doctor told her she should do a little walking outside. He told Dad, Ma couldn't walk alone and he was to take her for a little walk outside when the weather was better.

Dad called the other day.

"I was so proud of your mother."

"Yeah."

"We went for a walk."

"That's great! Yesterday, was a nice day for a walk. You walked down to the end of the street and back?"

"Yes! And then she turned the corner with me and we walked to the supermarket. Of course, when we got near the store she had to sit down a while and rest...."

"Please tell me you're kidding? You didn't walk all the way over there."

"Yes, we went and bought $60 worth of groceries."

Help me, Lord.

"Are you out of your #%#$%# mind?"

"She insisted I take her! She said the doctor said she had to go out for a walk"

"Hello? Take her down to the end of the street and back, but not for a two mile hike!"

"Don't yell at me! She did alright," he said defending himself.

"Alright? No sidewalks pushing her walker over rough terrain? You call that alright?" I could feel the familiar pain throbbing behind my left eye and I reached for the aspirin bottle.

"We made it."

"I can't believe you were so stupid to take her. What would you have done if she had fallen? You can't pick her up. Don't ever take her that far again. Up and down the street, but don't turn the corner!"

"We got a ride home."

I popped another couple of aspirin.

"Sweet Jesus, please tell me you knew the person who drove you home."

"Oh yes. She's a member of the choir."

I ended the coversation with a reminder not to take her to the supermarket again.

When I was a kid and did something (Ma thought was) stupid, Ma would curse me.

"Just you wait! Just you wait!"

She didn't always finish the curse as she waved forked fingers at me. It was implied.

"Just you wait until you have kids just like you!"

At least, that's what I thought was implied. Now, I'm not so sure.

By the time Himself came home, I was able to find the funny in the situation. With OPD you have to laugh or go insane.

"When I was a kid, I had a Donald Duck with a wheelbarrow. Put him on an incline, give him a push and he'd waddle down the ramp. I bet that's just how Ma looked pushing her walker along the edge of the highway."

Himself laughed.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"If they can walk the two miles to the supermarket, they can walk the rest of the way to the Mahket!"

I swallowed two more aspirin.

Your Weeble is Showing

2009-03-27T09:15:00.005-04:00

Dad called the other day.

"How much do you pay for Medicaid for the year?"

"Um, I don't pay for Medicaid."

"You don't?"

I could hear the Weeblnomics wheels turning to find out how I didn't have to pay for the insurance and how he could get on the gravy train.

"I'm only 53. I don't qualify for Medicaid. Don't rush me," I laughed.

There was a pause.

"What about Himself?"

"Dad, he's a year younger than I am."

After we hung up, I wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted by Dad's question. Am I so mature Dad thinks of me as a contemporary? Or is my weeble showing? Guess it's time to turn my brown hair blue.

Delivery

2009-03-20T10:18:00.005-04:00

Another week and no time to take the Weebles to the Mahket. What a shame. I did try to talk Ma into the delivery service.

For new customers, for 60 days, delivery is free! After that, the delivery charge is $6.95 if the order is over $100 or $9.95 if the delivery is under $100. If you are willing to take delivery after the premo time, a buck or two is knocked off the delivery fee. So the delivery fee could end up being $4.95. Five bucks! Less than what it costs me in gas and tolls! And they don't even have to tip the driver if they don't want to.

Ma frowned when I explained this all to her. Frowned mostly because shopping is her only outing, and frowned because she does not want to pay a delivery fee.

"I have a better idea," she said to me. "I can call the order in by phone and have Himself pick up the order on his way home from work. I'll give him the five dollars." She nodded in satisfaction.

Now, I don't begrudge Himself the five bucks, but what about me? I've been hauling Weeble butts to and from the Mahket for two and a half years! Where's my five bucks?

Hip

2009-02-20T06:02:00.001-05:00

With the bathroom renovation in full swing, severe winter weather, and low Weeble finances, I've had a reprieve from trips to the Mahket. I've called a few times to see how the Weeble larder was faring. Surely, by now, they must have gone through those 20 loaves of bread and 24 cans of beets. They were managing. Though there was an underlying hint "just barely".

"You know," I said to Ma, "If you're desperate I can call in an order to Peapod to get you by."

There was dead silence on the other end of the phone.

"Auntie uses Peapod. Her son said she loves it."

"I might try that."

I might try that said in the same tone as I might push glass shards in my eyes.

The remodel came to a halt as we wait for the shower panels and tile to be delivered. I called on the spur of the moment to see if a trip to the Mahket was needed.

"Your Cousin came for a visit. You should have seen the groceries she brought us, but we could use a few things."

No good deed goes unpunished.

The Young One was on vacation from school and I bribed her to come along. We'd stop on the way home for Lahdidahs (Starbuck's fancy beverages).

The Weebles were excited to be going to their favorite haunt.

"We don't need much."

Excited about the excursion and not needing much, they had a two page shopping list. I suppose the outing is as much as a sporting event and diversion as well as the hunt for sustenance.

Mid-month and the store was blissfully not crowded. I offloaded the Weebles, told the Young One to take Ma's walker as soon as she was seated in her scooter, and I'd be back to retrieve the walker as soon as I parked the car.

When I got back from stowing the walker, I found Ma with the scooter basket filled with five loaves of bread. Dad was standing in line at the courtesy booth with his 30 cent can chit for the state bottle return.

Ma headed down the dairy aisle. I don't take them shopping for two months and our well oiled shopping plan is deteriorating into pinball. I mumbled to the Young One.

As Dad came puttering with his empty carriage, I offloaded goods from Ma's basket to his and tried to redirect them to our plan. Ma does Meat and Produce. Dad handles Dairy and the aisles. No go. This way and that. Ma decided she needed fish. Of course, what else goes with five loaves of bread?

After getting the frozen fish, I'm able to herd Ma towards Meat and to get Dad into the aisles. I'm to stand in the Deli line to get some cold cuts.

"Your staying for lunch."

"That didn't sound like she was asking," said the Young One.

"She wasn't."

She wasn't asking. She's my mother. She says "jump" and I ask "How high?" Be sure to stay with Ma," I admonished The Young One as Ma zoomed toward the meats. "She's like a toddler and will disappear in a blink if you don't keep your eye on her. Got your phone?"

We formulated a plan to call each other on our cellphones should we become lost. While waiting in the deli, I'm thinking I should up the phone plan and phones to include push to talk. That could prove useful.

Done at the Deli I find the Young One pawing through one of the meat cases. She looks at me and shakes her head.

"She wants Italian Sweet Sausage, but it has to have fennel and it has to be a small package," I told her.

We rummaged through the case. Two acolytes presenting candidates for the blessing.

Down the rest of the meat case. Ma paused to look at T-bone steaks.

"The meat is brown," the Young One whispers with a horrified look on her face.

"Try not to think about and thank God Daddy doesn't do his shopping here. Never has. Never will."

The Young One breathed a sigh of relief.

We finally made our way to Produce. Ma spotted a sign for greenhouse tomatoes for 99 cents a pound. She sent the Young One and I to get a couple of packages.

There are a half a dozen women at the bin. As I made my way over, I could see several packages had blighted tomatoes in them and one was oozing penicillin.

"Ma, these are all rotted!"

I might as well have shouted "Lepers!" because the entire produce department emptied.

Dad joined us as we were rounding the bin to see another sign. Roma tomatoes 99 cents a pound.

"I want the plum tomatoes."

I pulled a plastic bag, and Dad grabbed my arm.

"Make sure they are solid!"

Two months ago, the last time I had taken them shopping, Ma had commented Dad wasn't happy with the produce I picked. Said it was all touched. Something was touched alright. I had told him while unloading the groceries he had two choices. He could shop at a store that had higher quality produce or he could pick his own damn tomatoes.

I shoved the plastic bag in his hands.

"Here! Pick your own."

Ma wanted apples. I searched through the 3 pound bags of MacIntosh apples she likes. Every bag had severely bruised apples and one bag was reduced to applesauce.

"The bags are all rotten!"

"What about the pick your own? Are they the same price?"

I glanced over to an empty counter. Not a customer in sight. Just a bin piled high with large, red apples.

"Yes."

"Go get me three pounds."

Dad and the Young One headed off to the other end of the store.

"Keep your phone on!"

I was intently picking apples when Ma slammed the red scooter into me.

"Oh! Oh! Are you alright?" She asked as she backed up and then hit the forward accelerator.

Wham!

"It's alright, Ma. At 53, I should probably think about having that hip replaced anyway."

We finished up produce. Ma scooted over to frozen foods.

"I need some mixed vegetables." She stopped to peer into a refrigerator case.

I limped to the freezer where the frozen vegetables lived.

As I turned around, Ma careened around the corner and whacked a display stand of Planter's Peanuts. I dove to the floor, arms extended and made a miraculous save. Atlas preventing the Planter's world from being dashed to oblivion.

Dad and the Young One rounded the corner, but missed the event.

Ma was off down the aisle. Decided she didn't need anything else. She tried to turn around but a case of frozen fish blocked her way and she was stuck.

"Turn. Back up. Go forward. Turn." I issued commands from a safe distance. After 12 maneuvers I got her turned around. She scooted to the cashiers.

"I grabbed the Young One. C'mon. We get a 15 minute break while they go through the checkout."

We went to sit in the car. I glanced at my watch.

"You know, they only needed a few things, but it took longer on this trip than all the other trips I've done for the past two and a half years."

The Young One patted me on the back.

"Now I'll debate whether to go pick them up at the door or make them cross the parking lot to me. Punishment."

"Why are you punishing them."

"No reason. Pay back for making me come to this godforsaken place."

Ma was the first out of the store. She peered across the parking lot, panic on her face.

I sprinted out of the car and called to Ma. I'm not sure if for a split second she didn't recognize me. Then a grin and a look of relief.

"Here. I directed her along the side of the store. Park over here out of the way and I'll bring the car around."

I pulled up in the fire lane, got Ma settled in the car, and began unloading the bags out of the scooter. One of the bag boys came to take the scooter into the store.

We were waiting for Dad to come out when Ma began fumbling with her pockabook.

"Oh no. Oh no," she wailed.

"What's the matter?"

"I lost my gloves."

She was very distraught over the lost gloves. I had given her a coat and gloves for Christmas.

"Don't worry about it, Ma. It's just a pair of gloves."

"This happens because he rushes me. I think I must have left them at the checkout."

I turned to the Young One.

"Go in and see if you can find her gloves."

Dad came out pushing the carriage.

"What's the matter?"

"She thinks she lost her gloves inside. I'm sending the Young One in to see if she can spot them." I began loading bags into the cargo bay.

Dad followed the Young One.

Groceries loaded in the car, Ma and I sat parked in the fire lane. We waited, and waited, and waited. I was about to call the Young One's cellphone when I noticed it on the back seat of the car.

Soon Dad and the Young One came out of the store.

"There's Dad."

"Does he have my gloves?"

"I don't think so."

She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her pink argyle gloves.

"Here they are!"

I heard "grrrr" noises from the back seat.

Home again, home again. I was anxious to unload the groceries, wolf down a sandwich and make tracks.

Dad and I brought the bags in. Ma had the Young One in front of the sink washing all the fruits and vegetables before they were put in the refrigerator.

I sat in the living room, flipping through an old issue of Martha Stewart. An hour later, lunch was served. The Young One and I wolfed down a sandwich, waited a polite amount of time and announced we had to leave.

We stopped at the bookstore on the way home. Browsed and then stood in line for lahdidahs.

"I'll have a grande hot chai. May I have a shot of vanilla, please? So what happened to you and Grandpa when you were looking for her gloves? What did you do wander the entire store?"

"Yup. First the cashier. The lost and found. Dairy, deli, meat, produce."

I took a sip of the hot sweet liquid. "I so needed this."

"Me too," sighed The Young One. After all, I'm her weeble.

D-TV, Are You Ready?

2009-02-18T08:04:00.005-05:00

With television broadcasts switching from an analog format to digital, the Weebles would be severely impacted. No sound, no picture, only static. They won't give me my 60 Minutes.

The easiest solution would have been to hook the Weebles up to cable. The house is already wired for FIOS with the computer traveling at the blazing speed of a giant paper weight for the use it gets. Would the Weebles watch 1,000 channels? Probably not. Dad would be happy to have his news and 60 Minutes. Not a bad thing either since I couldn't afford to pick up the tab on cable television for him. The converter box would make a nice Christmas gift.

At the beginning of December, with the looming countdown of D-Day, the day television stations would begin broadcasting a digital signal, I went online to find the coupon the government was issuing to help defer the cost of a converter box. What a surprise to find no coupon to download and print, but a sign up list to receive a coupon via snail mail. And the coupon would take 3 weeks to arrive! No worries. I signed up to get a coupon (only 2 issued per household) and sat back to wait.

The day after Christmas, the coupon arrived in the mail. I had heard we were one of the lucky ones as shortly after I signed up, the government ran out of money for the coupon program. Course if they hadn't spent a small fortune on running the countdown ads, they might have had sufficient money to fund the coupons program.

With coupon in hand, Himself went to purchase the converter, bring it to the Weebles, hook it up, and to show Dad what to do.

Then the calls.

"The screen is blue."

I happily passed the monkey to Himself. There were more lessons. More calls. More patient explanations that there were two remote controls. One to turn the television on and change the channels and the other to run the converter box. More calls, the remote went missing. Found it.

No more blue screen calls. We thought things were finally running smoothly until I stopped at the Weebles to take them to the Mahket.

There were two small black and white televisions in the living room.

"Why do you have two televisions down here?"

"Oh," said Dad. "See? The plug for the thing came out of the wall." He showed me the dangling converter box plug.

"And SHE knocked the thing over."

I could see the converter box hanging by some wires behind the television. I happily passed the message along to Himself. Since television stations are still broadcasting an analog signal, Dad brought an old black and white television that was languishing in the attic down to the livingroom. He could get his news and see 60 Minutes and wouldn't fiddle with the converter box wires.

I found Himself mumbling and making a list.

"Whatcha doin?"

"Making a list of things I need to fix Dad's converter box. Double stick tape so they can't keep knocking it off the top of the television."

"Babies R Us?"

"Yeah, I need one of those boxes that cover a cord and wall outlet so they can't yank the plug out of the wall."

February 17, 2009 was the original date for digital broadcasting. The date has been extended until sometime in June. No matter. Dad's ready for the digital revolution. Well, his television is.

