I've been looking at (I say "looking at," because I'm generally not a reader per se), a book called, "Hooray for Yiddish" by Leo Rosten. He's also the author of "The Joys of Yiddish" I've spoken about before, that if you ever want a good laugh, pick up and read these books. It's true that if you're Jewish that would help to understand this humor, but even if you're not, you will enjoy the sounds and meanings of Yiddish words. Yiddish is a very old language consisting of Hebrew, German and Slavic languages -- a "fusion" of languages. It was a language I was raised with, since all of my older relatives spoke it and especially spoke it when they didn't want us kids to know what they were saying. Pretty much all of those people have passed on and so this is very rarely spoken in my parent's house now unless she's talking to an old friend. We do say certain words in Yiddish, of course, but I haven't heard a whole conversation in a long, long time.
My mother has another doctor appointment this Wednesday. Their office called to confirm today and I'm glad they did because of what happened last week. My mom had told me that she had a doctor appointment on Monday at 1:30, so I took her over there on time. It's quite a schlep from the car to the office and so I dropped my mom off at the door so she could go on up. I parked the car and then went up to the office only to find my mom standing there sheepish-looking, smiling and saying, "Oh honey, I thought the appointent was today! (Uncomfortable chuckle.) It's tomorrow at 1:30." I sat down to catch my breath and didn't say anything to my mom because I wouldn't have said anything kind, so I bit my tongue. Then, down we went, back to get the car and go home. This has happened more than 3 or 4 times now. So from now on, I'm asking my mom to confirm her or my dad's appointments ahead of time.
I guess I have to blame this on my mom's early dementia. She seems confused about a lot of things, and then clear about others. On Thanksgiving, when we had all those people over, she sat there eating and said only a few words. It was kind of strange, but she seemed perfectly content to just eat and basically ignore everyone. She sat next to me and across from a friend of hers and seemed to be quite comfortable. My dad sat at the other end of the table and was stuck by my mother's cousin who is loud and obnoxious. He looked pretty miserable. My dad also just basically ate and said very little. It was all very odd. My mom's cousin monopolized the whole conversation. I said a few things I probably shouldn't have to this woman because she was getting on my nerves. She brought two pies - a berry and chocolate cream and she kept telling me that we didn't need the chocolate cream one since I made Tiramisu and I kept telling her we would still be able to use it. She kept arguing with me about it and I just put it out anyway. Why did she bring the bloody pie if she didn't want me to put it out? I envisioned pushing the whole pie in her face. Ah, but alas, I'm a grownup and you can't do those kinds of things when you're a grownup. My dad really liked it and I was going to give him some the next day, but it was gone. She had taken it home. Idiot.
I've never really liked my parents' relatives, from the time I was a young girl. Some of them were "too Jewish" or obnoxious or geeks. I guess I thought I was too cool for any of them. I hated family holidays when our relatives came to our house and even worse, if we had to go to theirs. I would hole myself up in my room if they came over to my house. I just sat and waited to leave if we had to go to theirs. It was never fun because my brothers and I had nothing in common with any of them. I really don't know why - we just didn't.
I'm looking forward to going home and spending the holidays with my kids and grandkids. That's who I'm the most comfortable with. Even though we do a lot of arguing and fussing, I missed my family on Thanksgiving. And Christmas is my favorite holiday, and I'll be spending it with them. I love to see my grandkids light up with joy when they open their Christmas presents - it gives me a lot of joy too. It's really true that it's better to give than to receive. That is, if it's not a chocolate cream pie...
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving
Today is November 24, 2011 and considered Thanksgiving in the United States. It's a great holiday that most of us think about all the things that we are thankful for, and a lot of us are thankful to God for these things. If you look on Facebook, you see many people telling others what they are thankful for. I'm not sure who or what athesists attribute their thanks to. I am thankful to God every day, not just on one particular day. I actually think most people are. Except, I suppose, for those who think their lives are miserable. But I've discovered, that there is always someone else who is worse off than me. Always. Keeping that in mind, I am always thankful for my life, my children, my circumstances and my little world. God has blessed me in numerous ways, and I am ever thankful to Him.
I have to remember to also thank Him for the things which are not such a blessing. Like my health, for instance. There's a reason for all things, and truthfully, I'm to blame for the most part regarding my health. If I had taken better care of myself all these years, I probably wouldn't have so many issues today. But I'm still thankful for my health. I could be dying from cancer in hospice, but I'm not.
I thank Him because we will have friends and relatives of my mom over today for dinner, even though I would much rather be with my childen and grandchildren. I miss them terribly. But for today, we invited people over who have no where else to go and who are alone. I did that for every Thanksgiving when I was raising my kids. My house was always filled with single, alone people who had no family around. It bothers me to think of people who are not with friends or family on holidays.
I thank God because I was able to spend so much time with my parents when they needed me the most, even though it meant being away from my children and grandchildren. It's a blessing to be able to do these things and still be able to support myself with disability checks. I imagine that some people would disagree. But until you've walked in another person's shoes, it's impossible to pass judgment on that person. I've learned that too.
I thank God because even though I get depressed at times, I feel an undergirding joy within myself that is hard to explain. Joy and peace are "things" that you can't purchase or borrow or beg for. They come only and exclusively from God. You can be in the middle of a hurricane with problems surrounding you, but if you're in the will of God, you're in the palm of His hands, and you can have this joy amidst all the confusion.
