2006
Last week the welcoming committee from the Living Water Church brought my father some home made bread and grape jam. They rang the door bell and the dogs went crazy. Every time the door bell rings the dogs go into a running and barking frenzee. It is usually impossible for me to open the door with out them escaping and frightening the life out of the visitor. Needless to say I was unable to coral the dogs, so I went out through the garage and met up with the couple as they were walking back to their car in the driveway. A husband and wife team. Very nice people. In fact they had already been to our house once, when Lee first moved in. They also greeted him with bread and jam. I remember Lee saying that they were very welcoming and friendly. He visited with them for quite a while and they were helpful with questions that he had about the area. They ask how my husband is doing and they ask about Ray Mopkis, who is also listed at this address. I tell them that my father is now living with us. I am uncomfortable inviting them in, because I am never sure how my father will respond. I explain that my father is elderly and in the middle of dinner, but they can come back at a different time. They leave the bread and jam along with a letter inviting him to church.
I go back in the house and hand my father the letter. I leave the bread and jam on the counter. I tell him that people from the church down the street have invited him to church. It is the church with the pond in front. My father has never been a church going person. He has no use for praying, and no need of God because he can take care of himself. My mother was quite active in the church when she was alive and tried for years to get my father to go to church with her. He would always snicker and say "There's no God damn parking there Cris, how the hell do you expect me do drive my car up there and get stuck waiting for those women to stop gabbing and get the hell out of the way so I can leave!?" We also invite him to church with us every week but he is always too busy. I expect him to throw the letter in the garbage without even reading it. To my surprise, he reads the letter. He has some bread and jam. He says they really know how to make a good loaf of bread.
When Lee gets home from work my father pulls the letter out of his shirt pocket and hands it to him. "Read this. These people want ME to come to their church. They sure make good bread." Lee reads the letter and tells Dad that he has met the greeters before and they are nice people. Dad wants to know if they invited Lee to their church and if he got any of the bread. Lee tells him yes. My father carries the letter with him every day. It has earned a spot in his shirt breast pocket where he carries his most valued possessions. (Usually his valium and a flashlight) At least once a day he removes it, carefully unfolds it and reads it from beginning to end. When he is finished he places it tenderly back in the envelope and back into his shirt pocket.
I am scheduled to pick up some furniture on Sunday morning and ask my father if we can use his truck. He says he doesn't think so because he is going to church. I tell him that we can drop him off, or he could go to a different service, perhaps the early service. He says he doesn't think so. This is a man who has never willingly attended a church service in his life and suddenly it is incredibly important that he attend THIS Sunday at the same time we need to use his vehicle. I cook all his meals, wash all his laundry, clean his apartment, and he will not let me use his truck for one hour. I talk to my husband and he says he will take care of it.
I sit and think about the situation. Maybe this is the Lord's work here. Maybe this will be the best thing that ever happened to my father. Suddenly I am guilt ridden. I have been entirely selfish. This may be my father's salvation! What kind of person have I turned into? I am filled with shame and say a small prayer to ask for forgiveness. I tell my father that I think it is wonderful that he wants to go to church. I tell him that I will schedule another day to pick up the furniture, what ever day is best for him. He says "Good, because I don't want to go another week without that bread, you think they got some more over there?" I leave the room speechless.
Lee convinces my father to let us use his truck. Dad wasn't upset. He was thrilled at going along for the ride. He tried to hit on the woman we bought the furniture from. She is a young woman, a Delta pilot who was recently divorced. As she is telling us her current situation my father interrupts and asks, "Hey you wanna go out to dinner sometime?" She smiles at me and politely declines. When we are ready to leave, he picks her up off the floor and hugs her goodbye. Naturally I have to pull him away from her and then apologize for his behavior. Fortunately she is not offended.
The following Sunday after breakfast Dad is headed out the door for church. It is 9:00 am. I am sure he will be back within thirty minutes. To my surprise he isn't. At 10:15 he comes flying through the door. I ask him how church was. "Well I park right in front so I don't have to walk too far. They got good parking there too, special spots for visitors. I go in and there's only about two or three women. They call that singing? Jesus these people can't carry a tune! But I sit there and I listen, then a few more come in and they try singin. It is awful!! They don't stop! So I try askin them what time it is, so they will stop that singing, but they just smile and keep right on! I sat there as long as I could take it. Finally I say - to hell with this, I don't see any bread around, I'm leaving! When I leave there is a good looking woman walking in. I mean with the make up and everything - I think it was Sammy Day!" I look at my father, Lee is in the other room smiling. "Sammy Day? Dad, who is Sammy Day?" "Oh you know that Baker woman Sammy Day Baker!" I look at him, "You mean Tammy Faye?" "Yeah what ever her name is. Anyway, I got no bread."
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
The Ring -er Fire
2007
It's after dinner time and Dad and I are sitting in the sun room having coffee. Jay is sitting with us working on his book report which is due in a few days. Dad is sitting quietly and Jay is asking questions and editing his work out loud. Of course Dad can't hear all that well (also could care less who is talking) and he interrupts with "Yeah so what are these IPAD things the kids got? I know I helped pay for some for the kids, are they like records or music or something?" I tell Jay to go get his Ipod so PaPa can see it. Jay puts his work aside and leaves the room.