Mark My Words

2009-01-23T06:43:00.001-05:00

The phone rang early this morning. Prissy.

"What's going on over there?"

"Over where?"

"Can't you see? At your neighbor's."

Prissy meant the Leaf Lady. I rolled my eyes. Prissy must be related to Gladys Kravitz.

"I don't watch what's going on over there."

"What are they doing?"

I realized this would go on for quite some time if I didn't answer to her satisfaction. I opened up the door and from the front porch I saw a tree service truck.

"She must be having the trees that came down during the storm taken care of."

"Can't she wait until Spring?"

I almost suggested to Prissy to call The Leafy Lady to ask her as The Leafy Lady does not confide in me.

We swapped some Leaf bashing. I had moved back to the kitchen and from the kitchen window I saw the tree service guy snow blowing a path. Yup, the Leaf Lady is definitely reta...missing a few tines on her rake. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit outside with a foot of snow on the ground and she's having trees removed.

Prissy hung up and I went about my business.

Around lunch time, I looked out the window to see what progress the tree guys had made to remove the pine branches. They were not working on the dead pine. I shouldn't have been surprised to see the tree guy sawing the limbs off of a viable, young tree. Sad. Another prefectly good tree murdered. By tree standards this tree is young not more than fifty years old.

On the way to pick up The Young One as I was getting into my car, the tree service guy gave me a cheery wave. I hope he's making good scratch on this job.

When we got home, a second tree had been delimbed and a third tree was tagged. These were not dead or dying trees. These were not trees that needed to be euthanized. These were vigorous trees.

This one woman is slowly denuding the forest that surrounds us. And with all tree life removed from her property, the next time she whines all my leaves are in her yard, I'll say "You're absolutely right!"

Mark my words. Some day the Ents will be coming to seek justice for the trees The Leafy Lady has murdered. It will be a terrible sight. I hope I live to see the day.

Needled

2009-01-22T16:10:00.004-05:00

A couple of weeks after the December ice storm, we had some warmer temperatures and rain. Most of the snow was gone. I asked Lambie if her husband could come and remove the tree that had fallen in The Leaf Lady's yard. Since they heat their home by woodstove, they were welcome to the wood.

It snowed the night before they were supposed to come. I should have realized a little snow wouldn't keep these hardy Yankees away. Yankees as in those who can trace their lineage back to the Pilgrims that came over on the Mayflower.

Though the tree was large by my standards, it was not large by Lambie's DH. He didn't need help hauling logs to his truck. Lambie and I had a nice visit, a cup of tea and lovely pumpkin muffins Lambie made while her DH worked.

From time to time we watched his progress. He cut the tree and removed the lengths to my property, where he cut the wood into 4ft. logs. Then he carted the logs to his truck. In less than an hour he was done.

I received an email a day or two later from Lambie. DH wanted me to tell you, he was very careful not to harm a needle of The Leaf Lady's pine tree that had fallen in her yard.

The Test

2008-12-27T10:01:00.003-05:00

We've been hemming and hawing about getting The Happy Wanderer a cellphone for emergencies. Emergencies such as Ma locking Dad out of the house. Ma is afraid of being alone in the house. She's convinced that men are going to break in. It's an old hold over fear from the time some twenty years ago when the Weebles home was broken into when the Weebles had gone to church. The house is now armed with deadbolts and medieval gate locks. You know a giant piece of timber held in place by iron brackets. When Dad goes out, Ma goes into lockdown with a speed that would astonish Iron Mountain. Screen doors are locked. Dead bolts are slid home. And because she's as deaf as a fence post, she doesn't always hear him ringing the doorbell like Quosimodo ringing the church bells or pounding on the door like Fred Flintstone. Wilmaaa! WilMAAAA!

Trouble is technology and weebles don't always go hand in hand. I field enough phone calls because "they don't give him his email" or how to print, without taking on how to work the cellphone.

Himself and I had talked about getting Dad the Jitterbug phone. Large buttons and one model has to have calls put through by an operator. It sounded like a perfect solution. The downside is the phone is expensive and then there is the cost of the monthly plan.

We were watching television the other night when an ad came on about Safe Link Wireless, a free cell phone program in our state if you received food stamps or receive a social security check. Our ears perked up. Free is good. I went online to check it out. Looked good. The phone is a Tracfone. You've seen them. You can buy airtime cards at places like Target or Walmart. Himself and the girls each have a cellphone. The phones are small and lightweight. Fairly easy to use.

On Christmas Day, Himself drove to pick the Weebles up. Himself usually calls me to let me know they have left the launch pad. This gives me time to adjust the meal preparation time or a last minute tidy. As expected, the phone rang and caller ID flashed Himself's cellphone number.

"Hi, Kid!"

"Hello? Hello?"

"Hi Dad!"

"Hello?" and then faintly "Where do I talk? Hello?"

We spent a pleasant holiday. The Brother made a surprise visit. The Weebles were thrilled. It was a good day.

Christmas night we were relaxing in front of the television.

"So, your phone test was an epic fail," I said to Himself.

"It was awful. Poor guy was in the back seat and I'm trying to give him directions to turn the phone on and get the phone directory. 'Push the red button. The red button.' When I heard the happy chimes that the phone was on I told him to press the round button and then to scroll down. ''Use the down arrow button to scroll through the directory. The down arrow. In the center.' I think he called your friend Teague."

We laughed.

"I guess the Tracfone isn't the way to go."

"Definitely not. I'm not even sure the Jitterbug is a good solution."

Ms Pacman

2008-12-26T10:16:00.002-05:00

The Mahket parking lot was crowded so I pulled into the fire lane by the front door to offload the Weebles. There's a ramp so it's easier for Ma to push her walker instead of trying to negotiate the sidewalk. I set the emergency flashers and ran around in my Chinese fire drill fashion to help Ma out of the car.

A few people stopped with their carriages to let Ma negotiate the ramp. Except one man. Another weeble not as old as my weebles, but a weeble.

"Perfect! She stops right in front of the ramp."

Now in two and nearly a half years of making this trip, we've never had a problem with making the maneuver. If people were annoyed, they never said anything within my earshot.

"She's crippled!" I said as I unfolded Ma's walker in front her. "Where do you think I should stop, Idiot." Oh I just love the holiday time of year. Brings out the best in people.

There were other words I wanted to say. Stronger words. Angry and more colorful words., but I had to remind myself Ma was with me. She would die of embarrassment.

The man slunk off and that was enough.

Ma kept apologizing to the people waiting to go down the ramp.

"Take your time. They can wait." I gave the group a menacing glare daring someone to make a remark.

With Ma safely toddling to the front door and Dad bringing a scooter for her, I moved the car and instantly found a handicap spot. A reward for restraining my tongue.

When I entered the store, Ma was just settling herself on the scooter. Dad was trying to figure out how to stow the walker. I took it from him, folded it, and sprinted out the door to stash the walker in the car. The last part of the fire drill maneuver.

When I returned, Ma was trying to make her way by the last check out aisle. A woman with a young child in the carriage was just about to load her groceries on the conveyer belt.

"Excuse, me. Could you let my mother by?"

The woman made way and Ma roared by.

"Thank you!" I cheerily called over my shoulder as I raced to keep up with Ma. She was heading for the produce department.

Dad had given her a list which she had retrieved from her pockabook. The list. The list makes me laugh. Two and almost a half years and she has picked the items she needs. The same items. Each and every visit to the Mahket. A package of Bosc pears with six pears, not five. A bag of McIntosh apples. Not the other kind even though Dad likes the other kind better. And not one glance at the list.

She had stopped by the bananas. I picked up a hand with three large bananas in it.

"Get three more."

I found another hand with three large bananas and proceeded to rape the package to remove the three large ones in that package. From the first bag, I removed the three smaller and added the second grouping of three. I'm always uncomfortable with the procedure but Ma is quite satisfied. Takes pick your own to a new level.

"Get me a pound of beans."

Ma scoots down the aisle.

"And pick them one at a time," I mouth. Everything looks like it has been left out a day too long. I know there are people who swear by this store. They love the freshness of the produce and the prices can't be beat. I can't see it.

I picked the beans as best I could while thinking frozen beans are just as good as fresh. I headed to the other end of the produce department to weigh the bag. A huge produce department and only one scale. I'm shy the necessary beans to make a pound.

As I picked the rest of the beans, I became aware of conversation at the other end of the aisle.

"This is soft. You don't really want this one. This one isn't much better."

As I turned, I saw Ma with another woman who is offering broccoli candidates to Ma for inspection.

"I wanted broccoli," said Ma as I came alongside.

"I can see that, and if you wait half a minute, I will help you. I'm using all my arms and all my legs and dancing as fast as I can."

I thanked the woman for her help. She giggled as she went about her business.

We turned our attention to the broccoli. First this one. Limp. That one. Grey.

"These are all rotted. Everything is rotted," I shouted at Ma so she could hear.

A few aisles over was the produce manager and he was glaring at me. Guess he heard my remark. I gave him a nod and smile. I hoped it looked like have a nice day.

We finished with produce, zipped down the frozen food aisle and headed to meat. All in record time. Out of curiosity, I glanced at the list. We had everything except oil. The olive oil is a sore spot with me. See, that item comes from the aisles and should be Dad's territory as the gallon can will take up three quarters of the basket on Ma's scooter.

We stopped at the deli. Ma wanted Italian roast beef and provolone cheese. I took a ticket. My number was up next. I felt as if I had won one of Auntie Rose's lotteries.

Ma had decided she wanted some mozzarella cheese like I buy. Technically I don't buy. Himself buys shredded mozzarella in a package. Kraft, Sargento, store brand whatever looks good to him.

"That's at the other end of the dairy." And we headed off picking up a box of bread crumbs along the way.

"I'll get the oil and then we're done with our list except for one item and I need Dad to translate for me."

"Make sure it's Italian olive oil!" I mouthed as Ma shouted after me. I've often wondered if there's a difference between the cans of oil labeled Greek olive oil and olive oil. And if there is supposed to be a difference why aren't the other cans labeled Italian olive oil?

Ma parked along side a bin with snack items on special.

"Stay here. I'll go find Dad."

Holding the oil can like a small infant, I walk towards produce took a peek down each aisle. The store is not that large and through our entire expedition, I haven't caught sight of Dad. Not once. As I made my way across the front of the store, I felt like Ms. Pacman hunting the power pill through the maze. Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Get some Italian bread!" Ma shouted after me.

I raised my hand to acknowledge the command.

I finally found Dad looking at boxes of salt. The store brand and national brand are the same price. Three boxes for $5.

Dad was frowning.

"What's the matter?" I asked him.

"I don't know which one to get. They're both the same price. But which is better?"

I wondered how long he had been in the aisle contemplating the merits of store brand versus national brand.

I took a quick glance.

"Get the national brand. It's iodized and the store brand isn't."

Dad gave me a questioning look.

"We need iodine in our diet and salt is about the only way to get it."

I quickly retrieved three boxes of salt from the bottom shelf and we put them in his carriage. I noted there wasn't much in his carriage for the amount of time we had spent in the grocery store.

"Ma's done with her list except for this item. I'm not sure what you mean by it." I held the list so he could read his writing.

Macaroni cheese.

That made me worry. I know they are living social security check to check and are pinching pennies.

"You're not eating macaroni and cheese from the blue boxes?

He laughed. "No. Macaroni cheese. You know what you sprinkle on macaroni and soup?"

"You mean grated cheese?"

"Yeah. In the shaker."

Guess Romano cheese got expensive. Ma used to buy a great hunk of the hard cheese and grate it herself.

Ms Pacman raced for the macaroni cheese.

When I got back, they were done and found an open check out register. Usually I leave them while I take a few minutes in the car to decompress. As I was leaving, I turned and watched the tableau.

Dad was carefully placing one item at a time on the conveyer. The woman at the cash register was slowly running the item across the scanner and the bag man was becoming one with the bag and slowly place the item in the bag.

"No wonder it takes a half an hour to get through the check out line!" I said and began grabbing several items at a time from Dad's carriage and juggling them onto the conveyer. The cashier was still slow, but now she had more to be slow with. The bagger had four bags ready in the carriage. I pushed Dad's empty carriage to the bagger and grabbed the four bagger.

"I'll run this out to the car and come back for the rest."

Hopefully, by the time I got back the cashier and the bagman would have finally reached Nirvana.

The Leaf Lady

2008-12-16T16:02:00.003-05:00

Another character in my pantheon of weebles is the woman who lives next door known as The Leaf Lady. When we first moved here, she spent nearly every part of her waking day raking leaves. I had taken The Eldest then 3 yrs old trick or treating to The Leaf Lady's house. This was in 1991 and the day after the No Name Hurricane (aka Perfect Storm). The Leaf Lady was furious with me because all my leaves had blown into her yard. She knew they were my leaves because I had use gold thread to embroider our monogram on all the leaves. After heated words, I left her house with The Eldest in tow. The Leaf Lady has not spoken to me since that time. The Eldest is now 20 yrs. old. The Leaf Lady shuns me. If she is outside and I go across the street to get the mail, she turns her back to me so she won't see me. Sometimes she scrambles so quickly into her home, I'm surprised she hasn't broken an ankle.

Sunday, Himself and I returned to our home to inspect the aftermath of an ice storm. A tree had fallen down in the corner of the backyard into The Leaf Lady's yard. We discovered to our great joy we had electricity. The day before with the help of the generator, Himself had gotten the sump pump and a couple of other smaller pumps up and running, happily gurgling out the five inches of water from the basement. The water had come up to the furnace and we were concerned the furnace would need to be replaced. While waiting for a call from our oil man, we were cleaning out things that had gotten damaged in the flood. Note to self: Even though items are stored in plastic bins and boxes, plastic bins and boxes float and upend in water. Add bricks to weight things down.

We had cleaned as much as we could. Hadn't heard from the oil man who was probably out straight. We were heading back to Himself's brother's home. Himself had gone out to start up the car. I heard his name called by The Leaf Lady. Her voice is loud, and irksome. (Yes, she irks me) She would have made a great fishmonger's wife. From the front porch, I could see Himself speaking to The Leaf Lady and her husband. I fought the urge to go shrieking out the front door like a banshee. A few minutes later Himself came in.

"What the hell did she want? I suppose she was griping about the tree in the backyard."

"Yes. I explained to them we knew about it, would take care of it, but were dealing with a wet basement. They were vey nice. The conversation was quite pleasant."