So the list is endless of what I am thankful for. I don't have enough room in this Blog to describe each and every thing. I'm only 56, but I've learned a lot in my short life. I've learned that you can't make someone love you, but you can still love them. I've learned that you can't shove the Word of God down someone's throat, but you can pray for them and be there for them when they need you (or God). I've learned that you always love your children more than they love you - something a good friend told me a long, long time ago, and I've found out that this is true. I've learned that I am blessed beyond measure, but I'm not as thankful as I should be at times. And I've learned that life is truly so short that we should always tell each other we love them and how we feel about them. Next to our relationship with God, is our relationship with others that is so paramount. Our husbands, our wives, our children, our friends, our family. And so, I must say that I am very thankful for you...
I have to remember to also thank Him for the things which are not such a blessing. Like my health, for instance. There's a reason for all things, and truthfully, I'm to blame for the most part regarding my health. If I had taken better care of myself all these years, I probably wouldn't have so many issues today. But I'm still thankful for my health. I could be dying from cancer in hospice, but I'm not.
I thank Him because we will have friends and relatives of my mom over today for dinner, even though I would much rather be with my childen and grandchildren. I miss them terribly. But for today, we invited people over who have no where else to go and who are alone. I did that for every Thanksgiving when I was raising my kids. My house was always filled with single, alone people who had no family around. It bothers me to think of people who are not with friends or family on holidays.
I thank God because I was able to spend so much time with my parents when they needed me the most, even though it meant being away from my children and grandchildren. It's a blessing to be able to do these things and still be able to support myself with disability checks. I imagine that some people would disagree. But until you've walked in another person's shoes, it's impossible to pass judgment on that person. I've learned that too.
I thank God because even though I get depressed at times, I feel an undergirding joy within myself that is hard to explain. Joy and peace are "things" that you can't purchase or borrow or beg for. They come only and exclusively from God. You can be in the middle of a hurricane with problems surrounding you, but if you're in the will of God, you're in the palm of His hands, and you can have this joy amidst all the confusion.
So the list is endless of what I am thankful for. I don't have enough room in this Blog to describe each and every thing. I'm only 56, but I've learned a lot in my short life. I've learned that you can't make someone love you, but you can still love them. I've learned that you can't shove the Word of God down someone's throat, but you can pray for them and be there for them when they need you (or God). I've learned that you always love your children more than they love you - something a good friend told me a long, long time ago, and I've found out that this is true. I've learned that I am blessed beyond measure, but I'm not as thankful as I should be at times. And I've learned that life is truly so short that we should always tell each other we love them and how we feel about them. Next to our relationship with God, is our relationship with others that is so paramount. Our husbands, our wives, our children, our friends, our family. And so, I must say that I am very thankful for you...
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Decisions
I refuse to eat the peanut butter that we have in the house, because my dad insists on scooping it out with his knife and licking it off. I told him that was disgusting and he just laughs with his mouth wide open and peanut butter stuck to his tongue. When we were kids, he would drink the milk from the milk bottle and put it back in the refrigerator. I thought it was cool that he could do that, but we couldn't. He also used to sit down with a half-gallon box of ice cream and eat right out of it. My dad was really lucky, as far as I was concerned.
I didn't know about germs then, but now, I'm a bit of a freak when it comes to some germs. Like, I don't allow anyone, not even Shanti, to drink from the same bottle, can or glass that I'm drinking from because I just find that gross. I suppose if I were in the desert or on a deserted island and I had to share my drink with another person, I would. But that would be the only exception.
The past few days I've been thinking about how long I should actually be here. After much thought and prayer, I decided to see how things go after the month I will be gone in December/January. If my parents do ok, I decided to switch this around and be in Madison full time, but go to my parents for a couple weeks at a time when I'm needed. I discussed this with them and they seem to be just fine with it. My mom appeared to be a little apprehensive about it, but she said that was fine, that she knows I miss my kids and grandkids and she understands. The fact is, she is doing much better. She needs to, however, get over her fear of falling. She uses the wheelchair most of the time because she's afraid to fall, but she should be using her walker more. She has many friends who live on the same street or who she can call to help her with small things she can't do or go to the grocery store or pharmacy for them. And they both have that necklace thing that if you push it, it calls emergency. She's a long way from where she was when I first got here. It's hard to believe I've been here nearly 6 months.
I told them both that neither one of them should drive. My dad can't see past his nose and besides that, he has road rage, and with both combined, he is a lethal weapon. My mom can see but she's confused most of the time and has given me the wrong direction now more than one time. I end up going miles out of the way when she tells me where to go, and getting frustrated because she simply doesn't remember where places are at. They don't use a cell phone, so I fear she would get lost and simply not know what to do. So I will be talking to a few of her friends to offer their assistance with grocery shopping and going to Walgreens. Those are really the only places they go. Last time we went shopping, she nearly knocked down a tall display by backing up and going forward in the same place. I had to go back and tell her to turn the handle so she could clear it. She was clearly frustrated and embarrassed, and I shouldn't have laughed, but it really was funny watching her contine to bash into the food display.
What will I do and where will I go when I go back home? Well, Leah wants me to stay with her and so Shanti and I would share her room, which I will love. It will be tight quarters but as long as I keep my opinions to myself, we'll get along just fine. I'm looking forward to being with my grandchildren more often, as I really miss them. Living with old people who can't hear and don't do or go anywhere, becomes a bit depressing at times. I can only listen to the Military Channel so much, then I become nauseated. I know I was supposed to come here when I did, and I knew I would know when it was time to go back home. After next month, it will be the determining factor to see if my parents will be able to get along without me for longer periods of time. I really wish they would consider assisted living, but they refuse to leave their home. I understand that, but at some point, they will probably have no other choice.
In the meantime, Bob and Eun will have to learn once again how to live with each other alone in the house. I think they'll be fine, as long as they behave themselves.
I didn't know about germs then, but now, I'm a bit of a freak when it comes to some germs. Like, I don't allow anyone, not even Shanti, to drink from the same bottle, can or glass that I'm drinking from because I just find that gross. I suppose if I were in the desert or on a deserted island and I had to share my drink with another person, I would. But that would be the only exception.