When he returns he has the Ipod and he says "PaPa put these things in your ears and listen." He hands Dad the earphones and puts the Ipod down next to him. Dad puts the earphones in and his eyes get real big. Jay is smiling. I ask him "What music is playing now?" Jay says "Johnny Cash." Before we know it Dad is stomping his foot and snapping his fingers. He starts singing at the top of his lungs "I fell in to the burnin ring-er fire - I went down down down but the flames went higher, and it burns burns burns.........the ring-er fire, the ring-er fire......."
Jay is in hysterics and so am I. Dad is having the time of his life. He starts playing air guitar and continues singing. There are a total of six Johnny Cash songs on the Ipod and Dad puts on a rockin' show for a good twenty minutes or so. It's times like these when I just want to go over and give him a big hug. He looks so darn cute. He's singing as if no one can hear him, without any reservation at all. I don't think he's given any thought to what he sounds like or looks like. He's just having a good time. It's nice to see him happy and enjoying himself. We preserve the moment with a picture on the digital camera. "Dad, hold up the Ipod!" He poses holding the Ipod upside down - hey who cares, it's a good time! When he is done he says he wants to buy one for himself. He makes a point of saying he wants the "Margariter - ville" song on it too! (Dad just loves Jimmy Buffet)
The next afternoon Dad is sitting in my living room chair watching me do house work. (Which is one of his favorite activities) I typically find this irritating, because he is perfectly capable of performing household chores. However he prefers to watch me work or fall asleep in the room I'm cleaning. Over the last few months I've been telling him that he needs to help out. The first time I did this he complained, then did the task, and stayed in his apartment for three days. He only emerged at meal times and then quickly disappeared. As he is watching me work I tell him, "You haven't cleaned your bathroom this week, so maybe you can get that done." He sighs. "Dad what's the matter, do you have big plans?" He slowly says, "I've been sick for days. I just don't say nothin." So I prod further "Dad you're sick? What's the matter?" He sadly explains "I dunno, I just been sick since I listened to that Ipod yesterday. The Ipod made me sick."
It's after dinner time and Dad and I are sitting in the sun room having coffee. Jay is sitting with us working on his book report which is due in a few days. Dad is sitting quietly and Jay is asking questions and editing his work out loud. Of course Dad can't hear all that well (also could care less who is talking) and he interrupts with "Yeah so what are these IPAD things the kids got? I know I helped pay for some for the kids, are they like records or music or something?" I tell Jay to go get his Ipod so PaPa can see it. Jay puts his work aside and leaves the room.
When he returns he has the Ipod and he says "PaPa put these things in your ears and listen." He hands Dad the earphones and puts the Ipod down next to him. Dad puts the earphones in and his eyes get real big. Jay is smiling. I ask him "What music is playing now?" Jay says "Johnny Cash." Before we know it Dad is stomping his foot and snapping his fingers. He starts singing at the top of his lungs "I fell in to the burnin ring-er fire - I went down down down but the flames went higher, and it burns burns burns.........the ring-er fire, the ring-er fire......."
Jay is in hysterics and so am I. Dad is having the time of his life. He starts playing air guitar and continues singing. There are a total of six Johnny Cash songs on the Ipod and Dad puts on a rockin' show for a good twenty minutes or so. It's times like these when I just want to go over and give him a big hug. He looks so darn cute. He's singing as if no one can hear him, without any reservation at all. I don't think he's given any thought to what he sounds like or looks like. He's just having a good time. It's nice to see him happy and enjoying himself. We preserve the moment with a picture on the digital camera. "Dad, hold up the Ipod!" He poses holding the Ipod upside down - hey who cares, it's a good time! When he is done he says he wants to buy one for himself. He makes a point of saying he wants the "Margariter - ville" song on it too! (Dad just loves Jimmy Buffet)
The next afternoon Dad is sitting in my living room chair watching me do house work. (Which is one of his favorite activities) I typically find this irritating, because he is perfectly capable of performing household chores. However he prefers to watch me work or fall asleep in the room I'm cleaning. Over the last few months I've been telling him that he needs to help out. The first time I did this he complained, then did the task, and stayed in his apartment for three days. He only emerged at meal times and then quickly disappeared. As he is watching me work I tell him, "You haven't cleaned your bathroom this week, so maybe you can get that done." He sighs. "Dad what's the matter, do you have big plans?" He slowly says, "I've been sick for days. I just don't say nothin." So I prod further "Dad you're sick? What's the matter?" He sadly explains "I dunno, I just been sick since I listened to that Ipod yesterday. The Ipod made me sick."
You're In the Army Now!
2007
Dad has emerged from his apartment this morning, deliberately moving very slow. He shuffles, stops, looks at me. "Good Morning Dad." He sighs, "Mornin." He shuffles a little further and looks at me again. I smile. He sighs. He shuffles all the way to the counter. I know he is looking for some attention. I'm kind of curious how long the show will go on. I drink my coffee and sit on the couch to check my email. I can hear him sighing loudly for my benefit. He stretches to get his cereal bowl, "AHHHHHHH." This is followed by an exaggerated sigh.
I know if I don't say something the show will intensify and could possibly end with a collapse to the floor. I put my coffee down and head over to the kitchen. He stares at me and then winces in pain. "Gee Dad, what's up? You're not lookin too good this morning. Didn't you sleep well?" He shakes his head, "Na I slept all right. I guess I just can't work out like I used to. I've hurt my back."