Himself is too kind. I would have questioned her mental faculties in tongues. She didn't so much as ask if we were alright, needed anything. Just had to control the situation and point out the tree had fallen. OPD at its finest.

Parts of the state were devastated with downed trees and power lines. Many towns still have no electricity and crews are working round the clock clearing downed trees and reconnecting wires. Does she honestly think we're going to call a tree service company to come out and take care of a tree that is lying in her back half acre? The tree is not on her walkway, not through her house, on her car or in an area where people need access and egress. No one will be available this week. Next week is Christmas and the following week New Year's. If she wants the tree removed quickly, perhaps I should call Jason to come take care of her.

Scam Warning

2008-12-04T23:16:00.003-05:00

The gas station was busy when I pulled in, but a bay with the pump on the side I needed opened up. Gas was $1.75 per gallon and seemed like a real bargain. Exiting the gas station back to the highway was easy as if traffic stopped just so I could get on my way. The traffic was very light on the Pike. I was in a good mood. Not the I'm ecstatic to be going to the Mahket mood, but not dreading the journey either. These were all premonitions, but I missed the signs.

I yelled my familiar "I'm here!" as I barged into the Weebles house. Ma was in the kitchen cleaning up her breakfast dishes.

"Don't take your coat off," Ma said. "I'm ready."

Heard that a thousand times before and knew it would be another fifteen or twenty minutes before we left.

Dad greeted me with a very deep, depressive sigh. Lately, he's turned into Eeyore.

"How's it going?" I asked cheerfully.

He shook his head.

"I have big problems."

I thought don't we all.

"I need to talk to you."

"G'head," I said sitting down making myself comfortable. I didn't take off my jacket.

"Upstairs?" He motioned his head to the stairs leading to his office.

As I climbed the stairs, I was thinking this was our version of Maxwell Smart's Cone of Silence. We would be able to have a secret conversation away from Ma's ears. We could have had this conversation in the living room as Ma is as deaf as a haddock. I sat in the chair behind Dad's desk leaving him to sit in the subordinate position.

"What's up?"

"I got a phone call last night."

My mind raced through the handful of elderly relatives. I didn't recall hearing that an aunt or uncle was very ill.

"From Toronto," Dad continued. He was visibly upset.

How odd that Auntie Rose would leave the warm climate of the Islands to move her operation to freeze her assets off in Toronto. Then my heart froze. Instantly, I knew what he was going to tell me. Supposedly, the Grandson called saying he was in trouble in Toronto and needed money. I follow an Eldercare blog and read about this scam a month or two ago. Didn't give it much thought at the time. The it won't happen to us mentality.

"This is a scam. It's not him!"

"I don't know how to help him. I don't have the money."

"It's not him! It's a scammer!

He kept going on and on about how helpless he felt. How he was up sick all night worrying for The Boy and no way to help.

I wanted to shake Dad and slap him silly.

"You didn't give them any information? You didn't give him your bank account number?"

"No."

I breathed a sigh of relief that Dad's generation operated on a strict cash basis. They didn't believe in credit. Everything except their home was paid with cash on the barrel head.

I pulled out my cellphone.

"What are you doing?" Dad's voice rose in panic

"I'm calling Uncle Ted [Kennedy, Massachusetts Senior Senator] to see if he can get the State Department working on this. Who the hell do you think I'm calling? I'm calling The Brother."

"No! He said not to call his father!"

"It's not him!" Third base in the Abbott and Costello routine.

The phone rang a few times and the Brother picked up.

I asked if his son was traveling in Canada knowing what the answer was going to be. I explained why I was calling and hoped I sounded sane. When problems of this nature occur, one tends to get sucked into the OPD. You can't help it. It's a miasma that you breathe in and then it spreads through your body until you're the one acting like a weeble. I know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies! I just remember I kept repeating that I couldn't convince Dad this was a scam and had nothing to do with his Grandson.

"Put him on."

I passed my tiny phone to Dad. Dad once told me he felt as if the world was passing him by with all the changes in technology, he couldn't keep up. He kept moving the phone from his ear to his mouth to talk into it like a microphone.

"Just keep it next to your ear. He'll [The Brother] be able to hear you!"

Thank God for The Brother as he was able to convince Dad it was all a cruel hoax. Poor old guy felt pretty foolish. I told him it was very easy to get taken in especially where a loved one was concerned.

"Should it happen again, the first thing you need to do is call Your Son or me to verify."

He nodded his head.

Later after our trip to the Mahket, I told Ma about scammers calling posing as grandchildren. Because if Dad was vulnerable, Ma would be giving out state secrets.

As I was talking to her the phone rang and she answered. She seemed put out by the call.

"Who's on the phone?" I asked.

"Some man. I can hardly hear him. He's stupid."

"Then hang up!"

She obeyed and less than six second later the phone rang again.

I answered the phone and demanded the caller identify himself. All I could hear was a foreign speaker. The scammer alarm went off.

"Don't call this number again." I hung up.

Again the phone rang. I picked it up and immediately slammed the receiver home.

"Ma, if any of the grandchildren are in trouble, they aren't going to call here for help."

She acknowledged that fact.

So, a plea to all you out there reading this to alert your elders to scams such as the call from Toronto. Callers pose as a family member and not necessarily by name. Just this is your grandson or granddaughter. That's enough to panic anyone into not thinking straight especially if the call comes late at night. Or not asking the caller to identify him or herself. Or asking a question that only a family member would know. Like what happened at an event. Something an outsider couldn't possibly know. Remind your elders to never, ever give out personal information such as social security numbers, credit card or bank numbers. And not to give out family information such as addresses and phone numbers. Most important, to verify the phone call with their children.

I try to look at the humorous side of OPD only to keep myself from going off the deep end. It's frightening and sad to see once savvy parents become unable to see through some of the situations.

First thing tomorrow morning I'll be calling the telephone company on Dad's behalf to see if his phone service has caller ID. If not, I told him I was going to add it so his phone bill would be going up a few dollars more each month. He balked at first. Worried about the expense. I told him this was serious and if he couldn't afford the few dollars, I'd spring for it. As well as a phone with caller ID.

I'll have to prepare a telephone lesson. The old don't talk to strangers. If the call is from anonymous, unavailable, or they don't recognize the name or phone number, they aren't to answer the phone.

Help me, Lord.

Election Day

2008-11-17T17:21:00.004-05:00

The plan was for me to show up early to take Ma and Dad to vote. It was an excellent plan. So good in fact, all the other Seniors thought of the same thing. They all showed up to vote at 10:30am.

The handicap slots were jammed. Ma entertained herself by screaming at me to "park over there." I dropped them off at the front of the building and then circled around and by a miracle a handicap slot was open and I slid neatly in and settled in to wait.

The Weebles had made it into the building when a very long line began to form out and around the building. There were so many fluffy white heads, it looked like Q-Tips had been arranged around the building. I have to give the Seniors credit for getting out to vote. Ma complained about having to go there pushing her walker, but there were lots of others that were in worse shape than Ma. Not only were they pushing walkers but hauling oxygen tanks. God bless them for making the effort.

The line kept getting longer and longer. I was reminded of the movie Logan's Run where people over 30 were called to attend Carousel, a cute euphemism for euthanasia. People kept going into the school, but none were coming out. I looked at my hand just in case my indicator was glowing red. I didn't hear the disembodied computer voice calling "Leo 28. Leo 28"

A van pulled into the handicap slot to my right and the driver got out and went into the building to vote.

A police officer was across the street from the school trying to prevent people from parking in the clearly marked No Parking area. One bright spark failed to listen and move his Jeep. I watched the officer write out a ticket and place it on the windshield. The gentleman was not happy when he came out from voting. He was about to say something to the officer, but the officer said, "You were warned."

All the handicap slots were filled when a woman pulled into the horseshoe driveway. The officer told her she had to move her car.

Since it was a warm day, I had the driver's window opened as did the elderly woman. She saw me sitting in the car.

"What's she waiting for?" she screamed at the police officer, but looked at me.

The officer started walking towards me, but stopped when he saw the handicap placcard prominently hanging from the rearview mirror. I was legally parked.

"She's waiting for her crippled mother to exercise her right to vote as guaranteed to her by the 19th amendment to the Constitution," I shouted through the open window. I refrained from sticking my tongue out at the woman. I also fought the urge to yell, "You have two choices. Either trawl the lot until a spot opens up or go home and come back later!"

The officer made a placating motion to her.

"It's a very busy morning here," he said. He moved a caution sawhorse so she could squeeze into a handicap slot.

About 10 minutes had elsapsed since the man in the van had parked and gone into the school to vote. I had been waiting in the car close to 20 minutes.

I got out of the car and hollered over.

"Excuse me, but did you vote already?"

"Yes."

"Where the hell are they?" I thought I had said this to myself.

"There are two precincts voting here and there's a really long line for precinct 7"

I thanked him and settled back to wait with a weary sigh.

The police officer's watch ended and as soon as his squad car left, not one but two elderly lady drivers came through the Do Not Enter end of the horseshoe. The clearly marked Do Not Enter end of the driveway. Yikes! Where was the police officer when he was really needed!

Finally, Ma and Dad came out. I got out of the car and waved so they would see me. Everyone got in the car. I very carefully backed out of the spot. The approach to the exit was clear. No blue haired ladies in sight. How do you spell relief?

Ashley Jane Butternut

2008-11-09T09:42:00.004-05:00

Ashley Jane Butternut, died Tuesday from a fall during the Squash Squad practice.

Ashley was an honor student at Produce Mahket High School. She was a member of the Squash Squad and recently was elected to the student council.

She leaves her parents Cushaw and Summer (Squash) Butternut, two sisters, Delicata, and Patty Pan, and a brother, Peter Pan.

Memorial Services will be held Tuesday at 7pm at Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless Cathedral.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you send a donation to the You're-The-Grand-Prize-Winner Sweepstakes. Donations can be sent to Rose Dewy-Cheatham, And Howe Avenue, Mahket City.

Squad Member Squashed

2008-11-08T15:40:00.003-05:00

Tuesday dawned like any other day. Members of the Winter Squash Squad were up early and hard at work preparing for the big Thanksgiving festival. They were rehearsing their signature move, the pyramid, when the unthinkable happened. Ashley Butternut plummeted to her death.

Coach Al Zucchini was at a loss to explain the accident. "These are good kids. They lookout for one another. They've done this move a thousand times. Ashley was a good squash, so young and fresh."

Team member, Amber Hubbard described what happened. "It was like, you know. Like Ash was on top of the pyramid and like this like you know like giant like hand came out of the sky and grabbed her and like dropped her like to the ground."

Ashley Butternut was pronounced dead at the scene. Mahket officials are investigating the incident. Mark A. Corn of the Mahket released an official statement. "This was a very tragic accident. Our hearts and prayers are with the Butternut family at this difficult time."

Ashley's mother, Summer Squash Butternut told the squad members. "Ash was so proud to have made the squad. She loved the sport and her teammates and loved being on the top of the pyramid. She died doing what she loved best."

Grief counselors will be on hand to help squad members cope with their loss. A memorial service is being planned.

Mrs. Butternut said Ashley's rind would be composted in a private family service.

The Ancient Mariner

2008-10-23T20:20:00.005-04:00

The Young One and I were watching a program.

"Water, water, everywhere. And not a drop to drink," quoted The Young One.

"Water, water, everywhere. And all the boards did shrink," I added. I was pleasantly surprised she knew the quote. "Did you read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in school?"

"No."

"We spend thousands of dollars on your tuition, and they don't teach you the Classics?" My favorite rant.

She fixed me with "the look" as only a teenager can.

"That's because no body cares."

"I care," the English major in me said indignantly.

"That's because you were around when all these guys wrote this junk."

Looks like the mariner isn't the only one that's ancient.

Wipe, Please.

2008-10-23T11:36:00.007-04:00

During the last Mahket run, Ma toodled on the scooter to the produce department with me trailing a safe ten paces behind.

Ma stopped and surveyed the department. A hunter getting the lay of the land.

"You know those green peppers you picked last time went bad. Your father put them in the basement."

"That's not my fault if you don't store the food properly."

"I know," she conceded. Ma horned in on the display of green beans.

A younger woman was carefully selecting her choices, one by one, and putting them in a plastic bag.

"You didn't do a good job picking out the green beans last time," Ma sniffed. "Some of them were touched."

I almost commented on what was touched, but kept my mouth shut.

"I want a pound. Pick them like that girl over there is doing."

"Maybe we should let her pick out your green beans," I muttered.

The woman turned as she overheard the conversation. I smiled politely as I pulled a plastic bag from the roll.

My turn came, and I approached the altar of the green beans. Under Ma's hawk gaze, I selected a candidate and promptly rejected it. I was sure there was nothing particularly wrong with that green bean, but it seemed the prudent way to go. I selected another and put it in the bag. Ma must have approved because she zoomed down the aisle in search of other veggie prey.

By now, you've all picked up the fact I hate shopping. I hate grocery shopping in particular, and I especially despise shopping at the Mahket. I don't do the grocery shopping for my own family. Himself came to me as the designated slayer of grocery since he did the food shopping for his mother, and he naturally assumed the role in our marriage. It was either that or starve. Grocery shopping falls under the "not a Little Princess job" like yard work or bathroom cleaning.

I looked at the mound of green beans as if they were writhing adders. I pushed my hand into the underlayers to see if the specimens were any better than the fellows on the top. As I did this, I began to wonder how many people, during the start of flu season, have pawed through the beans before I arrived. Had they washed their hands before they arrived for shopping? Had some child picked and wiped his hand on his nose and helpfully helped his mother select green beans? I shuddered, and made a mental note for next time. Grab another bag and use it as a glove so I wouldn't have to actually touch the produce.

More selecting and my eye caught the sign announcing Fresh Green Beans. Fresh my Aunt Fanny. How fresh can green beans be sitting in a bin that is not refrigerated and sitting in the bin for God knows how long? Do the beans stay in the bin overnight? Does the produce manager have his clerks restock the vegetables into a refrigerator overnight? The beans sitting in the bin can't be fresh. Fresh is being shipped to the produce plant minutes after picking and being flash frozen and ensconced in a polybag. If vegetables are not sealed in a polybag, they shouldn't be brought home.