The past few days I've been thinking about how long I should actually be here. After much thought and prayer, I decided to see how things go after the month I will be gone in December/January. If my parents do ok, I decided to switch this around and be in Madison full time, but go to my parents for a couple weeks at a time when I'm needed. I discussed this with them and they seem to be just fine with it. My mom appeared to be a little apprehensive about it, but she said that was fine, that she knows I miss my kids and grandkids and she understands. The fact is, she is doing much better. She needs to, however, get over her fear of falling. She uses the wheelchair most of the time because she's afraid to fall, but she should be using her walker more. She has many friends who live on the same street or who she can call to help her with small things she can't do or go to the grocery store or pharmacy for them. And they both have that necklace thing that if you push it, it calls emergency. She's a long way from where she was when I first got here. It's hard to believe I've been here nearly 6 months.
I told them both that neither one of them should drive. My dad can't see past his nose and besides that, he has road rage, and with both combined, he is a lethal weapon. My mom can see but she's confused most of the time and has given me the wrong direction now more than one time. I end up going miles out of the way when she tells me where to go, and getting frustrated because she simply doesn't remember where places are at. They don't use a cell phone, so I fear she would get lost and simply not know what to do. So I will be talking to a few of her friends to offer their assistance with grocery shopping and going to Walgreens. Those are really the only places they go. Last time we went shopping, she nearly knocked down a tall display by backing up and going forward in the same place. I had to go back and tell her to turn the handle so she could clear it. She was clearly frustrated and embarrassed, and I shouldn't have laughed, but it really was funny watching her contine to bash into the food display.
What will I do and where will I go when I go back home? Well, Leah wants me to stay with her and so Shanti and I would share her room, which I will love. It will be tight quarters but as long as I keep my opinions to myself, we'll get along just fine. I'm looking forward to being with my grandchildren more often, as I really miss them. Living with old people who can't hear and don't do or go anywhere, becomes a bit depressing at times. I can only listen to the Military Channel so much, then I become nauseated. I know I was supposed to come here when I did, and I knew I would know when it was time to go back home. After next month, it will be the determining factor to see if my parents will be able to get along without me for longer periods of time. I really wish they would consider assisted living, but they refuse to leave their home. I understand that, but at some point, they will probably have no other choice.
In the meantime, Bob and Eun will have to learn once again how to live with each other alone in the house. I think they'll be fine, as long as they behave themselves.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Kita's Stuff
As I sit in my room, at the computer, out of the corner of my eye, I see Kita come slowly trotting in, carrying my dad's slipper and hiding behind my bed. Today it's his slipper. She has snuck in tissues, socks, popsicle sticks, wrappers from ice cream cones, pieces of wood and an assortment of articles I know not what they are. It all goes behind my bed, and if I try to get them, she scurries under the bed with them, where I cannot reach. So, under my bed lies all kinds of treasures only a dog would appreciate. I just hope nothing that smells gets under there, because then I would have a problem.
The way she comes in with her treasures, amuses me. She acts like she's invisible and that I can't see her and trots proudly right over to her little corner of the world. She almost looks surprised when I go back there and reach out to pick up what she's brought in. She's usually faster than I am to pick it up, and down she goes under the bed. At that point, I give up. It's just not worth it to get on the floor and try to retrieve it from under the bed.
Today, my mom and I went to the Jewish Community Center in Venice, that my mom and a few of her friends actually started about 30 years ago. She's real proud of that, but hasn't been to services there in a long time due to all of her ailments. We went today because tomorrow they are having a large rummage sale, and I always like to look at the art in rummage sales, and since she knows the people there, we went before the sale started so I could see what they had. I bought a large oil painting by Charles Stepule (1911-2006) and I really like it. It's a painting of an ocean bluff with a house and tree on the side of the bluff. It's kind of dark, but I took a quick photo of it below. The colors he used in it are amazing.
The way she comes in with her treasures, amuses me. She acts like she's invisible and that I can't see her and trots proudly right over to her little corner of the world. She almost looks surprised when I go back there and reach out to pick up what she's brought in. She's usually faster than I am to pick it up, and down she goes under the bed. At that point, I give up. It's just not worth it to get on the floor and try to retrieve it from under the bed.
Today, my mom and I went to the Jewish Community Center in Venice, that my mom and a few of her friends actually started about 30 years ago. She's real proud of that, but hasn't been to services there in a long time due to all of her ailments. We went today because tomorrow they are having a large rummage sale, and I always like to look at the art in rummage sales, and since she knows the people there, we went before the sale started so I could see what they had. I bought a large oil painting by Charles Stepule (1911-2006) and I really like it. It's a painting of an ocean bluff with a house and tree on the side of the bluff. It's kind of dark, but I took a quick photo of it below. The colors he used in it are amazing.
I love art - the creating of it, looking at it and watching others create it. I wanted to be an art teacher when I was younger, but I wasted my youth. My dad was willing to put me through the Art Institute of Chicago, but I was young then and thought I wanted something different for my life. So instead, I ended up being a boring secretary out of necessity, because that was the only skill I had learned that would sustain my children and I. I have a lot of regrets in my life, and that is one of them.
I think I should be more like Kita. Trot around like I'm invisible and hide the good stuff so no one can find them. Kind of like my Butterfingers. But moreso, hide the things that mean the dearest to me, most of which are invisible anyway, so that no one can steal them away. Hide them in a special, protective place where no one can enter unless I let them. I suppose that place would be my heart.