My father is not in great physical shape. He avoids any type of work at all costs. It wouldn't be fair if I used the word "lazy" however that word comes to my mind often. It's taken us months of training to get him to even take his garbage out to the dumpster. The dumpster is located right outside the garage door. However, he has preferred to just heave his garbage onto the garage floor and then let someone else pick it up. We're not quite sure why he has thought this acceptable. As I've said, with patience and training we have broke him of this habit. His idea of going for a walk is checking the mail. The mail box is at the end of the drive way. He'll go for his "walk" beginning at 2:00 pm everyday. The mail is his mission. If it's not there at 2:00, he'll continue to check it until it comes, usually every forty five minutes or so. Of course there are the odd days when he forgets that he has just checked the mail, and then he is in and out of the front door every ten minutes. These are the afternoons that completely wipe him out.
Now my father wants me to believe that he "works out"? Of course I'm always open for amusement, so I ask "Wow Dad I had no idea you work out! How long have you been doing this?" He smiles, "Oh for months, probably years. Yup, I keep myself fit. I do the old army exercises I learned at camp. Keep myself 'army fit'!" I ask, "Exactly what does this mean? How long does it take you? What type of exercises do you do?" He puts his cereal bowl down and stands in the middle of the kitchen floor. Hands down at his side. He smiles "Watch this!" He lifts his arms out like an airplane, eyes shift from side to side (checking for clearance I guess) then his arms are lifted up above his head, "ONE!" He repeats, hands down at his side and out like an airplane, again looking from side to side, checking for clearance, then up above his head, "TWO!" He is smiling, "Yup I do them all. I work out every mornin' for about an hour, push ups, everything except run the mile. Yeah, I gotta give it up, I'm gettin old."
Just the other day during a routine doctor's appointment, while we were waiting for the doctor, he tried to tell me he runs around the block. When I told him that I had never seen him do that, he looked up at the ceiling, squinted his eyes and said, "Yeah, huh, I guess I don't." So I'm not so sure that I should bother telling him he doesn't do army exercises. What's the point? So instead I say, "Yeah Dad, it's a good idea not to exert yourself too much." After he has his breakfast, he is up and moving just fine. Sometimes a little attention goes a long way.
Uncle Fester
They’re creepy and they're kooky,
Mysterious and spooky,
They’re all together ooky,
The Thomas Family.
Their house is a museum.
When people come to see 'em
They really are a screa-um.
The Thomas Family.
Mysterious and spooky,
They’re all together ooky,
The Thomas Family.
Their house is a museum.
When people come to see 'em
They really are a screa-um.
The Thomas Family.
Neat
Sweet
Petite
Sweet
Petite
So get a witch's shawl on.
A broomstick you can crawl on.
A broomstick you can crawl on.
We're gonna pay a call on
The Thomas Family. . .
The Thomas Family. . .
Last month at his regular skin check appointment, the doctor found some precancerous cells on top of his head, which she treated. When asked if he wears sunscreen when he is outside he replied "No." The doctor explained the importance of this. Dad nodded and smiled. When we discuss actually using the sunscreen, he ignores me stating that his head and face need the sun to look good.
Yesterday Dad stomped up the stairs from his apartment, flew threw the door and rushed to the chair next to me. He put his face in mine. The two of us nose to nose and he exclaimed "I'VE GOT FESTA'S ON MY NOSE!" I backed up a bit to get my eyes in focus. I looked at his nose and there sat two small pimples. I told him "Yes dad, I think you'll be fine." He sat in the chair for twenty minutes or so running his fingers over his nose sighing and shaking his head.
This morning after his one man band performance, he came into the family room. He stood in front of the television and pointed to the end of his nose with his middle finger, "I've got festa's. I guess I gotta see that skin doctor. I don't know what else to do. I got them right here on my nose." I then, in turn pointed to my nose with my middle finger and said "Right there dad? You have fester's?" He replies, "Yup, I got festa's!" (If anyone walked into the room right now they would see us flipping each other off!)
I guess I'll take Uncle Fester to the doctor some time next week.
Another Use of the Middle Finger
It's time for Dad's six month check up at the doctor's. Dad is up extra early worried that he could possibly miss the appointment. I tell him to take his time, that his appointment isn't until 9:00 and we will leave at 8:45. I get home from dropping Jay off at school around 8:15 and Dad is sitting at the table tapping his fingers. "Is it time now?" he asks. "No, not yet. We'll leave in a half hour or so." Dad goes into the living room and sits on the couch and sighs. He puts his head back and closes his eyes. I go about my business picking up the dishes and get myself a cup of coffee.
Ten minutes later Dad comes back into the kitchen and sits at the table. He explains "I didn't sleep good all night. I'm nervous. I hate these appointments. Tony (Dr Scap his previous doctor) would always let me slide. But I know I'll get it today!" I try and calm him down "Dad this is only a quick appointment for the doctor to talk to you about your medication. He wants to make sure that the memory medication is working for you. We go and see him about every six months." Dad looks at me and says "I hate going because I get this!" He then sticks up his middle finger and says "YUP I get the finger right up there, and I always get the ones with the fat fingers!" I want to burst out laughing as I watch him mimic a prostate exam with his middle finger. I just can't help myself and I instinctively stick up my middle finger and wave it at my father "Dad you're not going to get this today!" I'm laughing hysterically and Dad looks at me and says "REALLY?? Oh I think I will! When I was a kid if someone tried sticking their finger up my ass I would have killed them and gone to jail. Now-a-days they think they gotta do that to people." Once we are done with our middle finger exercises we get ready and leave for the doctor's office.