I took my bag of beans to the scale to be weighed. My hands felt gritty. Another mental note, bring some wipes next time. Better yet, try to get Ma and Dad to subscribe to Peapod, the online grocery shopping service in their area. Though that wouldn't work, I'd be getting calls at all hours that "they didn't send me my green beans."

I found Ma in the aisle looking at polybags of apples.

"I want a bag of MacIntosh."

Shopping with your mother, $200.00. Not having to hand select MacIntosh apples? Priceless.

A Major Award

2008-10-10T13:53:00.004-04:00

If you didn't go back to read all the comments on the Bloggerversary Contest Winner, Alesia sent this comment:

Thanks everyone! My box arrived yesterday, sadly (yet somehow appropriately) the lottery ticket was a loser. Auntie Rose is now in a place of honor in the dining room hutch.

Just like Auntie Rose to send you bupkiss. She stiffed Ma too, out of $2M yesterday. At least you have the consolation of the Little Debbies. Ma's only consolation was me raining on her parade.

It started yesterday when I brought lunch to have a visit with the Weebles. Ma wanted me to take her to the post office because she had received a registered letter. She took a half an hour to get ready.

In the meantime, I found the card the mailman left to see who sent the letter. There was no name, no company, just a bunch of numbers. A bogus notice. Secretly, I hoped it was from the FBI indicting Ma with illegal gambling or terrorist funding. Or maybe a bill from the telephone company with all the charges for calls to Jamaica that I had the phone company remove from the bill.

I was also wondering why the mailman didn't leave the letter. Ma is a virtual shut in and she's home all the time. If she ventures outside, it's to sit in a chair on the front porch. I guess the mailman knew it was a fake letter and didn't want to bother about it.

Finally, Ma is ready. We drive to the post office. Wait in line for days because there is only one clerk working. A second clerk was at the counter but he was ignoring the line.

Ma got her letter and two books of stamps. As I'm juggling, the letter, her pockabook, and trying to put away her checkbook, she's demanding I open her letter.

"Let's go to the car, Ma. My hands are full and I'm dancing as fast as I can."

I got her settled in the car and she opened her letter.

"I don't have my glasses. Read this to me."

"I can't read and drive, Ma. You'll have to wait until we get home." Besides not wanting to drive into the guard rail, I can't read while driving as I get motion sick.

On the ride home, Ma is dreaming of riches. She'll pay for my girls' college education in full. I'd rather she pay me for the furnace, but I don't say anything. All I can think of is if she won, all the strings that would be attached to the winnings.

At home, Ma looks at the letter and focuses on the big $2 Million printed on an official looking certificate.

She's fairly dancing around the living room with joy. I started thinking of the father from "The Christmas Story" when he won a prize for entering a crossword puzzle contest.

"A major award! A major award. Hot damn!"

Too bad Ma didn't win the leg lamp. At least she would have something to show for all the do-re-mi she's spent on these contests.

"See," she said shoving the letter at me. "I told you I was going to win."

I read the letter. It stated if Ma sent $20 her name would be put in the next round of entries for a chance to win the $2 million. Just like Auntie Rose to stiff Ma again.

"You didn't win anything."

It was sad to see her face fall. All the dreams and all the control she would have with the money.

"All they want you to do is send them more money so they can trick you into thinking you won a contest."

I should have brought Ma a box of Little Debbies. She already has the framed picture of Auntie Rose.

New Washer Works

2008-10-05T06:00:00.000-04:00

A week after the Weebles got their new washer, I called to find out how it was working out and to see if there were any fire works. I related the story to Himself.

"I called to find out how the washer was working. Dad answered the phone."

"What did he say?"

"He was thrilled. 'It really works!'"

"He sounded surprised."

"Yeah, like DUH! I guess he was surprised the machine got faster RPM's than he did spinning the drum."

Bloggerversary Contest - Winner

2008-10-04T12:00:00.001-04:00

Auntie Rose drew the winning entry in the Bloggerversary Contest. She is pleased to announce if you wish to see if your name is on the Winner's List. Send $11.95 to Auntie Rose.

Ok, just kidding.

The winner is....

Alesia! Congratulations, Al, you've won the fabulous prize package which includes a Scary Money Instant Lottery ticket from the Massachusetts Lottery Commission, a package of Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies to savor the thrill of victory or the agony of the eat (don't groan, it's funny!), and a framed picture of Auntie Rose to proudly display as your relative. Which also means we are related because we share the same auntie.

I want to thank everyone for participating and helping me celebrate two years of fine whining.

Exploding Washing Machine

2008-10-03T06:00:00.003-04:00

This story appeared in our local news. Exploding Washing Machine Sparks Fears Sounded like wishful thinking. LOL

This is the last day for you to leave a comment on the blog to be entered into the Bloggerversary Contest Contest ends at 11:59PM Friday 3. October 2008. US residents only. Auntie Rose will announce the winner at noon EDT on Saturday 4. October 2008

Shopping with Popeye

2008-10-02T06:00:00.003-04:00

Don't forget. Leave a comment on the blog this week to be entered into the Bloggerversary Contest Enter each day to increase your chances of winning. Contest ends at 11:59PM Friday 3. October 2008

Dad is a mumbler. If you listen carefully, you can hear him mutter under his breath. Sort of like Popeye the cartoon sailor used to make snide remarks and then chuckle. Heh-heh-heh. Dad usually mumbles things like "justifiable" as in justifiable homicide.

We were on our way to the big orange store. Ma has their charge card, and she received a $10 off coupon in the mail for a purchase over $200 if you put the purchase on the charge card. No interest, no payments for a year. Ma wanted to buy a new washing machine. She was excited about the outing and was animated on the ride up.

From the back seat came Popeye's comment, "She needs a good whack."

Sometimes when I hear nuggets like these, I have a hard time keeping a straight face.

Needs a good whack. We'll call Tony Soprano to see if Paulie Walnuts is available to take care of it for ya. Just remember you're dealing with Tony and it's gonna cost ya.

Usually Dad's mumbling isn't too bad unless we are in public, and then it can be downright embarassing.

I had once again reminded Ma of the price for a washer. I told her to expect a price between $450 and $550.

The back legs on Ma's walker, the ones with the Whiffle ball covers, made a screaching sound as Ma made her way to the appliance department. The sound of fingernails on a blackboard echoed through the warehouse. EEEEEEEEEeeeeeee EEEEEEEEeeeeeeee. People stopped to stare like that old E. F. Hutton commercial. When E.F Hutton talks everyone listens. EEEEEEEeeee EEEEEEeeee. I could see people through the entire store cringing at the sound.

Popeye was mumbling behind me.

"Listen to that! Can't even use the walker right."

"Stop it!" I hissed back at him.

The salesman approached us and immediately Ma informed him she wanted to see a Maytag.

"What the hell does she need a washer for?" Popeye muttered.

"Behave!" I hissed again.

The salesman showed Ma a Maytag with a porcelain drum for $419. Ma frowned. She wanted the Maytag with the stainless steel drum which was $100 more.

The salesman showed her a Whirlpool that was less expensive.

No, she wanted a Maytag.

"Where the hell does she think she's getting the money for this? I'm not paying for it!"

"Quit it!"

I know where Ma is getting the money from. Auntie Rose is supposed to send Ma seven grand on the third of October. Auntie Rose didn't specify the year so it could be this year, or next year or the year after.

I moved Dad away from the salesman while Ma looked at the Maytag with the stainless steel drum.

"I know how to make the washing machine work," sputtered Dad. "All I have to do is turn it."

A small shudder went up my spine. The Brother had a friend in grammar school who lost an arm in a washing machine accident. I pictured the boy with his empty sleeve pinned to his shoulder to keep the sleeve out of the way. My stomach clenched because I wasn't sure if Dad meant all he had to do was fiddle with the control knob or if he spun the drum to get the washer moving. I didn't want to ask. I tried not to picture Dad with his empty sleeve pinned to his shoulder to keep the sleeve from flapping around. Lord, I wished I had taken a second dose of aspirin.

The store was running a promotion. Buy a washer and dryer and get $75 off in a rebate. Ma's eyes sparkled with washer/dryer lust. I told her the whole shebang would cost over $1,000. She had a year to pay off the charge without interest. If she didn't send any money to Auntie Rose and the other scammers, she could easily pay off the bill in ten months by sending $100 a month to the big orange store. Yes, she understood. Yes, a good plan. She would be able to pay it off in two months time. I was hoping she was thinking it would take two months of her Social Security checks to pay the debt though deep down I knew she was counting on Auntie Rose to kick in with millions.

She handed her charge card to the salesman. He checked the availability and delivery schedule while Dad huffed and moaned.

The salesman explained the terms to Ma. $75 in rebate. No payments, no interest for a year. There would be a $60 delivery and old machine pick up, but sending in a form would reimburse her.

"Geeeeeze!"

The salesman escorted Ma to the front of the store to complete the transaction and to print out the rebate and delivery reimbursement forms.

The salesman and I were in lockstep. Ma screeching her way to the front of the store. EEEEEEEeeee EEEEEEEeee EEEEEEeee. Dad a few paces behind us.

"Justifiable...out of her mind...I'm not paying...." floated around us.

"How long have they been married?" the salesman asked me.

"Sixty-five years."

"That's a long time. Do they get along?"

"Yup, like oil and water."

The Washer

2008-10-01T06:00:00.005-04:00

Don't forget. Leave a comment on the blog this week to be entered into the Bloggerversary Contest Enter each day to increase your chances of winning. Contest ends at 11:59PM Friday 3. October 2008

The faithful washing machine had seen better days. Ma wanted to go to the appliance store where she's bought all her appliances for the past 56 years. So I loaded up the bus, and we went. It's only a couple of miles down the road. On the way I prepared Ma for what she could expect to pay. $400-$550 for a top loader.

The store was filled with high-end front loaders. Bosch, Whirlpool Duet, LG. All equipped with steam cleaning and from the looks of them, your wash would not only come out clean, but neatly folded. Just like Maureen Robinson's wash from Lost in Space.

A salesman came around to help. He started to talk to me and I pointed to Ma. I was not going to miss an opportunity to keep my mouth shut.

"I want a Maytag."

The salesman started moving towards the Maytag Neptune.

"She wants a top-loader."

"This is what I have in a Maytag," He showed her a washer with a price tag of $519.00

Ma frowned.

"I have a Whirlpool for $419.00"

"I want a Maytag."

"Whirlpool owns Maytag."

"What kind do you have?" Ma asked me.

"I have a Whirlpool."

"I've had my Maytag for 56 years," Ma told the salesman.

Ma's had the washer for a long time, but there was another machine in between the 56 years.

"Is that a fact."

"I've bought all my appliances here."

Ma was angling for a discount.

The salesman smiled.

"I'm 90 years old."

She played the hole card.

"Isn't that wonderful."

"We've been married 65 years," chimed in Dad.

Double teamed.

"You didn't say 65 happy years."

Don't go there.

The Weebles began backpedaling.

"There were happy years."

"He just had an operation."

The sympathy route.

"I had lots of gallstones removed."

I tried shooing the Weebles to the door.

"C'mon, kids, the man doesn't want to hear about your operations."

In the car on the way home, Ma sniffed.

"Those machines were too expensive. I want to go to the big orange store."

Bloggerversary Contest

2008-09-30T05:14:00.000-04:00

Help me celebrate my second bloggerversary. Just look at the fabulous prize package you will win: A Massachusetts instant game ticket, Scary Money 2008 with a chance to win a cash prize. See odds of winning, a box of Little Debbie Cosmic Brownies to savor the sweetness of winning or the consolation of losing, and a framed picture of Auntie Rose to have as your very own.

Entry is easy. All you have to do is leave a comment on my blog. You lurkers out there; don't be shy. Just say "Hi". Tell me about the weather in your area. Whine. Relate an anecdote. Anything. Each day you comment, your name will be entered into the contest. Comment each day and increase your chances of winning! The contest will run until 11:59PM EDT on Friday 3. October 2008. The winner will be announced at noon on Saturday 4. October 2008. U.S. residents only.

Bloggerversary Contest

2008-09-29T06:39:00.006-04:00

Saturday, 4. October 2008 will mark my second year blogging at Whine. Can you believe it? Two years of fine whining. I didn't pay attention the first year to the date so missed the bloggerversary. This year, I'd like to do something to mark the occasion.

I wanted to run a contest, but didn't know what to offer as a prize. 24 cans of beets? 20 loaves of bread? The Weebles? While brainstorming with Erica and later Himself, a grand prize was suggested.

First, the contest rules. Stop by CJ's Whine and Cheeze and leave a comment this week. That's it. Just leave a comment. Say "Hi". Tell me about the weather in your area. Whine about your own sandwich experiences. Relate an anecdote. Anything. Each day you comment, your name will be entered into the contest. Comment each day and increase your chance of winning! The contest will run until 11:59 pm EDT on Friday 3. October 2008.

Saturday, 4. October 2008, Auntie Rose will draw the name of the contest winner by lottery. You don't even have to send $11.95 to see if your name is on the contest list like Ma does. At noon EDT, I'll post the name of the winner.

The winner of the contest will win a legitimate Massachusetts Lottery scratch ticket with a chance to win a cash prize, a box of Little Debbie treats, and a picture of Auntie Rose.

The contest is open to U.S. residents only.

Good luck!

The Twilight Zone

2008-09-21T19:52:00.003-04:00

Shortly after Dad has his second procedure to remove gallstones, he related a story to me.

"I woke up and there was a man in my room. He was wearing a white suit."

"It was probably just a dream, Dad." Either that or tripping on whatever medication the hospital sent him home with.

"No, it wasn't a dream. I was awake."

"Did you know the man?"

"No, just that he was wearing a white suit."

All I could picture was Mr. Roarke from the television show Fantasy Island or Tattoo, Mr. Roarke's little dude sidekick. Boss, de plane! de plane!

Did this man talk to you?"

"No, but I heard a voice say, 'Not now, they still have time.'"

Dad was not at all upset about a stranger in his room.

"Your mother heard the voice too."

"She did?"

"Yes, because she asked me the next morning who was in the house."

Not exactly what I would call a good witness as Ma hears someone singing risque Italian songs all the time.

"God sends someone to come and take you home."

Dad seemed quite comforted by this thought. Now I have heard this type of story, though I had heard it was always a family member or someone you knew who came to help you cross over. Not a complete stranger. On the other hand, The Happy Wanderer would gladly go with anyone that offered him a lift.

