The Holidays

The holidays seem to bring out either the best or the worst in us. In my family, it's usually a combination of the two. We are initially excited and prepare meticulously who will bring what and where This event will be held and how. The problem begins well before we are all in the same place at the same time. Now, I raised these people so I should know what they're about, but I seem surprised every time when things don't play out as planned. Well, I shouldn't say surprised, but more of shocked would be the appropriate adjective. I shouldn't be either, as the same issues happen every single time we are celebrating holidays.

It's a good thing when we're all actually eating, as when there is food in our mouths, we can't speak at the same time. Jews, like Italians or Greeks or Chicagoians, are highly emotional and loud creatures and we tend to talk all at once. The loudest one will be the one who is heard and so the volume increases to the glass-breaking point. Glass doesn't actually break of course, but you think it will. At this point, shy people in my extended family are usually quietly freaking out in a corner. I try to reassure them that this is all normal for us and they have nothing to fear. Sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't. Frankly, I've never understood quiet people. They always seem to have an agenda for which I am not privy to. Don't get me wrong - I love quiet people too. I just don't understand people who don't express themselves. I think that as soon as I leave the room, they will be talking behind my back. But then, why would they? I'm simply not that important. But you never know....

I'm also leary of people who don't finish all the food on their plate. How can you leave a little bit - or a lot of food on your plate? Didn't their mother raise them with the same quality education that they had to eat everything on their plates because people in Russia were starving? We were, although I never understood how finishing the food on my plate had anything to do with starving Russians. As far as I was concerned, they could have the peas and carrots and broccoli, although I would have been smacked if I had told my mom that. To this day, it is a compulsory act on my part to finish every morsel on my plate, whether I am full or not. My mother accomplished her goal and I'm sure starving Russians thank her.

So, the holidays. A time when we eat truckloads of food and sit around and play games, sing or discuss politics, religion or the people who frequent Walmart. Sometimes these conversations lead to angry discourse, slamming fists or rolling of eyes, and sometimes they lead to much laughter. Sometimes I wonder when and how my children became autonomous adults, who all have strong opinions and loud voices, much like their mother. I wonder how their childhood was so fleeting and seems like so long ago, and yet it really wasn't. I wonder how their children will be when they are grown, and I hope to see my great-grandchildren. I realize that these people who I bore and raised have become their own individual persons, but still have a bit of me in them. And although I did a mediocre job in raising them, they have grown to be intelligent, spiritual adults with whom I am very proud.

So with all the bickering and the attitude, the laughter and the love, we're not as dysfunctional as once I had feared. We are normal, opinionated and stubborn people who express our feelings openly and without abandon, and as long as we don't hurt anyone else, we are, in fact, ok. Thank you, Lord for the holidays, for it's at these times that we learn how to link our past with the present to create memories for our future.

Goin' to See My Babies

My father has a tender heart after all.  Who would have guessed that?  We were talking about them getting a small dog because they both grew so attached to Kita and I think that it would do them both a lot of good.  My father started to say, "Yeah, but what happens if he runs out the door like Kita did?  All I did was open the door a little and she went running out.  And now all I hear is you (me) screaming 'No, no!' and I can't get that picture out of my head!"  I felt like a priest in a confessional - it was very weird.  I said again, "Dad, I don't blame you for Kita's death - you didn't know and she was so fast you couldn't catch her.  But I still think you and mom should get a small dog because it's just so dead around here."  Maybe I shouldn't have said "dead," but what I meant was that a dog gives "life" to a household and something else you can focus on instead of yourself.  I watch my dad and he is depressed.  He has also admitted to a neighbor friend that he is afraid of dying.  He will sit in his office with the computer on the desktop page, with his legs propped up on the desk and he is just staring at the computer.  He needs to love something other than himself. 