During our drive Dad continues on with stories about various doctors and physical exams. He got so detailed with his descriptions that I had to ask him to please stop. My father has lost his understanding that I am his daughter. I try to explain to him that the conversation makes me uncomfortable because he is my father and there are some things that you don't discuss with your daughter. I tell him that some things are private and that if he has concerns he can talk with the doctor about how he feels. Dad says he is sorry and "I know you just don't understand too many things. It's OK." Of course this makes me want to wring his neck, but at least he will stop with the penis and prostate exam stories. As I see it, this is a small price to pay.
As we pull into the parking space Dad releases his seat belt and opens the car door. I grab his arm and yell "WAIT WAIT!!" I see him look out the door and watch the ground move beneath. I stop, put the car in park and turn off the key. "Dad, it is very dangerous for you to take your seat belt off while the car is still moving. It is even more dangerous for you to open the car door while the car is still moving. If you were to put your foot out the door, I could run you over!" He ignores me and finishes getting out of the car. We go into the doctor's office and sign in then have a seat. I'm still a bit upset so I ask him "Dad do you realize that getting out of a car while it is still moving might cause you to get hurt?" He laughs, "NA, you can't hurt me. I'm spider man." These are the times I am not sure if he is serious or he is just screwing with me. "Dad, you are NOT spider man. You are Ray Mopkis who is human just like the rest of us. If you fall out of the car you will get squashed just like anyone else. Please do not do that again." Once again he chuckles "Yeah, OK. Pammy (his niece) used to yell at me about that too. You're just like her!"
Dad has his medication review. As always he tells the nurse that he doesn't eat. She sneaks me a quick wink, she is always amused by my father. At his first appointment he had asked her if she wanted to go out on a date, "To hell with your husband!" he said. She thought he was being cute, but he was completely serious. Then we see the doctor and he approves his medication refills and tells dad that he is looking very good.
On the way home Dad is fairly quiet and he stares out the window shaking his head. After ten minutes he announces "THAT doctor ain't no good. He doesn't know nothin about doctor'in." I tell dad that I think Dr Andrews has done a great job. Dad says "You don't know nothin' about this stuff. Any doctor that don't even TRY to give you this (sticking up his middle finger) well....he just ain't no good!"
More on Historic Leaders
Every four months or so my brother and sister in law pay us a visit from New England. We always look forward to seeing them and Dad loves having new people in the house to talk to. I always try and plan a few day trips to see the sights of the surrounding areas. Dad is always invited along but declines with one excuse or another. When we went to the aquarium he said "I seen enough fish when I was in the army." This of course leads into long stories of his time in England.
Today we are going to "The Little White House" where FDR once lived. Dad agrees to go along. When we arrive we go through the museum part of the tour first. There is a massive time line on the wall with various photographs indicating important events in US history. My brother, sister in law and I stand and read some of the events out loud that interest us and point out interesting pictures. Dad is wandering aimlessly around the room, looking out the window and up at the ceiling. We call him over but he ignores us. There is a large pillar in the room with names listed of contributors of the museum. Dad stops and begins to read the names out loud. I go over and tell him "Dad those are the people that contributed money to the museum. Come and look at this time line on the wall, you should remember some of these events." He looks at me and walks away. He goes over to the time line and says nothing. Within minutes he approaches me and says "Yeah, I remember this guy, ha ha ha yup! He's the one that had the affair with his sec - a - tary, but he didn't want no one to know about it." Of all the things FDR was remembered for, this is what he has retained. Which unfortunately makes sense, keeping in mind that one of my father's favorite topics is sex. I look at him and respond, "Well that's nice Dad, lets go in the other room and look at some of the old cars."
Eventually we make our way down the path to the "Little White House". It is a beautiful summer day. When we enter we find that there is a woman in the house available to answer questions. Since we are the only four people in the house at the moment, we get all of her attention. She has the most adorable southern accent and is quite friendly. If I didn't know any better I would have said she knew FDR personally. What a wonderful tour. Once we make it through we head back up the path to the servants quarters and it is clear that Dad is getting tired out. We look through the servants quarters quickly. While there Dad tries to sit on one of the couches with a big sign - "DO NOT SIT". My sister in law, who is quick on her toes is able to avert the catastrophe. We get out side and sit down for a few minutes. We all pose for a few pictures. I ask Dad if he enjoyed the "Little White House" and if he thought it was interesting. He states "Well I think SHE was eatin too much before we got there, she's a fat one!" He is of course referring to the woman in the Little White House who answered all our questions. I look at him and wonder why his mind works the way it does. In general he has nothing kind to say and is always the first to say something negative.