Or, in the case of Butterfingers, the second drawer to my dresser.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Traffic
I was drinking my coffee this morning, looking out the window and I saw what looked like a cat or big bird, perched on the roof of a house across the street. So when I went out later in the afternoon, I drove right next to the house and sure enough, there is a cement statue of a large cat or a huge owl - I couldn't tell which - lodged right there on their roof. How odd, I thought. Why would someone do that? Some peoples' sense of art or decoration is very odd. I love art and I love exotic and peculiar things, but that just looks stupid.
It goes along with the yards of some people that are made out of white stones. I mean, the yard isn't grass, but it's all stones. Who would want to walk on that, and how is that appealing? You see a lot of that in Florida, and I would guess it's because the people don't want to upkeep their lawns, but if I spent the money on a house, I would definitely have a nicely landscaped lawn as well. It's more inviting. The houses with the stones look like the Flintstones live there, and very unappealing. It's like you're waiting for their car made out of rocks to come reeling out of the garage.
I said before that the people drive here, generally, very slow, because of course, they're all old. But every now and then, I get someone behind me who sits right on my tail trying to get me to drive faster. This happened the other day, and I looked in the rear view mirror and this little old lady, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, was right on my tail, looking agitated because I was going 5 miles over the speed limit - too slow. The picture of her in my mirror made me laugh, so just to annoy her a little more, I drove a bit slower. I can be mean like that at times. When I drove my car in Madison, I would shout out the window to the driver in back of me, "Go ahead and hit me, you moron; I need a new car!" Of course they never do. Anyone who has ever ridden in the car with me can readily see that I got my license in Chicago. I'm definitely a Chicago driver. Not that that's a bad thing - it just means that I yell a lot and drive like a maniac at times. After all, I learned to drive on the Dan Ryan, and if you don't know what that is, ask someone. It's a crazy highway in Chicago and you have to be crazy to drive on it.
And now, it's the "season" down here, and traffic has picked up considerably. So now all the crazy nothern drivers are here, combined with the slow-poke old people who live here year round, which causes great chaos. As much as I can't stand Florida, I must admit the weather right now is beautiful. And so I understand why the northerners trapse (another Yiddish word, much like "schlep") down here. My choice, however, would be California - not Florida. Because it's beautiful there with low humidity and no mosquitoes. I love to sit outside and at night, it's unbearable in Madison because of all the mosquitoes. Sometimes there are so many that they could probably carry you away - or at least bite you away. The same is true for Florida. I don't know why God made mosquitoes. They're obnoxious and serve no good purpose.
One of these days, I want to go and look at motorhomes at a business closeby. My dream has always been to travel the country in a motorhome when I retired. Who knows, maybe I'll actually get that opportunity one day. When Micah was a little boy, he would always tell me that he was going to get me a motorhome when he was a big boy. Hmmm... Maybe I should go and hit him up on that now....
It goes along with the yards of some people that are made out of white stones. I mean, the yard isn't grass, but it's all stones. Who would want to walk on that, and how is that appealing? You see a lot of that in Florida, and I would guess it's because the people don't want to upkeep their lawns, but if I spent the money on a house, I would definitely have a nicely landscaped lawn as well. It's more inviting. The houses with the stones look like the Flintstones live there, and very unappealing. It's like you're waiting for their car made out of rocks to come reeling out of the garage.
I said before that the people drive here, generally, very slow, because of course, they're all old. But every now and then, I get someone behind me who sits right on my tail trying to get me to drive faster. This happened the other day, and I looked in the rear view mirror and this little old lady, clutching the steering wheel with both hands, was right on my tail, looking agitated because I was going 5 miles over the speed limit - too slow. The picture of her in my mirror made me laugh, so just to annoy her a little more, I drove a bit slower. I can be mean like that at times. When I drove my car in Madison, I would shout out the window to the driver in back of me, "Go ahead and hit me, you moron; I need a new car!" Of course they never do. Anyone who has ever ridden in the car with me can readily see that I got my license in Chicago. I'm definitely a Chicago driver. Not that that's a bad thing - it just means that I yell a lot and drive like a maniac at times. After all, I learned to drive on the Dan Ryan, and if you don't know what that is, ask someone. It's a crazy highway in Chicago and you have to be crazy to drive on it.
And now, it's the "season" down here, and traffic has picked up considerably. So now all the crazy nothern drivers are here, combined with the slow-poke old people who live here year round, which causes great chaos. As much as I can't stand Florida, I must admit the weather right now is beautiful. And so I understand why the northerners trapse (another Yiddish word, much like "schlep") down here. My choice, however, would be California - not Florida. Because it's beautiful there with low humidity and no mosquitoes. I love to sit outside and at night, it's unbearable in Madison because of all the mosquitoes. Sometimes there are so many that they could probably carry you away - or at least bite you away. The same is true for Florida. I don't know why God made mosquitoes. They're obnoxious and serve no good purpose.
One of these days, I want to go and look at motorhomes at a business closeby. My dream has always been to travel the country in a motorhome when I retired. Who knows, maybe I'll actually get that opportunity one day. When Micah was a little boy, he would always tell me that he was going to get me a motorhome when he was a big boy. Hmmm... Maybe I should go and hit him up on that now....
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Cottage Cheese
I was trying to take a nap with Kita this afternoon and my door was closed, when my mom opened it, saying, "Sis? Sis?" I said, "What?" through my breathing machine. She said, "Oh, honey, I didn't know you were sleeping. I'm sorry. But do you know where the cottage cheese is?" I thought if I was standing up I would deck her, but I just said, "No, but I'm sure it's in the refrigerator somewhere." "Oh yes, of course, ok, I'll ask dad to see if he can find it..." as her voice trailed off while she wheeled herself away. She couldn't see I was sleeping? Well, the first clue was that my door was closed. The second clue was that I was lying prostrate on my bed with my CPAP machine hissing as it was blowing air in and out of my nose. So if I was sleeping, she would make sure I wasn't by the time she was done.