I had sent a letter to the editor of the newspaper here and my mom got the paper today, saying that the letter was in the paper.  My dad read it and I think it really touched him although he didn't say much.  It was a short, but to the point letter that I have copied and pasted here:

"On Friday, December 2, 2011, in the middle of the morning, my little dog and best friend, Kita, was struck and killed by a motorist driving fast on S. Gondola Drive in Venice. She ran out the door through a small opening and as much as I tried to get her back, she kept going toward the street. I was shouting and walking towards her when the car hit her, so they must have seen me shouting, as well as her, as she was all black. It would have been impossible to not have at least seen me. The motorist never stopped - they just kept on going. There was another motorist coming by the same way at the same time and they slowed down but they didn't stop. They saw me pick her dead body up and carry it into the house. Blood was coming out of her mouth and head, her tongue was hanging out and her eyes were open and glazed over. Unfortunately, I will never forget that picture. It would be nice if the person who hit her would at least apologize for not stopping. There's nothing that can be done now, but apparently this isn't the first time a dog has been hit and killed on this street. There are speed bumps in the road, but that doesn't stop most motorists from speeding. Mine and my parents' hearts are broken because someone was too distracted not to see her or me and then just drive away. If they didn't see her, they must have heard and felt her because she went right under their tires. Please, please slow down on these streets. And if you happen to see a dog or cat or any animal for that matter, PLEASE slow down and stop if you have to. That animal is somone's best friend."

 

So when I return in January, I will do searches at the shelters in this area to find a little dog who is already potty trained for my parents.  I think they can find the perfect dog in one of the shelters.  I am a huge advocate to try and locate dogs in shelters first, because most of those dogs have been abused or neglected and desparately need a home.  I'm not against buying dogs from reputable breeders, but I am against buying dogs from pet stores and puppy mills.  Puppy mills are horrendous places and pet stores get their puppies from these mills.  Just thinking about it, makes me crazy.

 

So I am leaving tomorrow for home and I'm really looking forward to it.  I have missed my kids and my grandkids and looking forward to spending Christmas with them.  I will be returning to Florida in the middle of January, and hopefully everything will be well with my parents.  If that is the case, I will move back home permanently, probably in February.

 

My parents are taking me to the airport tomorrow - I'm driving there and my mom will drive home.  She's been driving locally here and doing fine - a little slow, but fine.  I'm a little concerned about her driving home, but she will not take the highway because she says she's not ready for that yet.  She will however, take 41 all the way home in busy traffic.  She can see ok, whereas my father can't see in front of his nose.  But he will feel the need to yell at her if he thinks she's not doing something right, so it should be a fun-filled ride back home.  I won't be there to referee, but my mom can stand up to him when she wants to.  All she has to do is give him one of her "Eunice-glares" and they'll be just fine. 

Short True Story

My parents' neighbor and friend came over last night and we all talked for awhile.  Her name is Mrs. Crowe and I say "Mrs. Crowe," because we were taught as kids to call all adults Mr. or Mrs. so and so - never by their first name.  I guess it was ok to call them by their first name if they weren't married - I don't remember that.  So it's still ingrained in me to use these titles, but there's really nothing wrong with it - I actually think it can be respectful.  Anyway, she told us a true story that I thought was entertaining, and I imagine it wasn't at the time, but I want to re-tell it now for your amusement.  Besides, you don't know these people so no one will ever know the difference.

We'll call them Ed and Zelda.  They were neighbors of my parents for many years.  Ed was practically deaf and you had to really shout in his face for him to hear you.  One day, he was having a conversation with another almost-deaf neighbor and neither one of them could hear what the other one was saying, but they both had a complete conversation anyway.  Zelda was a weird, but nice lady according to my dad.  He really liked her, so that says something about her.