Days after my brother and sister in law leave for New England, Dad is sitting at the kitchen table and blurts out "They had a wax statue of that guy over in England." I have no idea what he is referring to. "What guy Dad?" "You know that Roosevelt. Yeah at Madame Mauren's House of Wax. I don't know if that was her name. Whatever, anyways I was there and they have the guy that you are suppose to give your money to and then a fake one of him. You are suppose to figure out which one is real. Naturally I tried to give my money to the wax guy. But Roosevelt was there, but he was made of wax, and Betsey Cross too! They even had Ri - sen - hour."
Every four months or so my brother and sister in law pay us a visit from New England. We always look forward to seeing them and Dad loves having new people in the house to talk to. I always try and plan a few day trips to see the sights of the surrounding areas. Dad is always invited along but declines with one excuse or another. When we went to the aquarium he said "I seen enough fish when I was in the army." This of course leads into long stories of his time in England.
Today we are going to "The Little White House" where FDR once lived. Dad agrees to go along. When we arrive we go through the museum part of the tour first. There is a massive time line on the wall with various photographs indicating important events in US history. My brother, sister in law and I stand and read some of the events out loud that interest us and point out interesting pictures. Dad is wandering aimlessly around the room, looking out the window and up at the ceiling. We call him over but he ignores us. There is a large pillar in the room with names listed of contributors of the museum. Dad stops and begins to read the names out loud. I go over and tell him "Dad those are the people that contributed money to the museum. Come and look at this time line on the wall, you should remember some of these events." He looks at me and walks away. He goes over to the time line and says nothing. Within minutes he approaches me and says "Yeah, I remember this guy, ha ha ha yup! He's the one that had the affair with his sec - a - tary, but he didn't want no one to know about it." Of all the things FDR was remembered for, this is what he has retained. Which unfortunately makes sense, keeping in mind that one of my father's favorite topics is sex. I look at him and respond, "Well that's nice Dad, lets go in the other room and look at some of the old cars."
Eventually we make our way down the path to the "Little White House". It is a beautiful summer day. When we enter we find that there is a woman in the house available to answer questions. Since we are the only four people in the house at the moment, we get all of her attention. She has the most adorable southern accent and is quite friendly. If I didn't know any better I would have said she knew FDR personally. What a wonderful tour. Once we make it through we head back up the path to the servants quarters and it is clear that Dad is getting tired out. We look through the servants quarters quickly. While there Dad tries to sit on one of the couches with a big sign - "DO NOT SIT". My sister in law, who is quick on her toes is able to avert the catastrophe. We get out side and sit down for a few minutes. We all pose for a few pictures. I ask Dad if he enjoyed the "Little White House" and if he thought it was interesting. He states "Well I think SHE was eatin too much before we got there, she's a fat one!" He is of course referring to the woman in the Little White House who answered all our questions. I look at him and wonder why his mind works the way it does. In general he has nothing kind to say and is always the first to say something negative.
Days after my brother and sister in law leave for New England, Dad is sitting at the kitchen table and blurts out "They had a wax statue of that guy over in England." I have no idea what he is referring to. "What guy Dad?" "You know that Roosevelt. Yeah at Madame Mauren's House of Wax. I don't know if that was her name. Whatever, anyways I was there and they have the guy that you are suppose to give your money to and then a fake one of him. You are suppose to figure out which one is real. Naturally I tried to give my money to the wax guy. But Roosevelt was there, but he was made of wax, and Betsey Cross too! They even had Ri - sen - hour."
World Views
Well supper conversation with Dad was very interesting last night. He watches the History channel quite a bit and often "enlightens" me with his vast knowledge of the world:
STONE HEDGES: "Yeah you know those stone hedges over there in Europe, ah I forget where. But those people think the stones were rolled over from Scotland. That's impossible."
THE SPLINX: "Oh I am fascinated by the Splinx. Yeah I would love to see that. They say that there was a man and a woman there. One stands on one side of the Splinx and the other stands on the other. But they can't have no sex! That's just stupid. They can let them communicate though. With these like microphones they had. How could they have microphones? I just didn't understand that one! Yeah I would love to get over there and see the Splinx someday."
OPHILIA REINHART: "They don't know what happened to her. BUT I KNOW! Yup the Japs got her for sure. I had a picture in my room when I was about his age (pointing to Jay) I remember it. It was of Lindenburg from the newspaper, I had it on my wall in my bedroom. Lindenburg and the baby oh he was happy!"
RANDOM STORY: "Oh I remember this story from a long time ago about a king. They were havin this birthday party for him and he didn't want nothin. The people from all over brought him gifts. There was this one boy who didn't have anything to give the king so he gave him his cat. Turns out the kings castle was filled with rats and the cat ate all the rats. The king was real happy. Isn't that funny? I remember that story like it was yesterday! "
I Miss My Mother
2007
Yesterday was the four year anniversary of my mother's passing. It was a difficult day. It always is. Reliving her last hours in my head is horrible. This is the first year I have been away from her grave. The most difficult part of moving south, was leaving her behind. I know that sounds insane but none the less that is the truth. For the last three years I have taken the day off from work and sat with her at the cemetery for a while. We have a long talk. This year I asked my sister-in-law to go up for me and send my love. To my surprise my father was 'out of sorts' yesterday. I'm not sure if he was aware of the day and the significance of it. I had planned on taking him out to Dunkin Donuts, but by the time I got home from my doctor's appointment he had popped a Valium and was pretty much out of it for the rest of the day.