She not only woke me up, but then she took Kita with her, which irritated me. She had told me some guy was coming over to check the fire alarms and so she had to "put Kita on her lap so she wouldn't bark at the guy." I told her I would just bring her in my room and keep her in there until the guy left. She "preferred" taking the dog out of my room, after waking me up, and keeping Kita on her lap to show everyone that she doesn't bark at all when she's on her lap. I got up from the bed and kind of slammed my door because if that guy was walking around the house, I didn't want him coming into my room as I'm lying in bed. For some unknown reason, my mom didn't close the door after she took Kita.
I fell asleep, thus forgetting all about Kita, the guy or my mom, until I heard Kita's little wimper as she stood outside my door. She wanted to come in to be with me, of course, as my mom went to take her nap. So I got up, brought Kita in and muttered some unmentionable things.
My mom has taken a real liking to Kita, which is good and weird at the same time. She says to me, "Sis - watch," and she "drives" her wheelchair over to the chair Kita is perched on, and Kita gets on her lap, which she calls a train. "Let's go for a ride now Kita, on this train, down the tracks, blah, blah, blah..." I think it's cute that Kita knows to get on her lap from the chair, but I think part of my mom is acting like a kid in a carnival. It's kind of weird. But Kita is good company for my mom and I'm glad she is attached to her.
My mom's memory is deteriorating fast, which is really distressing. One day, she yelled at me for asking her to do something in the kitchen. I just sat there because I was stunned and she laughed it off like it was supposed to be funny, but it wasn't. I think she may even be aware of her personality changing, but her memory is so bad, she won't remember.
When I was making dinner tonight, I said, "Mom, look - the cottage cheese is right here on the top shelf." She said, "Oh yes, honey, I did find it." I'm glad she did. I wouldn't want her to be without her cottage cheese.
She not only woke me up, but then she took Kita with her, which irritated me. She had told me some guy was coming over to check the fire alarms and so she had to "put Kita on her lap so she wouldn't bark at the guy." I told her I would just bring her in my room and keep her in there until the guy left. She "preferred" taking the dog out of my room, after waking me up, and keeping Kita on her lap to show everyone that she doesn't bark at all when she's on her lap. I got up from the bed and kind of slammed my door because if that guy was walking around the house, I didn't want him coming into my room as I'm lying in bed. For some unknown reason, my mom didn't close the door after she took Kita.
I fell asleep, thus forgetting all about Kita, the guy or my mom, until I heard Kita's little wimper as she stood outside my door. She wanted to come in to be with me, of course, as my mom went to take her nap. So I got up, brought Kita in and muttered some unmentionable things.
My mom has taken a real liking to Kita, which is good and weird at the same time. She says to me, "Sis - watch," and she "drives" her wheelchair over to the chair Kita is perched on, and Kita gets on her lap, which she calls a train. "Let's go for a ride now Kita, on this train, down the tracks, blah, blah, blah..." I think it's cute that Kita knows to get on her lap from the chair, but I think part of my mom is acting like a kid in a carnival. It's kind of weird. But Kita is good company for my mom and I'm glad she is attached to her.
My mom's memory is deteriorating fast, which is really distressing. One day, she yelled at me for asking her to do something in the kitchen. I just sat there because I was stunned and she laughed it off like it was supposed to be funny, but it wasn't. I think she may even be aware of her personality changing, but her memory is so bad, she won't remember.
When I was making dinner tonight, I said, "Mom, look - the cottage cheese is right here on the top shelf." She said, "Oh yes, honey, I did find it." I'm glad she did. I wouldn't want her to be without her cottage cheese.
Abortions
I watched a show tonight called "Cold Case," and it had to do with a group of people who helped young women back in the 60's when abortion was illegal. They would take the women to see a real doctor who performed a more humane "procedure" than charletons who used hangers, bike spokes and the like. The doctor had to do this "underground," otherwise he would be arrested and lose his license. The show really bothered me as it always does when I hear about abortion.
I had forgotten it was illegal back in the 60's. When I had the first abortion, it was 1974 and it cost me $300. I borrowed the money from my great uncle who gave it willingly, even though I told him I needed the money to fix my car. I decided to have the abortion because the father of the baby didn't want anything to do with "it" and actually told me that it was my problem. I was 18 at the time, and a very young 18, so I figured it really was my problem.
The procedure itself was very uncomfortable. It felt like a vacuum cleaner sucking my insides out and my stomach moved involuntarily. I really had no idea what I was doing and did it because I felt like I had no choice. When I got to the recovery room, there was another girl in there doing her nails. I was in so much pain and bleeding heavily, all I could do was lay down. She told me that this was her 7th or 8th abortion. I remember thinking how in the world could she do this that many times? I laid there on the bed with my back toward her and cried quietly, but I had no idea why I was crying. I felt alone and abandoned and in a great deal of pain and all I could do was cry. And part of me felt guilty, but I don't know why, because I was never taught that it was wrong. After awhile, they checked me and told me I was good to go, and so I just drove home. It was all very unceremonious. I got home and went to sleep to avoid feeling what I was feeling that day. Because I knew tomorrow would be a better day.