Mrs. Crowe was telling us that Ed died before Zelda.  Mrs. Crowe knew them very well because she was their guardian.  Zelda was kind of nuts and Ed couldn't hear, so the combination was a mess.  So when Ed died, Mrs. Crowe went to the funeral home on the day of the funeral and brought Zelda with her before the visitation.  Ed was lying in the casket as most dead people do.  Zelda came by his casket and yelled, "That's not my Ed!  I know what MY Ed looks like, and that's not him!"  Mrs. Crowe looked in the casket and sure enough, it wasn't Ed, but someone who looked like him.  She hurried over to the funeral director and told him the situation and he was moritifed.  Apparently, there were two dead bodies at the hospital and they sent the wrong one.  The other man, who would be Ed, was cremated.  So the guy in the casket was some unknown person.  I was dying laughing at this point.  Mrs. Crowe said that there wasn't a thing they could do, so they went ahead with the funeral, pretending it was Ed in the casket.  Zelda must have forgotten that it wasn't Ed, because as the priest and the funeral director were bringing her into the ceremony, she screamed out, "Ed, you $#*&@%!  Why did you die before me??"  At that point, I couldn't stop laughing - I pictured it all and I thought it was hysterical.  So Mrs. Crowe said that some unknown guy is buried in Ed's burial plot, and then Zelda passed away, so she is next to him. 

 Wow - you can't make this stuff up.

Driving Instructor

I let my mom drive yesterday for the second time and she actually did pretty well.  I felt like a driving school instructor and kept telling her to stay in her lane.  She wanted to hug the middle line and I kept saying, "Move over, Move over! You're in the middle of the road!"  "Oh," she said and moved a little more to the side of the road.  When she turns, she turns the wheel little by little, it was driving me crazy.  I said, "Mom, take the wheel and pull or push it all the way around, because otherwise it will take you all day to make one turn."  "Oh," she said.  We drove into a parking lot and I told her to parallel park in front of the Goodwill store so they can come out and pick up the bag she brought.  She had a difficult time doing this, but finally did, almost hitting a woman who was walking in back of her and who she didn't see.  First I yelled at my mom, "There's someone in back of you!" "Oh," she said.  Then I shouted out the window, "Watch where you're walking, lady!"  I know, I know, not my finest moment.  But it's better than what I wanted to yell.

Next, we went to her doctor so she could pick up her prescription, then we went to Walgreens to pick up my prescriptions.  She had to back up and get closer to the window to reach it, and when the lady put my bag of prescriptions in the drawer, my mom couldn't reach them to get them out.  She had to unbuckle, open the door and reach to her very limit, scooting all the way up the seat, to grab the bag.  I suggested that next time she put her seat cushion in the seat so she is a little higher up.  She can barely see over the steering wheel which makes me a little nervous.  She says she sees everything, (except for that minor detail of the woman walking in back of us whom she almost hit.)

But she really wants to drive and become more independent.  And I want her to also.  Next, we drove into another busy parking lot and she eventually got us safely to a parking spot.  When she turns, it's this wide sweep into the other lane, very slowly, and I had to keep telling her to turn in her own lane.  I went into Panera for bagels and she went into Publix for a couple things.  I got done first and came out to the car and when I saw her coming out of Publix, she had a big smile on her face.  She got into the car and said she drove enough today and that I should drive home.  She actually thanked me and gave me a kiss for letting her drive.  I said, "Well, you'll have to tell dad that you drove, I won't."  She said she would, and she did before supper and told him that I was a good teacher.  He said, "Well, we'll go out tomorrow and I will be your teacher."  Ok folks, I know it's time for me to move back home.  I've done what I set out to do and they're both doing much better and my dad is acting like my real dad again. 

My dad is irritated with me because I asked him to print out several papers for the bank that I need to fax to them and for some reason he couldn't figure out how to do it.  I told him that I would print them off, if he would just sign me on to his computer.  Well, I sat at his computer which has at least 100 icons on the desktop and I finally got onto his email.  The whole thing is so screwed up that I, being an ex-clerical worker for 35-plus years, could not figure out how to simply print a document.  It was the most ridiculously constrewed way to print and I tried and tried but failed to print out simple documents.  I said some choice words about his computer and he got real angry with me.  His computer is his best friend, and so he was insulted at my comments.  So now he's giving me the silent treatment.  So I emailed what I needed printed out to a friend at work and she printed them out and is mailing them to me.  How ridiculous is that?  Anyway, I should get them in 2 days and then I will fax them in.  My dad has downloaded more junk on his computer that it's impossible to figure out how to use the most basic components.  All power to him.  I'll stick with my simple, little laptop....