So this morning after the 'One Man Band' performance' I told him that we could go out for a coffee at 10:15 after my walk. He looks at his watch and says "7:00 sounds good." Mind you it is now 8:30 in the morning. "No Dad, 10:15 this morning, in a little while." "Oh yeah - good." I finish my walk at 10:00 and come in through the garage and he is sitting at the kitchen table ready to go. I had wanted to change into some clean clothes before leaving but making him wait fifteen more minutes is just torture for him, so I grab my car keys and we head to Dunkin' Donuts. We pass some gas stations along the way and gas is almost $3.00 a gallon, which just kills me. I ask Dad,, "Can you believe how much gas has gone up? I don't know how they can do this to us." Dad shakes his head, "Yeah wow, the guys I talk to on the radio have been payin' over three dollars for a while. People try the gas wars, but that don't work. You know they say don't buy gas on this day or that day but it don't work. I belonged to one of those once in Finland. It never worked." I can't believe what he just said. "Finland Dad? You don't live in Finland!" "Yeah I know but I wanted to help them out." Do I take this any further? I decide to just let it go.
Over coffee I tell him that today is bathroom cleaning day. So he asks me again what the Windex is for and the other cleaning supplies. We get that all straightened out and he says he'll get right to it when we get home. Which he actually does! I was very impressed. No ailments today, no stalling, nothing unusual at all. While he cleans his bathroom I head upstairs to clean mine. When I'm done I bring everything downstairs and find Dad sitting at the kitchen table. The view shocks me . He is sitting at the kitchen table with his tee shirt pulled up above his man breasts. His breasts and pot belling sticking out to the table. Sitting on top of his completely bald head is a paper towel. The paper towel is saturated with sweat and has formed itself to the top of his head and then sticks out on the sides. I say "Dad! What is wrong with you? You are quite a sight!" He puts his hand on his paper towel and says "Yeah, I'm soaked with sweat. I worked real hard!" He puts the paper towel on the kitchen table , turns it over and then puts it on his head again."
My father never had any manners at all. However I can't imagine that my mother would have ever tolerated this unclean behavior. During the winter months I had a battle with him over blowing his nose at the kitchen table. To make matters worse he uses a disgusting hankie which gets filled with mucous all day and thrown in to his hamper for me to clean. I can't stress how repulsive this is. It took me a week to get him to walk into the bathroom to blow his nose. I know he was angry with me, but I could no longer put up with it. Now it would appear that we have to discuss sweating on the kitchen table! I decide that I will save this topic for a later date.
I begin to make his lunch. Every now and then I look over at him and I feel myself starting to giggle. He looks so ridiculous. I'm bringing his sandwich over to the table and he suddenly grasps his nipple with his index finger and thumb and pinches it. He says "You know I've been waiting for this thing to go away and then I looked down the other day and it was gone! I don't know where it is, but it's gone!" What the hell is he doing? What the hell is he talking about? More importantly where is the digital camera so I can take a picture of this? Let me just preserve this ridiculous crazy moment in time. My father sitting at the kitchen table, wet paper towel on his head, sweaty breasts and potbelly hanging out pinching his nipple!
I miss my mother.
Yesterday was the four year anniversary of my mother's passing. It was a difficult day. It always is. Reliving her last hours in my head is horrible. This is the first year I have been away from her grave. The most difficult part of moving south, was leaving her behind. I know that sounds insane but none the less that is the truth. For the last three years I have taken the day off from work and sat with her at the cemetery for a while. We have a long talk. This year I asked my sister-in-law to go up for me and send my love. To my surprise my father was 'out of sorts' yesterday. I'm not sure if he was aware of the day and the significance of it. I had planned on taking him out to Dunkin Donuts, but by the time I got home from my doctor's appointment he had popped a Valium and was pretty much out of it for the rest of the day.
So this morning after the 'One Man Band' performance' I told him that we could go out for a coffee at 10:15 after my walk. He looks at his watch and says "7:00 sounds good." Mind you it is now 8:30 in the morning. "No Dad, 10:15 this morning, in a little while." "Oh yeah - good." I finish my walk at 10:00 and come in through the garage and he is sitting at the kitchen table ready to go. I had wanted to change into some clean clothes before leaving but making him wait fifteen more minutes is just torture for him, so I grab my car keys and we head to Dunkin' Donuts. We pass some gas stations along the way and gas is almost $3.00 a gallon, which just kills me. I ask Dad,, "Can you believe how much gas has gone up? I don't know how they can do this to us." Dad shakes his head, "Yeah wow, the guys I talk to on the radio have been payin' over three dollars for a while. People try the gas wars, but that don't work. You know they say don't buy gas on this day or that day but it don't work. I belonged to one of those once in Finland. It never worked." I can't believe what he just said. "Finland Dad? You don't live in Finland!" "Yeah I know but I wanted to help them out." Do I take this any further? I decide to just let it go.