Smartphone

2008-09-14T20:14:00.005-04:00

At the beginning of the week, my Palm Z22, my brains just up and died. The Z22 was my electronic calendar and synced to Outlook. Just the thing I needed to keep track of all the appointments including Weeble appointments. I had been thinking about a smartphone, phone and PDA all in one device, but hadn't been able to rationalize the expense until the Z22 bought the farm.

Rather than buy another Palm device (this was my third from two previous upgrades), I decided to bite the bullet and go for the smartphone. Since the Weebles have a doctor's appointment on Tues. the decision had to be made right quick. So this is Chip, Verizon's SMT 5800. It's a candybar style with a slide out QWERTY key pad.

Now I'll be able to run out the door with the smartphone and my wallet in my jacket pocket. Not often that I carry a purse. Just ask Frauee what a minimalist I was in TX. I can transfer calls from the home phone to the smartphone. I have my calendar and Weeble appointments at my fingertips and I can surf the web while waiting in the doctor's office. That's a nice feature. Not a necessity, but nice.

I even managed to download a couple of my own ringtones to Chip. Where would I be without the theme from The Big Valley as the general ringtone? I can even associate ringtones with contacts so I can instantly know who is calling. I've been searching the Internet for The Happy Wanderer to associate with the Weebles. I'm sure The Stupid Song isn't available.

The Birthday Party

2008-09-07T11:22:00.006-04:00

Ma turned 90 years old last Tuesday. Ordinarily, I would have held a holy day of obligation on the Sunday before. This year, I had a conflict as Sunday was the day The Eldest was to move back into her dorm. I had thought I could hold the festivities on Saturday, but after dealing with Dad's illness, doing Weeble laundry, and trying to get The Eldest organized, I just didn't have the energy to deal with a party. The house was a wreck with health and beauty items, office supplies, snacks, and other sundry items that needed to go live at college. So I decided if I had time, I'd drop in on Monday (Labor Day) or Tuesday (Ma's birthday). I'd bring a cake and a bouquet of flowers and call it good.

Ma was pleasantly surprised by our visit especially because The Young One had come for a visit, too. She thought everyone had forgotten about her. Dad had gone out (See The Happy Wanderer) and she was left alone. She had also fallen earlier that morning too, but that might have been a sympathy ploy.

As I was getting the cake ready to serve, Ma served me a slice of guilt. In all fairness, she did not comment to make me feel guilt, but it was the way I interpreted her comment.

"Did you ever think you get this far?"

"Ninety years old? No, never. I told your father I wanted a big party, but he didn't bother."

"Oh." The guily version of "Oh, Wow."

And for a split second, I took a bite out of the guilt slice. I could have had her and Dad over for cake and coffee on Saturday. I didn't have to do a seven course meal. So the house was a disaster, the family would have been too polite to remark about my lack of housekeeping skills. I just didn't want to expend the effort.

Ma said she wanted a big party. She was probably thinking of the big party Uncle Salvatore had for his 80th birthday, about five years ago. His son had hired a function hall, invited friends and relatives and given his father a surprise party.

A surprise party. That would have been nice. Except all her relatives and friends are dead. Sad but true. We would have had to hold the festivities at the Holy Name Cemetary where the bulk of the relatives are buried.

I suppose I could have tried talking The Brother into making an appearance for cake and coffee at Ma's. I didn't want to make him feel guilty. Ma would have been very happy to The Brother and his family and me and mine sans The Eldest. Auntie Rose and Grandma Celeste would be smiling down at us from the wall of pictures. But can you imagine the horror of having 91 candles, open flame and all of Ma's papers around? Yup, would sure clean the place out, but as I said before I don't want to be there when it happens.

The Happy Wanderer

2008-09-05T07:54:00.001-04:00

Labor Day found us heading to the Weebles to celebrate Ma's 90th birthday a day early. We had picked up a cake, a bouquet of flowers, and a card. Traffic wasn't too heavy so we were zipping along.

"There's your father," Himself said as we zipped by the old brewery.

"What? Where? Are you sure it's him?"

"There's no mistaking him. He's wearing a straw hat that looks like a dog chewed its brim, a plaid jacket that looks like some poor VW bug is missing seat covers, and he has his cane slung over his shoulder with a shopping bag on the end of it like a hobo's pack. Should I loop around to pick him up?"

Himself likes to drive in the passing lane and there was no way to pull over to pick up the old man. Dad was some two miles from home.

"Yeah, don't let him walk home. What the hell was he doing up here anyway?" I could feel the muscles in my neck clench and me without my Tylenol.

"Do you think Grandpa dresses like he's homeless on purpose?" asked The Young One.

"Maybe he thinks if he dresses poor mouth, no one will bother him while he's wandering around town," I answered smoothly. I wasn't really sure of the reason. He has tons of clothes, many of them new, still in their original plastic with pins holding the folds neatly in place. I've teased him for years that he has a trousseau. I have a feeling this is another instance of Weeblenomics. The clothes he wears are threadbare and out of style, but perfectly serviceable. What's a few holes? The new clothes are to be saved. I'm not sure what occasion he's saving them for, perhaps his funeral. I might have to tell him, we can only bury him in one outfit. He won't be able to take his wardrobe with him. Wonder if we'll be able find a short, portly fellow on eBay to buy Dad's expensive Hickey-Freeman suits, he used to wear them to work and they are still hanging in the closet?

Himself took the half cloverleaf turn and headed back up the highway. We were now on the Westbound side, and I was anxiously watching the Eastbound side for a glimpse of Dad.

A black SUV, what Dad calls a "Soove" had stopped on the highway next to Dad. My heart leaped to my throat, and I watched with horror as Dad accepted the ride.

Note to self: Get a pack of Tylenol Meltaways (no water needed) to keep in the car in case of Weeble induced headaches while on the road.

By the time we made the second loop, the black SUV was gone.

We turned into the Weebles street, and there was the SUV parked in front of the Weebles' driveway. Dad was leaning in and chatting with the driver.

The driver was a young, good-looking fella in his mid-thirties.

"I take it this is your dad?" he asked.

"Yup, that's him. Thanks for picking him up."

"No problem." We watched as the driver turned the black SUV around.

"Did you know that man?" I asked Dad.

"No."

I sighed heavily. "Y'know the old rule about accepting rides from strangers applies to you too."

Dad shrugged and gave me a sheepish grin.

"What the hell were you doing up there anyway?"

"I went to Eliot to visit a friend. Then Roche Bros. had a deal on paper towels."

That's what was in the bag that was looped around his cane. The store was close to two miles away from where we saw Dad on the highway. The shoes on Dad walk round and round.

"You couldn't have waited until I came Thursday to take you guys to the Mahket?"

Another sheepish grin.

Maybe we need to have an electronic fence installed around the Weebles' house. Then if he crosses the line, the electronic collar will zap Dad to remind him to stay in his own yard. On the other hand, the Happy Wanderer would probably learn pretty quickly that if you took a running start and ran through the electronic wire, the zap would only hurt for a second or two. Or if he sat by the boundary long enough, the collar battery would wear out, and he could happily wander away without a zap.

Oh, may I go a-wandering
Until the day I die!
Oh, may I always laugh and sing,
Beneath God's clear blue sky!
Val-deri,Val-dera,
Val-deri,
Val-dera-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha
Val-deri,Val-dera.
My knapsack on my back.

You're A Winner

2008-09-04T06:00:00.000-04:00

Conversation with my cousin turned to Ma and her scammer contests.

"The house is cluttered with papers. You can barely find a place to sit down."

"I know."

"She's convinced she's winning millions of dollars. All she's doing is throwing her money down the drain."

"Preachin' to the choir."

"You really should make her stop."

"You know, I've had conversations with Ma about the foolish way she's spending her money. You know what she told me?"

"What?"

"She told me to mind my own damn business."

Who Is That Woman?

2008-09-03T06:37:00.008-04:00

My Cousin was telling me about her visit with Ma.

"We were sitting in the living room having a nice chat. I was looking at the family pictures your mother has on the wall. By the way, who is that woman?"

"What woman?"

"Your mother has a picture of a woman I've never seen before. She has white hair and is smiling."

"Oh, you mean Auntie Rose?"

"Auntie Rose? I don't remember an Auntie Rose."

"Oh, she's new. Auntie Rose is Ma's psychic. Auntie Rose tells Ma to send her money and Ma will be rich. Ma sends the money. Because her picture is on the wall with the other relatives, The Nephew christened her Auntie Rose."

Auntie Rose and her chit eating grin. Wonder what the story will be if Aunt Jemima's picture ends up on the wall? Maybe we can say Aunt Jemima's from the Sicilian side of the family.

Not A Little Princess Job

2008-09-02T16:32:00.004-04:00

Ma's washer went on the fritz. Somehow, I ended up volunteering my washer and services and Himself to pick up and deliver the Weeble laundry. Y'know, doing other people's laundry is definitely not a Little Princess job. And the moral of this story? Never miss an opportunity to keep your mouth shut. Next time I hear "My washer is broken." The response is "Oh, wow."

I suppose the job could have been worse. I could have had to take it to the laundromat. You can read all about my first laundromat experience The Princess and the Laundromat.

Overnight

2008-09-01T23:44:00.006-04:00

I picked Dad up from the hospital after he had a procedure. Hed was sent home though he was looped to the gills. Poor fella couldn't get warm and was shivering so much his teeth chattered like castanets. I called the day surgery to ask if this was normal. Nope. Try to get him warm and if that doesn't work, bring him back. Warmed a quilt in the dryer. That and Dad's fave ratty Turkish terry bathrobe made him feel better. He was running a low grade fever, but I thought that was due to him being over dressed and tucked up with 1,000 quilts. After he was warmed up, I got him to just wear pjs and blanket and sheet. His temp came down. I ended up staying the night because Ma can barely take care of herself let alone trying to cope with Dad. Sat. morning, he was up, about and had cereal for breakfast. He grumped at Ma for hovering so figured he was back to normal, and I went home.

"You look horrible," said Himself as I flopped on my chair in the sunroom.

"Thanks, Kid. Just the kind of fuzzy welcome home feeling I was looking for."

"Rough night with your Dad?"

"No, he did alright. Just that I forgot how hot the upstairs room is. My God, how did we live like that? And my bed had tons of junk piled on it so I slept in the other bed. The other bed had junk too, but not so much that I couldn't pile it on a chair. There were too many peas in the bed and the pillow wasn't soft and comfy."

The Young One had come upstairs while I was whining.

"You sound like the Little Princess from the story," she chuckled.

"She was based on me. What's your point?"

"Guess you won't feel like cooking us supper because you didn't sleep well," Himself said flipping through the channels while the ballgame was in commercial. His comment was a statement and not a question.

"You got that right. Though it just wasn't because of two star accommodations at the hotel. Dad perked up around 10pm and he was looking for a playmate. So I sat up and chatted with him for an hour or so. Ma was busy shuffling papers. Around 11, I decided to go to bed. I'm heading through the livingroom and there's Ma standing in the middle of her papers with a candle and match that had to be yard long. She was burning papers in the fireplace."

Himself laughed.

"It's not funny."

"Don't you and your brother joke that a Zippo would do wonders to clean that place out?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to be in the middle of the house when it goes up! So I slept with one ear open listening to see if Dad was having any problems. Do they even have a smoke detector in the house?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I stayed awake wondering about that, and then trying to plan my escape route from the second floor. Do I go out my bedroom window, hang from the sill and drop hoping I'd fall into the bushes instead of the concrete where the clothes line is or do I go out the office window and jump to the concrete patio?"

"You wouldn't have to worry about jumping?"

"Why not?"

"The fumes from the burning Styrofoam plates would probably kill you first."

"Thank you, Gretchen Sunshine. She's not burning the plates anymore. She's putting them through the dishwasher now."

"Hey! I know what you can get your mother for her birthday?"

"What?"

"A fire extinguisher."

The Sound of Music

2008-08-30T19:34:00.004-04:00

I was spending the day with Ma, waiting to hear the results of a procedure Dad was having at the hospital. Ma was sitting on the settee under the picture of Auntie Rose. I was sitting opposite Ma and flipping through a Martha Stewart magazine.

"There she goes again," Ma said with an irritated edge to her voice.

"Who?"

"The music."

"What music?"

"Don't you hear the music?" Ma looked at me as if I was dumb as well as deaf.

I concentrated. I could hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, the refrigerator gurgling, and if I listened real hard, the roar of the highway. "I don't hear any music, Ma."

"You mean to tell me you can't hear that? She does this every single day, all day long. It's driving me crazy."

"Who?" There isn't a soul around the neighborhood. Everyone works.

"She must have a Victrola, and she plays those records."

"What kind of songs?"

"Dirty, Italian songs."

I might have half believed her if she had said that jungle music you used to listen to as a kid. I laughed. "Ma, who around here would be playing Italian songs? Let alone dirty, Italian songs. No one is Italian."

"Come sit with me and then tell me you don't hear the music."

So I crossed the room and sat on the settee next to Ma. She watched my face expectantly.

I shook my head. "Sorry, Ma. I only hear the clock and the refrigerator.

The only part of the Italian language I ever got a handle on were the swear words. Ma and Dad only spoke Italian when they didn't want The Brother or me to know what was going on. No mistaking swear words, and usually you knew what was going on because you were at the bottom of it or soon would be. So if there were Italian swear words to be heard, I knew I'd be able to pick up on them.

I tried to get Ma to tell me the songs she was hearing, but she couldn't quite put a title to any one of them. We used to have a couple of records by Italian singer Lou Monte. He sang a few of the old favorites like "Eh Cumpare." He sang a couple of funny songs a mixture of English and Italian like "What Did Washington Say When He Crossed the Delaware." It wasn't a dirty song. Ol ' George laments the fact that it's wicked cold and he must have forgotten his mudandies (long underwear). The Brother and I enjoyed the song about Pepino a mischievous mouse who eats Lou's cheese, drinks his wine and scares the mudandies off his girl.

Ma hearing voices is sad and funny at the same time. Dirty, Italian songs. I suppose it's a blessing she's hearing them. She could be hearing voices telling her to kill those who can't hear the music.

If you want to sing along with Lou, here are the lyrics to Pepino.