The second abortion I had, I did so because I felt that I had to. I became very sick and had pneumonia with a lung infection and the doctor put me on steroids and other strong medication. I knew I was pregnant, but I couldn't breathe, so I decided this was all I could do. This was when Jason was about 4 years old. I was living in the Verona Hotel at the time and couldn't breathe so I stayed in bed the whole time, while the tv was my babysitter, until I found a doctor who knew what to do. One day, I told Jason to go across to the manager's office and ask them for a roll of toilet paper. He was gone for a long time and I was beginning to get worried, when the manager came and knocked on my door. I called to say "Come in," and the manager had Jason by the hand. She told me that he walked across Verona Road, which was a highway back then, walked up to the nearest house, rang the doorbell and asked them for a roll of toilet paper. I was mortified that he had walked across the road and beside myself that he could have been very easily hit by a car. God's angels were watching over him even back then. I finally saw a doctor in Verona who knew what was wrong with me, after going to all three hospitals in Madison, and he gave me the correct medication to cure me. I don't have a memory of this abortion, probably because I felt like I had no choice but to do it. Or maybe it's because I pushed it to the furthest parts of my mind so I wouldn't be able to recall it. Or it could be a combination of both.
If you know someone who is contemplating an abortion or is confused on what to do, send them my way. I had no one to help me back then, no one to talk to about it and get counsel from. I was all alone and I had to make 2 very significant decisions. I regret those decisions and will until the day I die. I think sometimes what it would have been like if I had let those babies grow to full term. I wonder if I will see them in heaven. I try not to think a lot about them because it makes me very sad, but the reality is that they were a reality at one point, but are not any longer.
Like lots of things you can't change, I place them in the hands of God. He knows and He cares and He even forgave me for what I did. I don't know how I could live without His mercy and grace, with all of the poor decisions and actions I've made in my lifetime.
And yet, He loves me still...
I had forgotten it was illegal back in the 60's. When I had the first abortion, it was 1974 and it cost me $300. I borrowed the money from my great uncle who gave it willingly, even though I told him I needed the money to fix my car. I decided to have the abortion because the father of the baby didn't want anything to do with "it" and actually told me that it was my problem. I was 18 at the time, and a very young 18, so I figured it really was my problem.
The procedure itself was very uncomfortable. It felt like a vacuum cleaner sucking my insides out and my stomach moved involuntarily. I really had no idea what I was doing and did it because I felt like I had no choice. When I got to the recovery room, there was another girl in there doing her nails. I was in so much pain and bleeding heavily, all I could do was lay down. She told me that this was her 7th or 8th abortion. I remember thinking how in the world could she do this that many times? I laid there on the bed with my back toward her and cried quietly, but I had no idea why I was crying. I felt alone and abandoned and in a great deal of pain and all I could do was cry. And part of me felt guilty, but I don't know why, because I was never taught that it was wrong. After awhile, they checked me and told me I was good to go, and so I just drove home. It was all very unceremonious. I got home and went to sleep to avoid feeling what I was feeling that day. Because I knew tomorrow would be a better day.
The second abortion I had, I did so because I felt that I had to. I became very sick and had pneumonia with a lung infection and the doctor put me on steroids and other strong medication. I knew I was pregnant, but I couldn't breathe, so I decided this was all I could do. This was when Jason was about 4 years old. I was living in the Verona Hotel at the time and couldn't breathe so I stayed in bed the whole time, while the tv was my babysitter, until I found a doctor who knew what to do. One day, I told Jason to go across to the manager's office and ask them for a roll of toilet paper. He was gone for a long time and I was beginning to get worried, when the manager came and knocked on my door. I called to say "Come in," and the manager had Jason by the hand. She told me that he walked across Verona Road, which was a highway back then, walked up to the nearest house, rang the doorbell and asked them for a roll of toilet paper. I was mortified that he had walked across the road and beside myself that he could have been very easily hit by a car. God's angels were watching over him even back then. I finally saw a doctor in Verona who knew what was wrong with me, after going to all three hospitals in Madison, and he gave me the correct medication to cure me. I don't have a memory of this abortion, probably because I felt like I had no choice but to do it. Or maybe it's because I pushed it to the furthest parts of my mind so I wouldn't be able to recall it. Or it could be a combination of both.
If you know someone who is contemplating an abortion or is confused on what to do, send them my way. I had no one to help me back then, no one to talk to about it and get counsel from. I was all alone and I had to make 2 very significant decisions. I regret those decisions and will until the day I die. I think sometimes what it would have been like if I had let those babies grow to full term. I wonder if I will see them in heaven. I try not to think a lot about them because it makes me very sad, but the reality is that they were a reality at one point, but are not any longer.
Like lots of things you can't change, I place them in the hands of God. He knows and He cares and He even forgave me for what I did. I don't know how I could live without His mercy and grace, with all of the poor decisions and actions I've made in my lifetime.
And yet, He loves me still...
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Mike (the Pike) Heitler
There is an old movie/play called "Our Town," that when I watch it, I cry every time. Every time. If you don't know the story, I encourage you to read the book or watch the film. It was written by Thornton Wilder and he received a Pulitzer Prize from it. It's a very thought-provoking story and you can't read or watch it without expressing some kind of emotion. At least, I can't.
I said that to say that life is very short. We hear that all the time, but it doesn't start sinking in until we get older. When you watch the movie, you'll understand why I say this. I can't go back to my youth, or the "way it used to be." I have to keep moving forward because the past will literally never be repeated. If you had a miserable past, this is a good thing. If you had an enjoyable past, sometimes this is hard to bear.
One of these days, I'd like to do a family history with a genealogy chart. I'd like to know more about my ancestors, as I think it's very interesting to learn where you came from. History fascinates me and I wish I would have paid more attention in school. It was all so boring to me at the time. But then, we learned boring historical events - like the years that certain wars started and all that. Who cares?? Maybe if they had made it more personal, it would have been more interesting to learn. There's a thought.
I do know a little bit about one of my relatives who happened to be a gangster and worked for Al Capone. His name was Mike (the Pike) Heitler. He was my grandmother's uncle - my great-grandmother's brother, on my dad's (mother's) side. He was a pimp who ran a whorehouse and for this reason, my grandmother would never speak of him. He worked for Al Capone, and because Mike testified against Capone, he was murdered. He was in fact, torched in his vehicle. In my research, I found that he had a brother and a daughter, but I couldn't find any information on them. There isn't a whole lot written about Mike, but what I found, I printed out and the photos I obtained, I've pasted below.