Over coffee I tell him that today is bathroom cleaning day. So he asks me again what the Windex is for and the other cleaning supplies. We get that all straightened out and he says he'll get right to it when we get home. Which he actually does! I was very impressed. No ailments today, no stalling, nothing unusual at all. While he cleans his bathroom I head upstairs to clean mine. When I'm done I bring everything downstairs and find Dad sitting at the kitchen table. The view shocks me . He is sitting at the kitchen table with his tee shirt pulled up above his man breasts. His breasts and pot belling sticking out to the table. Sitting on top of his completely bald head is a paper towel. The paper towel is saturated with sweat and has formed itself to the top of his head and then sticks out on the sides. I say "Dad! What is wrong with you? You are quite a sight!" He puts his hand on his paper towel and says "Yeah, I'm soaked with sweat. I worked real hard!" He puts the paper towel on the kitchen table , turns it over and then puts it on his head again."
My father never had any manners at all. However I can't imagine that my mother would have ever tolerated this unclean behavior. During the winter months I had a battle with him over blowing his nose at the kitchen table. To make matters worse he uses a disgusting hankie which gets filled with mucous all day and thrown in to his hamper for me to clean. I can't stress how repulsive this is. It took me a week to get him to walk into the bathroom to blow his nose. I know he was angry with me, but I could no longer put up with it. Now it would appear that we have to discuss sweating on the kitchen table! I decide that I will save this topic for a later date.
I begin to make his lunch. Every now and then I look over at him and I feel myself starting to giggle. He looks so ridiculous. I'm bringing his sandwich over to the table and he suddenly grasps his nipple with his index finger and thumb and pinches it. He says "You know I've been waiting for this thing to go away and then I looked down the other day and it was gone! I don't know where it is, but it's gone!" What the hell is he doing? What the hell is he talking about? More importantly where is the digital camera so I can take a picture of this? Let me just preserve this ridiculous crazy moment in time. My father sitting at the kitchen table, wet paper towel on his head, sweaty breasts and potbelly hanging out pinching his nipple!
I miss my mother.
One Man Band - Breakfast Musical With Winds
As I've mentioned before, my father has his own apartment in our home. In fact this was something he insisted on, when agreeing to move south with us. "I need my own place! I can't be bothered with you people all the time!" We did a ton of house hunting to find the right home to accomodate my father. Since moving in, he has ALL of his meals in my kitchen, in fact I don't think that he has ever sat at his own kitchen table. He does not have a stove due to safety concerns. He could easily have his breakfast and lunch in his apartment, but instead he prefers to impose himself. Every morning like clock work he emerges from his apartment and prepares his breakfast - which is always the same: Honey Bunches of Oats cereal, with orange juice. When he is done banging cupboard doors and groaning, he sits at the head of the table and begins his morning music for the rest of us to "enjoy"......
Sluuuuup
Crunch crunch crunch crunch
Ting Ting (spoon banging on the bowl)
Sluruuup
Crunch crunch crunch
Sluuuuuuuuuuup
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Gulp Gulp
Ting ting ting
Crunch Crunch (mouth wide open for maximum sound effect)
Crunch crunch crunch
Ting
Shuffle shuffle shuffle (slippers under the table)
Pfffffffffffffffffffft (Lower wind section)
Ting ting ting
Sluuuuuuuuurp
crunch crunch crunch
Smack smack
AHHHHHHHHH
Sigh long pause
BUUUUUUURP BUUUUUUUUURP (Upper wind section)
AHHH
REPEAT FOUR TIMES
Same show seven days a week
Operator
2005
Installing the phone in my father's apartment has now given him a new sense of purpose. He has designated himself as the "operator" for the house. Whenever the phone rings, he answers. As soon as he hangs up the phone he can not remember who he just spoke to or who the call was for. The obvious problem is that we never know who is trying to contact us. We just moved to the south, the kids are in new schools and I am always concerned that there may be an illness or some other urgent issue. Our oldest son is a senior and driving himself to and from school, and this brings my anxiety to an even higher level.
I try several tactics to combat the problem. As soon as I hear the phone ring, I race to pick it up. Needless to say, he answers before I do and when I say "hello" Dad yells into the phone "I'VE GOT IT, HANG UP!" I wait a few minutes and trudge down to his apartment. There he is stationed at his desk waiting for the next call. I ask "Dad, who was on the phone?" He looks at me and smiles, "I don't know." "Do you remember who it was for, was it for me?" "Hmmmmmm I don't think so. Maybe. I don't know."
I give Dad a note pad and pen and leave it at the desk. I tell him that it would be very helpful if he would write down the message right away, so we would know who is calling and what the message is. He thinks that this will be a great help. Needless to say, this does not help at all. He lost the pen, couldn't find the note pad or forgot who was calling. I become more and more annoyed with the situation.
My youngest son attends the parochial school where we go to church. One Wednesday morning while at bible study the secretary from the school comes in and asks to see me when our meeting is finished. Once our meeting is over I go into the office and apparently there has been a mix-up with the tuition payments and somehow we are over paid on the account. She sits with me and explains where the credit has gone and I thank her for her time. When leaving she mentions that she has been trying to contact me for the last two weeks and has left messages. I apologise for the confusion, explain the situation and suggest that she call my cell number in the future. I begin to wonder if I have not gotten messages from my older son's school. It is clear that I have to rectify this problem.
That afternoon, again the phone rings, it stops, and I trudge downstairs and ask who was on the phone. "Huh. I don't know, but I know it was for you." What did the person say Dad?" He looks at the ceiling, looks at the floor and then says "They said, Quick get help, there's kids in the street!" I tell Dad that this is getting out of control, and I really need to get the messages when people call. I tell him that if he can't do that, then he will have to stop answering the phone. This makes him angry. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT! They just don't say who they are. It's not my fault!"