Pepino, oh, you little mouse
Oh, won't you go away
Find yourself another house to run around and play
You scare my girl, you eat my cheese, you even drink my wine
I try so hard to catch you but you trick me all the time

Cesta no surecillo a basoccella dinda mur
Ogna sere quella esce quanda casa scura
Endo dindo la cucina balla sulasu
A parrano malandrino pura un gabo sapaur

Pepino suracill ana parta scubari
Managa suracill a casa ma dai
Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar
A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa

The other nightI called my girl
I asked her could we meet
I said let's go to my house
We could have a bite to eat
And as we walked in through the door
she screamed at what she saw
There was little Pepino
Doin' the cha, cha on the floor

Pepino suracill ana parta scubari
Managa suracill a casa ma dai
Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar
A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa
Quella non ci piace u formaggio American
Quella va trova no poca Parmesan
La fatto ghiata ghiat gusto ena cor
Quando cella camina para probino caladur

Pepino suracill ana parta scubari
Managa suracill a casa ma dai
Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar
A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa

Theory of Relativity

2008-08-30T00:10:00.003-04:00

Back in April, I introduced you to Auntie Rose. She's the psychic whose picture adorns the wall of shame in the Weebles livingroom.

While visiting last week, I happened to notice tucked into The Nephew's high school graduation picture is another long lost relative. She's quite famous too. Seems we have another grandma. None other than Mama Celeste of frozen pizza fame. Well, that would explain why we aren't abbondanza. Ma must have sent the do-re-mi to Auntie Rose.

The Nephew had told me he was going to stick Mama Celeste on the wall next time he went for a visit. Just to see if the Weebles would notice. I thought he was joking and the Weebles haven't noticed. Or if they did, they haven't mentioned it.

Hey Kid! You know what would be really funny? A picture of Aunt Jemima.

Perceptions

2008-08-28T02:03:00.001-04:00

Perceptions. How we look at things. How we see them. How we interpret them. How we judge, but unless you’re in the situation, you don’t really know.

The daughter of a friend of the Weebles had recently dropped in to visit them after work. She called to tell me about the visit.

“They were making toast by putting it under the broiler. They should have a toaster.”

“They did. It’s broken. They have a perfectly good toaster oven, but for some reason won’t use it to make toast.

“I think I have a toaster down in the basement they can have. I’ll have to look for it.”

“That’s kind of you, but I bought Ma a toaster for her birthday in another week.”

“Oh, that’s good because they shouldn’t make the toast in the broiler.”

They shouldn’t do a lot of things they do,

“Your mother was telling me all about the Mahket. I think she was hinting that I would take her sometime.”

Yeah, Ma was trying to guilt her into taking her, and as much as I hoped someone else would take Ma to the Mahket, I couldn’t in all good conscience let that happen.

“You don’t really want to do that.”

“Well, I could take her once in a while.”

“Got three hours to kill?”

“What?”

“The trip to the Mahket takes three hours from the time we leave the house til we get back.” Three hours. Same time as it would take to drive one way to New York.

“You’re making that up.”

“Hand to God. It’s true. Three hours because Ma has to bless all the meat.”

“Oh.”

“Your mother was also telling me I could stay with them if the weather got bad and I couldn’t make it home from work.”

“I have two words for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Ho-tel”

Weeblenomics

2008-08-06T06:00:00.002-04:00

Nutterone asked: ok, it just occured to me as I was dumping an old loaf of bread... What on Earth do TWO people do with TWENTY loaves of bread?

That’s an excellent question, Nutterone, and the answer can be found in nature. Ants, squirrels and other critters stocking up so they would have food for the Winter.

The Weebles were born just after The Great War, WWI. Their childhood was spent during the roaring Twenties and their teenage years during the Great Depression, then as young adults during WWII. My theory is that knowing the hardship of not having and then the frugality of rationing, they decided when they had their own family, this would not happen. They and their children would never want for anything. How often we, the children, heard about that too. We had because of their sacrifice.

When I was in my teens, the Weebles converted the cellar into a three room “apartment”. There’s a kitchen with stove, sink, one wall lined with tall cabinets, and a standing freezer. There’s a sitting area and then a laundry/bathroom. The bathroom has a stall shower, toilet and sink. All they need to have would be a few 55 gallon drums of water, a couple of bunk beds, and they would have a nice, cozy bomb shelter. Wouldn’t surprise me if bomb shelter was the underlying reason for the remodel. After all, The Brother and I grew up during the Cold War.

In the old days, before Auntie Rose scammed Ma, and when Dad had a car and was still driving, shopping was an all day expedition, not just a three hour tour around the Mahket. The Weebles made a circuit of five stores in four towns, and Ma would shop the specials for each store. If Pastene tomatoes went on sale for 69 cents a can, Ma would buy a case, 24 cans. Anything that went on sale, Ma would buy extra, and it would be stored away in the downstairs kitchen. If the store limited how many cans of an item customers could have, the Weebles would each get in line, each with the legal limit. The pantry downstairs would be filled with canned fruits and vegetables. (I counted 24 cans of beets a couple of years ago) Pastene tomatoes and tomato paste to make gravy (spaghetti sauce), pasta of every shape and size. Paper towels, napkins, paper plates, paper cups, toilet paper, cans and bottles of tonic (soda pop). The freezer was jammed with beef, chicken, sausage, bread, bagels, ice cream. If unexpected company showed up, Ma would be able to pull together enough items to make a complete feast.

The cabinets and freezer items reminded me of those bulk superstores. I used to tell Himself that if anything happened to the Weebles, the first thing we go for is the food and stuff downstairs. There had to be thousands of dollars worth of inventory.

Ma prided herself on being thrifty and frugal. She bought things because they were a good price. Though I sometimes wondered what the savings really were considering the amount of gas burned toodling around the countryside. Made no nevermind. Ma was convinced she was saving big bucks.

That frugality also shows up in other areas, too. Remember last year, when Dad had to have FIOS because the phone company had a deal where the phone and computer would be bundled? Their phone bill dropped from $50 (or over, depending if Ma called Jamaica or not) to a flat $39.99 per month. Yup, Dad was pleased as punch he was saving on the phone bill. Never mind my end of the computer bill went up from a manageable $14.95 a month to $39.99 a month. Yup, Dad is saving and I’m out $25.04. My fault, I offered him the computer. Lesson learned. Never miss an opportunity to keep your mouth shut.

Dad was recently bragging the town granted senior citizens a special dispensation. If the seniors used only a certain amount of water, the seniors would be exempt from paying a water/sewerage bill which in recent years had skyrocketed above the property taxes. Yes, Dad was insufferably pleased with their low water consumption and no water bill. How do they do it? I’ll share the dirty, little secret. They don’t flush the toilet unless they absolutely have to. Yes, you are all allowed to utter a loud and long EWWWWW. I do quite frequently when I’m at the Weebles. I think water savings also extends to hand washing, and bathing, but I don’t like to think about that, and I’m sure you don’t want to think about that either.

I’m sure they don’t run the dishwasher that often. They eat off of Styrofoam plates which Ma used to burn (I hope that’s past tense) in the fireplace. There’s only two of them so the laundry isn’t piled that high. I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t sort the laundry into whites and darks, just piles clothes in the machine. More like a guy thing than frugality.

We’ve had so much rain; there’s been no reason to water the lawn. No car, so no car to wash. So that’s the why of having 20 loaves of bread. And so we come to the conclusion of Weeblenomics . Any questions? Anyone? Anyone?

Seven Things

2008-08-05T06:00:00.001-04:00

Nutterone asked: ok, it just occured to me as I was dumping an old loaf of bread... What on Earth do TWO people do with TWENTY loaves of bread?

So, Nutterone, seven things you can do with 20 loaves of bread. (Wonderbread was not on sale 2 loaves for $1. Ma bought the Mahket store brand big sandwich loaf, but I needed a picture of loaves of bread and Wonderbread used to be baked in the town where the Weebles live)

1. Make toast.

2. Make sandwiches.

3. Make bread crumbs

4. Use bread to sop up gravy (spaghetti sauce for non-Italians.) Scali bread works better and tastes better, but Ma didn't buy the scali bread because that was not on sale.

5. Make fairy bread. Spread a little butter and sprinkle with a little (colored) sugar. (No Australian child's party is complete without fairy bread)

6. Tear the crust off slices of bread. (Bread crusts can be used to make the bread crumbs) Roll the white bread out thin and flat with a rolling pin. Cut out bread circles with a shot glass. (The Brother was a master at this technique). Now you have the communion wafers to play Mass

7. When the loaves of bread go bad, you'll have lots of penicillin.

Okay, okay. The real reason is to be continued tomorrow. I love cliffhangers!

Mamabinladen and The Shopping Expedition, continued

2008-08-04T16:01:00.005-04:00

When we last left the Weebles, Dad was staring at me, horrified to realize we didn't have all the groceries. The saga continues:

“Go back to the check out while I get Ma in the car.”

Ma had finished writing in her check book and I helped her into the car to wait.

“Where’s your father?”

“He went to get the other carriage.” I didn't want to tell her the groceries were missing because I didn't want her singing the He's Stupid Song on the sidewalk.

She nodded, and we waited, and waited.

I was now illegally parked in a clearly marked no parking fire lane. Even though the tailgate was raised, Ma’s door was open, and the handicap placard was hanging from the rear view mirror, I was still illegally parked. Across the way I could see a handicap spot. I was just about to buckle Ma in when around the corner, came a fire truck. The firefighters glared at me. Great, I’d probably end up with a ticket.

Dad came out all smiles, pushing a carriage overflowing with groceries. We unloaded the bags.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be eating bread for the next month.”

We drove home and Dad and I unloaded groceries.

“Are you staying for lunch?”

“No.”

Dad gave me the Ma isn’t going to like it grimace.

I had left the house at 9:50 am with The Eldest to drop her off at work. I back tracked and headed to the Weebles arriving there at 10:50am. By the time Ma was done dithering around, and we got to The Mahket, it was 11:30 am. I called Himself from the car at exactly 1:30pm. Dad came out with the first load of groceries at 1:50 pm. Another 15 minutes or so to hunt up the carriage. We left the parking lot and got to the Weebles at 2:30 pm. And 15 minutes later the car was unloaded. I was hoping to be home by 3:30 pm.

Dad went into the kitchen where Ma was putting groceries away.

“The girl wants to go home, Ma.”

“I have to get the cards.”

I sat down silently fuming. It’s always like this. When I want to leave there’s a last minute thing that has to be gotten or showed or given.

Ma went looking for the birthday cards. Then a pen to sign the cards. She handed me checks, cards, envelopes to assemble.

“Don’t cash the checks until Saturday,” she said. Because Auntie Rose got most of Ma’s money, Ma is singing Mafundsalo [my funds are low] along with the ever popular I got a lot of money coming in two weeks.

A squeal of tires, the pleasant smell of burning rubber, and I was on the Pike. Home at 3:45 pm. I could just hear Ma spouting off all the way home. Ma holds the world and Olympic records for emotional terrorism.

“Hmph, she just came for her money. Doesn’t do anything for me.”

I should have left the last load of groceries in the store. Let her eat her 20 loaves of bread for the month.

Mamabinladen and the Shopping Expedition

2008-08-03T16:23:00.003-04:00

Emotional terrorists. You must have run into them. The ones that try to hold you hostage with guilt. Everything from who you link to on your webpages to doing favors.

After 53 years, it comes as no surprise that Ma is an emotional terrorist, Mamabinladen. “No one does anything for me.” Her hallmark motto. So I don’t pay too much attention when Ma has me in her emotional gunsights, but it does chap me when she drives her spurs into the grandchildren.

Tuesday last, I was to take the Weebles to my favorite destination and activity, grocery shopping at The Mahket. Before I left my house, I took a dose of Tylenol and asked my Young One if she wanted to tag along. I already knew what the answer would be, but asked out of courtesy. After all, what teen wanted to spend three hours standing by the meat cases watching the blood in the packages congeal?

I arrived at the Weebles after I dropped The Eldest off at work. Dad answered the door with a big smile on his face, a huge hug for me, happy to see me. He announced my arrival at the same time I shouted “I’m here”, and I sat down to wait for Ma to finish dithering. Dad and I chatted.

After twenty minutes, she came out to the livingroom and took note of me.

“You didn’t tell me you were here!” Meaning I didn’t go into her room, genuflect and kiss her…hand.

“Where’s The Young One?”

“She’s home.”

“How come she didn’t come with you?”

I tried to hold my patience in check as I waited for Ma to finish.

“She didn’t want to come and visit her grandma? She doesn’t love me.”

OY.

“She’s a teen. She’s got her own life and things to do.”

“It’s too much to ask for them to come visit their grandmother…”

Emotional terrorists. They force you to give explanations or apologies. I was in no mood to do either.

“I had birthday cards for the girls.”

That translated into if they don’t come to visit, they don’t get the money in the cards.

“Oh for Chr…” I could feel my voice rising in tempo to the throbbing of my blood pressure. “Are we going to The Mahket, or not?”

Ma grumbled as she made her way down the front steps to the car.

Dad just kept shaking his head with that dear-Lord-take-me-now-look.

It was a quiet ride to the Mahket. Thank God. It was the end of the month, so the store was busy, but not overly crowded with elders spending their social security checks. I had my choice of handicap parking spaces.

Dad ran to the front door of the store, went inside and brought out the scooter for Ma. I returned her walker to the car and went back to the store. Dad was feeding soda cans into the return machine.

“Tell her, I’ll get the bread,” he said, and he handed me a grocery list. The grocery list makes me laugh. Ma has bought the same produce and meats every time we’ve made the trip for the last two years.

I sprinted ahead to see Ma by the bread display. It was on sale, two loaves of giant sandwich loaf for one dollar.

“Get twenty loaves,” Ma snapped at me.

I was going to say something, but decided to keep my pie hole shut. I counted out twenty loaves of bread and completely filled the double bicycle sized basket on the front of Ma’s scooter.

Go ‘head. See where you’re going to put the produce.

The thought must have crossed Ma’s mind because she sat blinking her eyes at the bread.

Sure, I could have gotten a carriage and put the bread in it, but I refuse to push around a carriage. I have enough problems getting items for Ma and helping her maneuver the scooter without pushing a carriage into the mix. An extra cart would also mean extra time to fill. A three hour trip to the grocery store from start to finish is long enough. Thank you very much.

Dad came up behind us, saw Ma with the bread, and he started to sputter.

“I told her, I’d get the bread!”

I held up my hand signaling fussing was futile. I offloaded the bread from Ma’s basket to Dad’s carriage.