Not the greatest lookin' guy in the world. These photos were published in the Chicago Daily Newspaper.
This is the dump he held his prostitution business at. Yuk.
In court for probably one of many times.
His mug shot. He kind of looks like my grandmother. :)
Now here, he really looks like my grandmother.
This is what Wikipedia says about him:
I said that to say that life is very short. We hear that all the time, but it doesn't start sinking in until we get older. When you watch the movie, you'll understand why I say this. I can't go back to my youth, or the "way it used to be." I have to keep moving forward because the past will literally never be repeated. If you had a miserable past, this is a good thing. If you had an enjoyable past, sometimes this is hard to bear.
One of these days, I'd like to do a family history with a genealogy chart. I'd like to know more about my ancestors, as I think it's very interesting to learn where you came from. History fascinates me and I wish I would have paid more attention in school. It was all so boring to me at the time. But then, we learned boring historical events - like the years that certain wars started and all that. Who cares?? Maybe if they had made it more personal, it would have been more interesting to learn. There's a thought.
I do know a little bit about one of my relatives who happened to be a gangster and worked for Al Capone. His name was Mike (the Pike) Heitler. He was my grandmother's uncle - my great-grandmother's brother, on my dad's (mother's) side. He was a pimp who ran a whorehouse and for this reason, my grandmother would never speak of him. He worked for Al Capone, and because Mike testified against Capone, he was murdered. He was in fact, torched in his vehicle. In my research, I found that he had a brother and a daughter, but I couldn't find any information on them. There isn't a whole lot written about Mike, but what I found, I printed out and the photos I obtained, I've pasted below.
Not the greatest lookin' guy in the world. These photos were published in the Chicago Daily Newspaper.
This is the dump he held his prostitution business at. Yuk.
In court for probably one of many times.
His mug shot. He kind of looks like my grandmother. :)
Now here, he really looks like my grandmother.
This is what Wikipedia says about him:
Mike Heitler
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Michael "The Pike" Heitler (died April 30, 1931) was a Prohibition gangster involved in prostitution for the Chicago Outfit.
Heitler began operating brothels in Chicago during the early 1900s based out of west Madison Street. By 1911, he had become a leading crime figure and a top lieutenant to Chicago racketeer Jacob "Mont" Tennes, later driving rival Jack Zuta out of business, with then ally Jake "Greasy Thumb" Guzik. Although arrested briefly for white slavery, Heitler continued to run independently of James "Big Jim" Colosimo and later independently of Johnny "The Fox" Torrio, until the early 1920s, after the formation of the Chicago Outfit.
Reluctantly joining Capone's organization, Heitler began informing Chicago police of criminal activities after rival Guzik gained control of the organization's prostitution operations, informing Judge John H. Lyle of extortion and other illegal activities in the Four Deuces nightclub. Heitler was soon found out and fired by Capone after he received a letter to the state's attorney office detailing his prostitution operations. Heitler continued to send information to police later claiming Capone's involvement in the death of Chicago Tribune reporter Jake Lingle, which, the letter was received by Capone.[citation needed] Heitler may have also been involved in the conviction of Guzik and Ralph "Bottles" Capone for tax evasion, in 1930. Heitler was last seen with Capone associate Lawrence "Dago" Mangano and was later found dead after a fire in his home, on April 30, 1931.
I think this article is wrong, in that he was found dead in his car which was torched. In any event, it's interesting to find colorful characters like this when you do genealogy research. My relatives would never talk about him when we were kids, because, God forbid, you shouldn't mention such a thing. They would start talking Yiddish so us kids couldn't understand what they were saying. It's the same thing I used to do when my kids were young. At first I would spell everything out so they didn't know what I was talking about. Then when they started to learn how to spell, I tried pig-latin, but that was too hard to keep up, so I would just yell and tell them to go outside and play.
The irony of Mike (the Pike), is that with his "ill-gotten" money, he was able to bring all of my grandmother's relatives to the United States from Russia. They allowed him to buy their way here, but just wouldn't talk about or acknowledge him because of what he did. Not that I condone his profession, but that is highly contradictory. Or maybe it's just the way people are. All I know is that if I lived back then, I would most likely get to know this dude and pick his brain. Or at the very least, acknowledge him. Everyone, from the greatest to the least, needs to be acknowledged.
Heitler began operating brothels in Chicago during the early 1900s based out of west Madison Street. By 1911, he had become a leading crime figure and a top lieutenant to Chicago racketeer Jacob "Mont" Tennes, later driving rival Jack Zuta out of business, with then ally Jake "Greasy Thumb" Guzik. Although arrested briefly for white slavery, Heitler continued to run independently of James "Big Jim" Colosimo and later independently of Johnny "The Fox" Torrio, until the early 1920s, after the formation of the Chicago Outfit.
Reluctantly joining Capone's organization, Heitler began informing Chicago police of criminal activities after rival Guzik gained control of the organization's prostitution operations, informing Judge John H. Lyle of extortion and other illegal activities in the Four Deuces nightclub. Heitler was soon found out and fired by Capone after he received a letter to the state's attorney office detailing his prostitution operations. Heitler continued to send information to police later claiming Capone's involvement in the death of Chicago Tribune reporter Jake Lingle, which, the letter was received by Capone.[citation needed] Heitler may have also been involved in the conviction of Guzik and Ralph "Bottles" Capone for tax evasion, in 1930. Heitler was last seen with Capone associate Lawrence "Dago" Mangano and was later found dead after a fire in his home, on April 30, 1931.