My mom just rolled her eyes over the whole situation.  So, you see - everything is back to normal, or as normal as this household can be.  My mom is getting her independence back, my dad is ornery as usual and after watching how I deal with my dad, my mom is finally, in small ways, standing up to him.  I don't think my mom needs a referee any longer.  They both refuse to move into assisted or independent living, so they will stay in their house as long as they can.  Which I do understand.  I may not agree with it, but I understand.  So really my work here is done.  I just need to tie up some loose ends and then I will be moving back to Madison. 

In the meantime, though, I am still living with old people and so I will continue with this Blog until I start living with young people.  Old people, I'm sure, are much funnier than young people, and since I am getting closer and closer to the "old people" side of the equation, I may have to keep writing under a different title, like "Living with Old People Like Me," or "The Department of Social Security Disability Fiasco and Me."  The latter would be good therapy as I plod through this unbelievably complex system.

Moving On

My parents were almost as devastated when Kita died, as I was.  They fell in love with her as well - even my dad, which is rare for him.  I know he cried when he took her to the vet to be cremated; he just won't show that in front of others.  Death of any one or any thing is just a difficult emotion to deal with - even people with the hardest of hearts.  And we each deal with it in our own particular ways.

I'm done crying now and it's time to move on.  You must move on or you become stuck in time and that is never good.  People who have never dealt with their past hurts, abuses or pain are still stuck in that period of time.  I've learned that you have to "let go" of those things or you get stuck in a type of quicksand, which pulls you further down each day you re-live whatever it is that you are grieving.  Grieving is all important when we lose something or someone or experience the pain we have suffered by the hands of someone or something else - but then we have to let it go, or it takes a hold of us and creates bitterness and resentment in our hearts.  I know this because I've experienced it for myself.

Several years ago, I was in love with a man who also (or who I thought) loved me as well.  We became best friends and planned on marrying and enjoyed each other's company.  He made me laugh more than anyone I ever knew, and that's always been important to me.  He was a kind, gentle soul, or so I thought, until one day he simply told me that he really didn't love me after all.  It was so sudden and came out of nowhere that it all seemed like a dream as we sat and talked.  But he was serious and told me that "I wasn't the marrying kind," which confused me even more.  He was gentle as he was saying all this but all I could do was leave the restaurant and cry all the way home.  I actually stopped the car at a street on the way home because I couldn't see, I was crying so hard.  An officer knocked on my window and asked me if I was ok.  I said I was, but I really wasn't.  I was devastated and had never felt this way before.  For months after that, I went through the motions of life but I wasn't living.  Work was near impossible to get through each day, and unfortunately, my kids had to bear with me as I mourned this loss.

I pined away after this man for a few years following the breakup, because I felt that we were supposed to be together - until he decided to marry another.  I was devastated once again and then I became very bitter and angry.  I had such hate in my heart toward him and his new wife.  They attended my church, so I had to see them every time I went.  I had built a wall of bitterness and hatred around myself and I was so utterly unhappy that all I could do was think about them and their happiness.  Until someone preached a message on bitterness and unforgiveness.  It was then that I realized what I was doing to myself; no one was being hurt here except me. 

I didn't want to feel this way any longer - I had wasted too many years on this and I was done.  I gathered up all the dignity I could and went up to this man and asked if I could talk to him.  I stood there crying and apologized to him and told him that I had been very angry and bitter towards him and I asked him to forgive me.  He began to cry as well and apologized too and something broke that night.  It was like a huge load was lifted off of me.  I left that conversation feeling wonderfully free.  I can't explain it - I just know how I felt that night.  God healed my heart when I took the steps to make it right with this man.  It doesn't even matter whose fault it is; like my mom always said, it takes the bigger person to apologize first. 