“We’re being punished,” I told him.

“Punished? Why?”

“Because The Young One didn’t want to come, Ma is going to punish us.”

He mumbled something that sounded like justifiable and ended with homicide.

Ma toodled off to produce with me trailing behind. She came to an endcap of bagels.

“Get me two bags of the raisin ones.”

Ma was more pleasant when we got to produce. She complained about the high prices while I sympathetically nodded and un-huhed in the right places.

She sent me to get a bag of carrots while she wheeled over to inspect some zucchini. When I got back she was leaning over trying to reach the squash when a small one, took a header.

Another shopper was trying to get between Ma and the scooter so she could rescue the poor little squash. The woman looked over to me.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you together?”

“Unfortunately.”

I got between Ma and the cart, retrieved the squash, gave it Last Rites, and sadly set it aside from the rest of its family.

Ma had moved on to eggplant. She reached over and the eggplant mountain shifted and one started a slide.

I lunged with my hand outstretched. Safe!

“Get me the eggplant on top. Not that one. No, over. There. Your cousin came to visit me last week. She said she’s coming every week to visit, and she would take me where I wanted to go.”

This snack of guilt was meant to get a rise out of me.

“That’s nice.” One three hour trip to the Mahket, and Ma wouldn’t see hide nor hair of that girl.

After we finished Produce, Ma made her way to the meat counter.

“Wait, do you need frozen vegetables?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that aisle is here. Let’s go get them so we don’t have to come back.”

The Frozen Foods Manager and a helper were unpacking cases as Ma whipped up the aisle.

“How ya doin?” he asked.

“Fine, thanks. You?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He gave me a wide happy to see you smile. Happy to see me because the last trip I made to The Mahket, he helped me get Ma the items she wanted.

The manager stayed busy while I dove into the cases. My hands were blue, my teeth chattering. It was quite nipply in the aisle.

Coming out of frozen foods on the way to meat, we met Dad. He caught sight of the two packages of bagels.

“I can get those cheaper at The Building.”

“You can?” Ma queried. The Weebles launched into a cost discussion about the bagels.

“Get those out of there,” he whispered to me. “I told her not to go overboard, and I can get them cheaper.”

This type of logic just eludes me. Each bag of bagels wasn’t more than $2.00. Looking at what was piled in Dad’s carriage and Ma’s basket, I figured he was close to $200. In order to get to The Building for the cheaper bagels, he would have to walk to the store. I’m thinking, you’re here. You’ve already spent a good $200. What’s another $4?

It’s the same logic he used on me when I suggested, once in a while he could pay the Senior Van $2 round trip to take him where he wanted to go.

“But that would cost me money!” he said indignantly.

Yes, and I get my gas for free. What would you do if you had your car? Whiz into the tank? You’d still have to pay for gas and the $4 trip by the van is cheaper than burning my gas.

What would they do if dropped dead?

I shook my head trying to grasp the logic as I struggled to remove the bagels. Bagels out, I headed to the other end of the store to return them. I hadn’t done my daily mile on the treadmill figuring that a few laps around the store would more than make up for skipping my morning

tread.

When I got back, Ma was just beginning the blessing of the meat. The ritual went quickly as Ma was not happy with the high cost of the meat.

They turned to check out, and I happily skipped out to sit in the car. There would be a 15 or 20 minute wait as the Weebles got through the check out. I called Himself on my cellphone to pass the time.

“I usually pull the car up in the fire lane to load the groceries,” he said.

My thought had been to punish Ma by making her drive the scooter across the drive to the handicap space. Considering she looks neither right nor left as she enters the crosswalk, I decided like Himself I should be generous even though I felt more like Grace Off!

“Okay, I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” I cheerfully told him and hung up. I caught sight of Dad, got out of the car, and signaled for him to wait while I moved the car.

Ma was still on the scooter. She had her checkbook out and was writing checks. No, not for Auntie Rose and the rest of the scammers, but birthday money for the girls and myself.

Dad was beaming as he folded the cash register receipt. “We did pretty good. I thought she had spent close to $300, but she only spent $212”

Four dollars more would have saved you a long walk for bagels.

I smiled and began taking the bundles out of Ma’s basket. She had 4 paper bags with the loaves of bread. I put them in the back seat so they wouldn’t be crushed.

Dad had emptied his carriage, and I was about to close the tailgate hatch when I noticed the cargo bay was halfway loaded.

“Dad, where’s the other carriage?”

“There’s no other carriage; this is it.”

I rummaged through a couple of bags. I had packed twenty loaves of bread in the back seat along with four dozen eggs. There were two gallons of milk and a gallon of orange juice.

“There has to be more. Ma bought vegetables. There’s no vegetables and no meat. You bought laundry detergent and a gallon of bleach. Where are they? All you have in the car is twenty loaves of bread.”

He looked at me horror stricken, a deer frozen in the headlights.

To Be Continued....

Seven Things

2008-07-27T19:50:00.004-04:00

Seven things you will never hear my Weebles say:

1. You don't have to take us shopping at Market Basket, we've signed up for Peapod grocery service.

2. We can get to our appointments around town by calling the Elder Service Van.

3. I have the date and time of the appointment right here in my daily planner.

4. I don't know how I would manage without my dear husband.

5. Our children do so much and are so good to us.

6. I don't play the lotteries. I just throw all the scammer sweepstakes notices away.

7. We don't ever burn Styrofoam in the fireplace.

D-Day

2008-07-13T13:09:00.003-04:00

Himself and I were talking about D-Day and the Weebles. D-Day. February 17, 2009. The day television stations will stop broadcasting an analog signal. The Weebles still watch television on a small set with rabbit ears. They do not have cable television. They have FIOS, but won't pay for the television service.

"We could get them a converter box for Christmas," Himself suggested.

"Could we get them a small, flat screen television?"

"We could, but since they don't have cable, we'd still need to get them a converter box. And I don't think a flat screen has the connections for rabbit ears."

"Y'know, they don't really need a television. Dad only watches the news and 60 Minutes. He can watch the news broadcast on the computer. Probably can see 60 Minutes, too."

"That's true."

"Only that wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Can you just hear Dad? They won't give me my news. They won't give me my 60 Minutes."

Himself laughed and pointed at me.

"Yup, your monkey."

Hotline

2008-06-29T21:56:00.003-04:00

Hello, Telephone Company? I want to trade in my hotline for an unlisted number. Thank you.

Call of the Wild

2008-06-28T18:37:00.009-04:00

The phone calls almost drove me over the edge. I’ve been swallowing so much Tylenol, I’ll likely end up with liver failure. Dad's calls began on Thursday afternoon.

“Target called. Mother’s glasses are ready.”

“Her glasses are ready in less than 24 hours?”

“Yeah, I think he [the manager] wants to get her off his back.”

A long rant ensued. My rant was punctuated with phrases such as ‘not turning on a dime’, ‘jumping through hoops’, ‘bend over backwards’, ‘my work’, ‘not cancelling my plans', along with assorted phrases in tongues.’

Dad offered such sympathies as ‘she’s an ungrateful witch’, ‘her people have always been like that’, and my favorite ‘I wish I knew where she kept her broom because I’d put it….’

My schedule, by and large, is pretty flexible, but I don’t want to get the Weebles accustomed to me being at their beck and call by the snap of Ma’s fingers. I pretty much jump as it is even though I try to establish boundaries. Fridays during the summer is one of those boundaries. Himself doesn’t have summer classes on Friday. So Fridays are reserved for family outings, or just relaxing and catching our breath.

“I’ll take her tomorrow, but I’m only coming down to take her to Target and then back home.”

“Right now, she’s on the warpath and I haven’t told her yet that Target called.”

Sigh. “Well, call me back and let me know what I’m doing. I have to take The Eldest to work at 10 so won’t be to you much before 11.”

By quarter to nine, I hadn’t heard from Dad so I called him. He picked up the phone halfway through the first ring.

“I was going to call you. She doesn’t want to go.”

“That’s fine. She’ll have to wait until next week.”

“She might not like that.”

“That’s TFB. Too bad. I offered to take her tomorrow, and she doesn’t want to go. I’m not rearranging my schedule next week to suit her. She can wait.”

On the day of the Target fiasco, I had arranged with Dad to take them to Mahket Basket on the Wednesday before the Fourth of July, 2. July.

“Now, you’re sure you have enough money to go food shopping before the funds [Social Security] are available?”

Social security. There’s an oxymoron. The government deposits checks into senior checking accounts on the first of the month. However, funds aren’t released until the third of the month. The third. The day every senior from miles around would be at the Mahket. The day I really wished to avoid.

“Because I don’t want to go on the third because it will be crowded with everyone and their money, and those buying their hotdogs for the Fourth. If not, you’ll have to wait until the following week.”

“I don’t have a problem with that. She might. Look, I’ll see you on Wednesday and if she wants to come along, she does. If not, I’ll go shopping with you.”

I’m hoping Ma will decide she won’t go.

Dad then launched into a recap of his doctor appointments for next week. He ran them all together so even though with repeated questioning, I had no idea how many appointments, dates or times.

“I’m having a full body MRI”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. The doctor did some tests, and he didn’t like what he saw.”

“What tests?”

“I don’t know.”

“When is the MRI?”

“On Tuesday.”

“Where?”

“In Framingham.”

“What time?”

“One is at 10 and the other is at 3”

I'm not sure if he has two separate appointments or if he's having two MRI's

“I can see if Himself can give you a ride up, can you get a ride back?”

“Oh sure, I just walk downtown and sit there and someone usually comes by and gives me a ride home,”

“What are you doing in downtown Framingham?”

“Not, Framingham. Downtown.”

Alice in Weebleland falling down the Rabbit Hole.

I took some more Tylenol.

Friday night, Dad called back to tell me that Ma had another spell.

“She wasn’t feeling good. I had to help her into bed, and had to give her supper in bed.”

Hmmm, sounded to me as if Ma wanted a little wait on me hand and foot with her tea and sympathy.

He started talking about how he has to help her up from the floor. Gets her over to the basement door, where she can pull herself up by the shelving on the inside of the door.

I reached for the Tylenol bottle again.

Dad said Ma was still on the warpath. He had holed himself up in his attic office for most of the day. I could hear his new CD player belting out tunes in the background. Quosimodo in the belfry only he’s not elated his lady love gave him water.

“I hope you don’t turn into you mother.”

From your mouth to God’s ear.

“I don’t think you will. I don’t think you have those genes”

All my good qualities come from my father’s side of the family. He told me how at his mother’s funeral, the entire community turned out to say goodbye. The line to pay respects went all the way out of Rapino’s [funeral parlor] and some two blocks beyond. There were 7 flower cars and flowers enough to fill a couple more. Dad had to tell Mr. Rapino to donate the rest of the flowers to a hospital. He talked a lot about his mama. Too bad, he didn’t find a wife like her. His mother waited on him hand and foot. My uncle once told me that even though the family was poor, they knew who the Prince was. Dad was primo.

Saturday morning, Himself and The Young One headed off to the dojo for a day of black belt classes, teaching, and The Young One is also an instructor’s assistant. I took The Eldest to work, and stopped at Wallyworld on the way home for a few things. With everyone out of the house, I could do some housework without interruptions.

That’s what I thought until I saw the happy, red flashing light on the telephone. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I knew who it was even before I played the message. Note to self, keep a bottle of aspirin by the telephone.

“You have one new message…”

I knew it. She wanted to go to Target today. There was also some ragtime about his appointments changing next week, and he was wondering if Himself could give him a lift. Dad said he was probably going out, more like running away, and would call me when he got back.

The dojo happens to be a mile or so from the Weebles’s house. I called Himself’s cell phone and left a message on his voice mail. No call from Dad.

At 1:21pm, Himself called. He was just about to jump on the Pike. He hadn’t listened to my voice mail. I did a recap, and he kindly said since they weren’t that far away, he would turn around and go back to the Weebles to take them to Target.

Thank you, God, for this man I married.

Twenty minutes later, the phone rang. Caller ID indicated Himself’s cell phone. Twenty minutes. Not enough time to get to the Weebles, get them to Target, get the glasses, and drop the Weebles back at home.

“What’s the matter.”

“She didn’t want to go,” said The Young One.

In the background, I could hear Himself. “Tell her, I tell her all about it when we get home. We’re gonna stop for lunch.”

“We’re home!”

“So what happened?”

“Seems your mother wasn’t dressed. She was still in her pajamas, and in her room. I think she was working on her business.”

We both looked to the Heavens.

“Your dad went to tell her I was going to take her to Target.”

Himself is here!

He’s here?

Yes, he’s here.

Why didn’t you tell me he was here.

The Weeble version of “Who’s On First.”

“So I sat down to wait. Your dad was talking. After a little bit, I didn’t hear any movement from down the hall.

Your dad went to check on her, and then there was some yelling. I’m not sure what it was all about. Something about not wanting him to make arrangements to take her even though she told him to.
So I told your dad to tell Ma I didn’t want to rush her, I’d come back on Monday to take her.”

“Did he also tell you his appointment changed and he needs a ride?”

“Yeah, I told him I could take him on Tuesday.”

Thank you, God for this man I married.

The Eyes Have It

2008-06-26T23:36:00.005-04:00

Himself had chided me about the stress and aggravation I was putting myself through wondering what Hell I’d have to pay when I took Ma to her foot doctor’s appointment.

The Young One and I dropped The Eldest off at work, then stopped to pick up items for lunch. Bulkie rolls, turkey, provolone, chips, pretzels, pickles, and ginger ale.

Ma was tickled pink when The Young One greeted her. Oh, she was the favorite grandchild. She was the only grandchild who came to visit. Doesn’t matter that the other two grandchildren work full time. Still, no complaints from me if The Young One could keep Ma in a sunny mood.

We had a relaxing, pleasant lunch. I had an “Oh, my God, he was right” moment. All the worrying I had done for naught. I let my guard down and then Ma dropped the other shoe.

“After we go to the foot doctor, can you do me a favor?” The classic OPD control play.

I wanted to tell her, it would have been courteous for her to have called me before I got there and asked me for the favor. Just on the off chance I had plans after her doctor appointment was finished. Warily I asked her what she wanted.

“I need to go to…”

I held my breath hoping it wasn’t going to be a trip to Mahket Basket.

“Target. I can’t see with my new glasses.”

Eyeglass adjustment. Sure, no problem. A ten minute trip.