I think this article is wrong, in that he was found dead in his car which was torched. In any event, it's interesting to find colorful characters like this when you do genealogy research. My relatives would never talk about him when we were kids, because, God forbid, you shouldn't mention such a thing. They would start talking Yiddish so us kids couldn't understand what they were saying. It's the same thing I used to do when my kids were young. At first I would spell everything out so they didn't know what I was talking about. Then when they started to learn how to spell, I tried pig-latin, but that was too hard to keep up, so I would just yell and tell them to go outside and play.
The irony of Mike (the Pike), is that with his "ill-gotten" money, he was able to bring all of my grandmother's relatives to the United States from Russia. They allowed him to buy their way here, but just wouldn't talk about or acknowledge him because of what he did. Not that I condone his profession, but that is highly contradictory. Or maybe it's just the way people are. All I know is that if I lived back then, I would most likely get to know this dude and pick his brain. Or at the very least, acknowledge him. Everyone, from the greatest to the least, needs to be acknowledged.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Another Day in the Life of Eunice
Yesterday, I was going to write about how quiet and peaceful it's been around here and then of course, things changed. My dad called me to go look in on my mom because he couldn't hear her. I went into her bedroom and she was standing, holding onto her walker next to her bed. I said, "Mom, are you ok?" and she said, "No, I don't feel good," without looking up at me. I asked her, "Are you going to throw up?" and she said, "Yes." So I quickly grabbed the bathroom garbage can and just when I turned around, she started sliding down her walker. I threw the garbage can on her bed and tried to hold her up under her arms, but I couldn't, and so I told her, "Just slide down to your knees, mom." She did, with her eyes closed and then when I tried to talk to her she didn't respond. At that point, my dad came in the room and looked at me as if to say, "What do we do?" and I said to lay her flat. So my dad laid her on the floor and straightened out her legs, all the while trying to get her to respond. A minute later, she opened her eyes and asked what had happened.
I called 911 and the EMT came out and looked at her. She looked an awful color of gray and although she didn't want to go to the hospital, they convinced her to, so off she went. I followed along in the car and my dad stayed behind. He still hasn't been feeling well either. I thought about this later, but when I had my mom in my arms, I felt like God was saying, "This is why you're here." I guess it really is.
So I sat with mom in the emergency room and they hooked her up to all kinds of tests and gave her anti-nausea medicine, as she had been sick to her stomach all day. The doctor came in and said they were going to keep her overnight to watch her and do more tests. So far today, they still don't know what is wrong, but because she has had severe diarrhea, they are keeping her another night.
I thought she might have had a stroke, but they haven't said anything. And now with her stomach issues, I don't know what that would be from. They took a test to see if she still has Mersa, but the test hasn't come back yet.
I'm not a person who deals with death well. Other than my great Uncle Irwin (who I named Micah after) and my Papa, no one close to me has ever died. I briefly thought of this when I looked at my mom and her face looked gray. It was very strange, but I didn't freak out. I was unusually calm. I know death will come to all of us, one way or the other, but it's always been something that I can't wrap my mind around. And when I did see my mom like that, I realized that one day she will die, and that's just the reality of it.
But not yet. She's alive and kickin' and although very sick, still makes annoying jokes to the nurses. My mom has a very unusual sense of humor. Most people don't get her humor at first - it takes them a minute for them to undersand what she's talking about. And then they say, "Oh.... hahahah." Not a hearty ha ha ha, but more like "Ok, I understand now, but that's really not so funny...." But of course no one is that rude to say it. She tells whoever will listen that I am her "favorite daughter," and will wait for their reaction. They inevitably say, "Ah, but then she's your only daughter, right?" My mom will chuckle and she gets a big kick out of this. I can't tell you how many times I have heard this in my lifetime. I just smile and pretend I'm amused. At least she tries; that's the important part.
I called 911 and the EMT came out and looked at her. She looked an awful color of gray and although she didn't want to go to the hospital, they convinced her to, so off she went. I followed along in the car and my dad stayed behind. He still hasn't been feeling well either. I thought about this later, but when I had my mom in my arms, I felt like God was saying, "This is why you're here." I guess it really is.
So I sat with mom in the emergency room and they hooked her up to all kinds of tests and gave her anti-nausea medicine, as she had been sick to her stomach all day. The doctor came in and said they were going to keep her overnight to watch her and do more tests. So far today, they still don't know what is wrong, but because she has had severe diarrhea, they are keeping her another night.
I thought she might have had a stroke, but they haven't said anything. And now with her stomach issues, I don't know what that would be from. They took a test to see if she still has Mersa, but the test hasn't come back yet.
I'm not a person who deals with death well. Other than my great Uncle Irwin (who I named Micah after) and my Papa, no one close to me has ever died. I briefly thought of this when I looked at my mom and her face looked gray. It was very strange, but I didn't freak out. I was unusually calm. I know death will come to all of us, one way or the other, but it's always been something that I can't wrap my mind around. And when I did see my mom like that, I realized that one day she will die, and that's just the reality of it.
But not yet. She's alive and kickin' and although very sick, still makes annoying jokes to the nurses. My mom has a very unusual sense of humor. Most people don't get her humor at first - it takes them a minute for them to undersand what she's talking about. And then they say, "Oh.... hahahah." Not a hearty ha ha ha, but more like "Ok, I understand now, but that's really not so funny...." But of course no one is that rude to say it. She tells whoever will listen that I am her "favorite daughter," and will wait for their reaction. They inevitably say, "Ah, but then she's your only daughter, right?" My mom will chuckle and she gets a big kick out of this. I can't tell you how many times I have heard this in my lifetime. I just smile and pretend I'm amused. At least she tries; that's the important part.
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