That was a lesson I will never forget.  Not that I've done that every time someone hurts me - I haven't.  But eventually I get around to remembering my lesson and how it changed me and I try to make things right - even if I wasn't the one who was wrong.  Nothing, absolutely nothing and no one is worth living a miserable life over.  Forgiveness is a powerful thing.  It melts the hardest heart and completely mends people who have been horribly hurt.  Forgiveness does not say it was ok for that person to hurt me; but it does say that I refuse to hold bitterness in my heart toward them because I would be only further hurting myself. 

So "moving on" means more to me, than perhaps others.  Kita, I will miss you my funny, furry friend.  Have fun runnin' with the big boys up in doggy heaven, and tell Ginger and Rocky that we miss them too....

Thankful for a Broken Heart

This day began like any other; I made breakfast for my dad and myself and then retreating to my room to sip on my coffee and look on the internet.  After an hour or two, the doorbell rang and I heard my dad say, "I'll get it - I'm coming, just a minute!"  The next thing I heard was my dad swearing and calling Kita to come back - she had slipped out the front door and went sniffing around the driveway.  At that point, my mom went wheeling out to the door and I got to the door and went outside and yelled for Kita to come back.  Being the stubborn dog that she is, she wouldn't come back, and every time I walked closer to her, she moved away that much more.  First, I yelled at her like she was going to be in big trouble; then I called out nicely and offered her a cookie.  Neither worked.  The next thing I knew, she was wandering out into the street and I was yelling, "No, No, No!" as loud as I could.  I saw a car come reeling around the corner and didn't even slow down.  By the time I got to her, the car had already hit her and kept on going.  I was screaming out "No" still and when I went down to pick her up, blood was coming from her mouth and head.  I picked her up and her tongue was hanging out and her eyes were open wide and glazed over. 

I brought her into the house and couldn't stop crying.  I knew she was dead as I held her in my arms and my dad took her from me, put her in the car and drove to the vet.  A little while later, he called me from the vet and asked me if I wanted her cremated and if I wanted her ashes.  Well, of course I don't want her ashes, that's ridiculous to me, and all I could do was cry.  My little friend of over a year, who laid by my side every night, was gone.  That fast and without any regard.  The guy who hit her was probably 90 years old and blind as a bat.  She's black -- it would be obvious to see her on white pavement.  Whether he did or not, I'll never know and it doesn't matter anyway.  I'm only glad she didn't suffer, because I think she died instantly.  It would have been nice, however, for him to stop and come back and at least apologize.  But if people won't do that for human beings, I guess why would they for a dog.

I laid in bed all afternoon after calling my kids and telling them what happened.  I slept on and off and kept feeling like my heart was broken.  Anyone with a love for animals knows what I mean and has probably been there.  I wondered, how many times can a heart be broken?  It breaks over so many disappointments in life that sometimes it seems it can't break anymore.  But then time goes by and your heart must heal because somewhere down the line it breaks again. 

I think if your heart breaks, sometimes over and over again, then you must be a compassionate person who lends themselves to be put in the position of being heartbroken.  At first that sounds crazy or even ridiculous, but I don't think it is.  A person with a broken heart, has a heart to be broken.  Those people who don't feel this way about anything, have a hard, inpenetrable heart which lacks compassion and love.  I would much rather be the former, in all ways and for all reasons.

But in the meantime, I hurt with real heartache.  Will I get another dog?  Yes, somewhere down the road, I most probably will.  Why would I do that to myself, to endure yet another heartache one day?  Because the love and devotion that comes from a dog is something that can't be explained, but only felt and experienced.  And because I love to be loved and return it back again.  It's the very essence of human need.  And so, I must say, today I'm thankful for a heart that is broken...