Ma packed up all the lunch things for me to take home. She told The Young One to put them in the car.

“No, leave everything in the bags except the lunch meat and cheese. They’ll spoil in the heat.”

Trip to foot doctor was fast. In and out. I even got a handicap parking spot. Ride to Target was fine, too. I offloaded the Weebles at the front door and pulled into a handicap spot.

I got Ma to the eye department and got her settled in a chair. The manager came out and greeted us. He had suspected Ma would not like the progressive lens so had kept all her paperwork in tact, even though she was well past the return the glasses, and we’ll make a new pair for free period.

Ma whined how she couldn't see to read at night to do her business. It was important for her to be able to keep up with all the paperwork. God forbid, she didn’t get the checks to the scammer on time.

The manager tried to explain how with progressive lens, you need to move your head to find the correct focal point. You couldn't just move your eyes.

Ma frowned.

He then explained the only thing he could do was to grind a new prescription with the bifocal line.

Ma frowned. She didn’t want the line. She wanted the lens like I have (progressive). She kept emphasizing the fact that she’s 90 (in September) as if her age entitled her to preferential treatment.

The manager, who should be put on the fact track for canonization, tried to refresh her memory when she first came in for the glasses. He had tried to talk her out of the progressive lens. Told her they took some time to get used to, and she wouldn't like them. Ma had insisted she didn't want the line.

She was still insisting she didn’t want the line and kept asking me what she should do.

"I can't make that decision for you." In retrospect, I should have stopped there.

A this point, Ma changed from Mrs. Dr. Jeckyll to Mrs. Hyde.

“If you can’t see out of the glasses you have now, have him make the lens with the line. It’s not going to cost you anything as the manager will exchange the glasses for a new pair.” Logical in its simplicity.

Ma didn’t want an exchange. She thought she was entitled to a complete refund and a new pair of glasses for free.

Somewhere a screaming match ensued. We put on quite a show at the Target Optical Theater of the Absurd.

“I haven’t worn these glasses because I can’t see to read.”

I’m surprised Ma’s pants didn’t spontaneously combust. She's been wearing those glasses since she got them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were having problems with your glasses”

“No one does anything for me. I can’t count on you”

I saw red. Himself and I bend over backwards for Ma. I arrange my schedule to fit with theirs.

The manager and I went round and round with Ma trying to explain to her she wouldn’t have to pay for a new pair of glasses. She didn’t get it. She only got stubborn and insisted she was entitled to a refund. The manager should have told her to taker her business elsewhere.

He left her sitting at the table, and he waited on two other customers who were brave enough to venture onto the stage.

Dad and I retreated to a corner where we sputtered. For an hour. Yup, a solid hour, Ma sat like a stone. She was going to have her way.

After the manager dealt with two happy customers, he again tried to explain things to Ma. He implored me to act as interpreter.

“How much would it cost me if you made a new pair of glasses for me and I kept these?”

“Why do you want to keep those glasses when you can’t see out of them to read?”

“I’m talking here!” Ma screamed at me.

It was at that point, the penny dropped for me. I had an outer body experience watching the scene which was a little like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. I didn’t need the insanity of jumping up and moving down to a clean cup. This was not my monkey. I wasn’t going to be able to change the situation. I tapped The Young One (who had sat quietly through the entire charade) on the shoulder.

“Come with me.”

We left the optical department with Ma blinking after us like an owl.

“How bout we go to the electronics department?”

The Young One laughed and patted my back giving comfort to her weeble. “It’s okay.”

"I don't understand what she didn't get. The manager wasn't cheating her."

"Yeah, it was like saying I'll give you a dollar for your four quarters."

Even The Young One was astute enough to understand the transaction.

We wandered the dollar bin, the electronics department, the video games, and movies. We headed back to the optical department. Hopefully, Ma would be done with her harangue.

Dad was wandering back and forth by the front doors looking like a deer in the headlights. There was such relief on his face when he caught sight of me.

“She got worried you left,” Dad chuckled nervously

I shouldn’t have been tickled but I was. Evil child that I am. Might do Ma good to get shaken up once in a while.

Dad took Ma by the elbow. “She’s right here. She’ll bring the car around.”

“No, I’m parked right across from here. You can walk.”

Frosty silence accompanied us on the ride home.

I got the Weebles into the house, told The Young One to go get the lunch bag.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” Dad kept apologizing.

“You have nothing to apologize for. We’re victims.”

The Young One came out with the bag and we went to the car. I gave a general goodbye, but didn’t go say goodbye to Ma. She was going to ignore me. I did feel badly for Dad. He stood at the screen door giving us a half-hearted wave as we pulled out of the driveway. The fornicating he was going to get was definitely not going to be worth the fornicating he was going to get.

I wish I knew where I had put the packet of morning glory seeds. Dad could have used a few too.

OY

2008-06-24T14:25:00.004-04:00

I was supposed to take the Weebles to a doctor's appointment. Himself was looking at the calendar.

"I can take them for you. I get out at 10AM, but I have a meeting in the afternoon with the president. "

"You sure you'd have time? The doctor keeps them waiting for a good hour. The appointment is for 11:15."

"My meeting isn't until 3pm, so even if the doctor kept them waiting, I'd still have time."

His offer was an incredible gesture, and I happy danced.

The Young One and I made plans for our free day. We'd drop The Eldest off at work. We'd stop at the bank and head to the mall to do birthday shopping for The Eldest. The post office on the way home would round out our trip.

I called Dad to let him know of the change in the shuttle pilot roster.

Fifteen minutes after my call, and just as The Eldest headed out the door so I could drive her to work, the phone rang. Dad.

"Your mother is all upset that you're not coming to take her to the doctor. She doesn't want to go now."

"Oh for Ch...and I lapsed into tongues."

"Himself is trying to do me a favor since he has to hang around waiting for his meeting."

"I know. Get in touch with him and tell him not to bother."

"I can't get in touch with him. You'll just have to tell him when he gets there."

"Ok. Hey, I took that money and did like you said. I bought something for myself. I bought a player for those little records..."

"That's great, Dad. Listen, I have to go take The Eldest to work."

"I'm having a nice time listening to the music."

"Good, Dad. Listen, gotta run or she'll be late."

In the parking lot where The Eldest works, just for chuckles, I tried calling Himself at his office. Usually, he does not check his voice mail at the end of his workday. Left a message for him to call me on my cell phone and headed off to do the errands. I gave The Young One my phone so she could answer it, if it rang while I was driving.

We stopped at the bank and headed to the mall. The Young One jumped and fumbled in her pocket.

"What's the matter?"

"The phone! The phone is vibrating." She had turned the volume up so we'd be sure to hear the theme song from "The Big Valley".

She answered the phone and tried relaying messages while I sputtered.

"Tell him to hang on. I'll talk to him." I pulled into the parking lot of the garden store we were passing."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You can call to see if she still wants to go. You can just show up over there. Your call. If it were me, I'd say eff her and not bother to call or show up. She deserves to miss her doctor's appointment."

He laughed.

"I'll just head over there and play Mickey the Dope."

"You're a better man than I, Gunga Din."

"I certainly hope so," he said in his best Groucho Marx impression.

At the mall, I sat in the Target parking lot. For the life of me, I couldn't remember what else I was supposed to do besides hit Barnes and Noble for a gift card for The Eldest. Weebles can just suck the brain cells and life force from you body. Even long distance.

"Guess this was the wrong week for me to start Weight Watchers. I'm a stress eater," I explained to The Young One. "I have such an urge to go into the store and buy a bag of Hershey kisses and a box of Cheez-Its and sit out here in the car and eat them all."

She giggled and patted me on the back.

"Have all the animals gone back into the forest?"

The Young One has such a sunny disposition. It's hard to stay in a bad mood.

"Yes. Let's go do our shopping."

I stopped in the coffee aisle to get coffee bags for The Eldest.

"Ooo, look," said The Young One. Tazo Chai Tea. Just like they serve at Starbuck's"

Somehow the box found its way to my hand.

"Are these tea bags?" I wavered and started to put the box back.

"C'mon, it'll be a treat."

I flipped the box into the carriage for an easy two points.

"I need some light bread."

"Can we get some bagels."

Deep sigh. I love bagels. "No, unfortunately, one bagel is equal to an entire loaf of bread."

"There's light English muffins."

A temptation. I reached for a loaf of light bread, and my hand brushed a package of Weight Watcher's Bagels. Weight Watchers. One point for a whole bagel!

"See?" said The Young One knowingly. "God wants you to have a good day."

"Yeah, I guess He does," and the bagels were placed reverently on the baby seat where they wouldn't get crushed.

We took a spin through the video games and The Young One hinted what she would like for her birthday as her birthday is eleven days after her sister's.

"It won't be much of a surprise."

"Beats getting underwear."

"That it do." The game went into the cart.

We stopped at FYE for a couple of DVDs I wanted. If I couldn't stress eat, I could certainly stress shop. A quick run through Game Stop, Barnes and Noble, the post office, and home for lunch.

The Young One planned our afternoon.

"We can have bagels and chai at snack time and watch a video."

I couldn't think of a better way to spend the afternoon.

Himself called after lunch.

"Did you survive?"

"Oh, yeah, but it was something."

"Do tell."

"First she was yelling at your father because he took THE comb. Then he didn't put the part in her hair the right way. She was feeling her head and yelling she couldn't feel the part."

I would have told her where she could place her hand and feel the part.

"Then we got to the doctor's office and like you said he kept them waiting for exactly an hour. Before they went in, they had to have a blood and urine test. Only they forgot and they ate breakfast."

"Oh, for Ch..." and tongues." "They only go to the doctor every three effin' months. They've been doing this for two years! Ya think they would know the routine."

"Yeah, well, it seems your mother got locked in the ladies' room."

"What? She never uses the ladies' room there. She always takes the cup home and then Dad walks back to the office to drop the specimen off."

"Don't know about that. I guess the outer door was too heavy for her to open. Anyway, your dad had to go find her. 'Ma? Ma? You alright in there?'"

"Oh help me Lord, there will be hell to pay tomorrow."

"Yup, your name is Mud," Himself laughed.

"Did she say anything to you?"

"No. But I could tell she wasn't happy. Guess she figured since you didn't have to run off to pick up The Young One at school, she had something she wanted you to do."

More tongues. Tomorrow promised to be a wonderful day in the neighborhood.

After chatting with Himself, I could feel the aura and swallowed a few aspirin. Guess I'd have to load up before the trip to the Weebles tomorrow. Looking out the sunroom window, I could see the morning glory twining its way up the trellis. I read somewhere that morning glory seeds were a hallucinogenic with the same properties as LSD. I didn't plant all the morning glory seeds. Wonder what I did with the packet?

WARNING

2008-06-15T22:20:00.003-04:00

Giving weebles sugar can be hazardous to your mental health. As Stan Lee was fond of say, "Nuff said."

Lost , Now Found

2008-06-13T08:03:00.003-04:00

Last month, the Weebles misplaced the handicap parking placard. They knew it was somewhere in the house. It wasn't in the outer pocket of Ma's pocketbook where it usually lives when not in use. It wasn't buried under Ma's papers. The Weebles looked high and low, but no luck, no placard. Ma blamed Dad for losing it. Dad thought Ma must have tossed it in the fireplace with trash.

Now to me, having the handicap placard is a nicety, not a necessity. Sure, it's cool to get a parking spot in the front row. Nine times out of ten, the handicap spots are always filled. I usually offload the Weebles in front of Mahket Basket or the doctor's office and then I park the car. When they are done, I bring the car around front and pick the Weebles up. No placard, no worries.

Throughout the month, the Weebles hunted and argued about the whereabout of the placard. I went online to the Registry of Motor Vehicles to see about having a replacement issued. Easier said than done. A phone call, a clerk, another phone call to another number and another clerk later, the clerk said she would send a form to Ma that needed to be filled out and returned. Sigh. I called the Weebles to tell them to keep a weather eye out for the form.

The form arrived a few days later, and Ma called to tell me they didn't need the form afterall.

"We found the card."

"That's great? Where was it? In your pocketbook the whole time?"

"No, he found it on the incubator...."

"The incubator?"

"Oh, you know, the microwave oven. He found it on top of the microwave oven inside a plastic container."

Now, I'm happy they found the parking placard, but felt a bit queasy as to where it was found. Misplaced items found in a drawer, a coat pocket, another handbag, but inside a plastic container? Well, as Scarlett O'Hara was fond of saying, "I'll think about that t'morrow.

Heat Wave

2008-06-11T05:59:00.001-04:00

We’ve been having a heatwave, three days of temperatures in the 90’s. Tuesday the temperature in the town where the Weebles live reached 100 degrees.

I had called the Weebles on Sunday to make sure they were tolerating the heat. They have central air-conditioning, but Ma doesn’t like it on because she says she’s always cold.

“So, are you guys doing okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“What have you been doing?”

“I was out earlier trimming the bushes?”

“What ah you?! You shouldn’t be doing that kind of work in this heat!”

“I’m fine.”

I could feel that familiar throb behind my left eye.

“Promise me you won’t go out and do more yard work in this heat. And you won’t walk all over town.”

“Don’t worry.”

The famous last words.

Last night, when I came in from teaching, Himself greeted me at the door.

“Your father just called.”

My heart sank. That’s not what you want to hear at 10pm.

“What’s the matter?”

“He was mowing the lawn when the lawn mower died…”

“What is he?!” An example of OPD at its finest.

“Yeah, anyway, I’m going to take your car and stop over there tomorrow to pick up the lawn mower and take it to my brother’s shop.”

“Ok.”

I called the Weebles in the morning to let them know Himself would be stopping by.

“Where’s Dad?”

“I don’t know. He went out.”

“He went out? Did he walk?”

“I don’t know.”

Help me, Lord. I told Ma to expect Himself who would take the lawn mower to see about getting it fixed. She wants Dad to get a rider mower. Maybe when Auntie Rose sends that money that should be arriving any day now.

“Your father was trimming the hedges when I got over there today.”

My eyeballs started spinning in their sockets.

“His ankles were swollen something awful.”

I ran for the Tylenol bottle and swallowed a fistful.

“Anyway, I took the lawnmower and brought it to Pat’s shop. He thinks the oil got mixed with the gasoline. He was going to look at it while I waited. I told him to take his time and not rush. That way, I can take my mower to your folks and mow the lawn for them.”

Good thinking. Now if only Himself had taken the loppers away from Dad too.