I head upstairs and call my neighbor Lori. I am fairly certain it was her that called. Sure enough, I was right. She had told my father "Just tell her it is Lori, her friend down the street."
I discuss the problem with my husband and we decide that we should have a separate phone number for Dad's apartment. This should solve the problem. When Dad comes up for dinner that evening I tell him that we think it is a good idea for him to have his own phone number for his apartment. He looks at me and asks "Does that mean I have to pay for it?" I tell him that he will be responsible to pay for his own phone bill. He responds, "OH well, I just won't answer the phone anymore, I don't want to have to pay extra for another phone. I have my own cell phone what the hell do I care?"
Who's Line is it Anyway?
2005
The move south has been stressful for Dad. He lived in the same house on Sylvan Avenue in Terryton (small New England town), for forty one years. During those years my mother catered to him on hand and foot and attended to his every need. He found fault with my mother and it is fair to say that he treated her with great disrespect. If she cooked a meal he was not pleased with, or a meal he was not in the mood for, it was shoved across the table and often onto the floor. He was never pleased. My father is not a 'happy' person. He finds fault with everything. I foolishly thought that he would come here and be happy. What was I thinking? He has been here for two months, and according to him, everything is wrong. It is too hot, too cold, too sunny, too rainy, nothing is quite right. So in fact, his happiness level has not changed. What has changed, is that myself and my family are the targets of his frustration and general discontent.
At least once a week he is threatening to move back to New Hampshire. My husband usually sits down with him and calms him down and gets my father to think rationally for a few days. Eventually something arises that upsets dad and then we are back to "getting the hell out of this place!" This evening during dinner he tells Lee that he is moving because he doesn't have a phone hooked up in his apartment. Dad has his own cell phone, which he uses about once a week. The only phone call that comes into the house for my father is on Sunday evenings when my brother calls. I speak with my brother for a while and then bring the cordless phone down to dad. Tonight, there is a great need for him to have an extension down in his apartment. Dad agrees that if the phone is hooked up, he might stay for a few more weeks.
After dinner Lee begins running the phone line downstairs. It isn't a huge job and certainly not difficult. Lee recruits some help from my teenage son Matt and within no time at all the phone line is connected. Once the job is complete, Lee tells dad that everything is set up and dad says, "It's about time." Lee and Matt clean up the mess and leave Dad downstairs to make his "important phone calls."
Within ten minutes, the house phone rings. We wait to see if Dad picks up the phone. The phone keeps ringing and ringing. Finally we tell Jay (my nine year old) to answer the phone. He picks up the phone "Hello? No, you have the wrong number. Hey PaPa is that you? No PaPa, I'm not Lynn, it's me Jay, I'm upstairs. I think you dialed the wrong number. OK, Bye." Lee and I look at each other. Jay says, "It was PaPa, he thought I was Lynn." Lynn is my father's Internet friend. After my mother's passing my father was hot on the trail to "find a woman". Within three months he began exchanging emails with a Vietnamese woman who lives in California. They exchange phone calls every now and then. Three minutes later the phone rings again. Jay answers, "Hello? PaPa, it's me Jay again. You are dialing the wrong number. I don't know who Lynn is." Lee looks at me and tells me that I better go see what's going on down there.
When I get downstairs Dad has his cell phone in hand, looking at his phone list and dialing a number. The phone list is something that I made up for Dad and taped to his wall. In big red marker are written the numbers that he may need to dial. I ask him "Dad, what's going on?" He looks at me, clearly irritated, "I'm trying to call Lynn, but somehow Jay keeps picking up the phone." I ask him to show me Lynn's number and he points to our house number, which is labeled "Our house phone number." He continues to dial and say the numbers out loud "2.......2.......5......" I interrupt him and say "Dad you are dialing our house number, the phone right here at the house." "DON"T BOTHER ME, I'M CALLING LYNN! 2........2.........where is the 5 oh yeah, 2..........5.........." The house phone begins to ring. I stand and look at him and the phone continues to ring. He whispers, "It's ringing." I whisper back, "I know." The house phone rings a few more times and he yells, "ARE YOU GOING TO PICK THAT UP OR NOT!" I calmly tell him, "No. I'm pretty sure I know who it is!" He stomps over to the newly installed phone and places it to his other ear, "Hello?" "Hello??" "HELLO???"
He then listens to the cell phone and speaks, "Hold on, I've got someone on the other line." Then he turns to me and says, "Somebody picked up Lynn's phone and these other people won't talk!" Finally he slams down the house phone and focuses on the cell phone and then realizes that they have hung up. He is so upset he has to sit down. He is out of breath and shaking. I point to the house phone number and explain "This is our house number. This is the number you dial to call that phone (pointing to his new phone). This is the number you just dialed on your cell phone." "NO, I called Lynn." "Ok dad, show me what number you dialed." He points to 'Our house phone number'. I then point to the number listed as 'Lynn's number' and tell him "THIS is Lynn's number." He says, "Right, that's who I am calling." At this point I decide to give up. He doesn't understand, he isn't going to understand. I ask him if he would like me to dial Lynn's number for him, he nods and hands me the cell phone. He says, "Maybe Jay won't answer if you do it."
The move south has been stressful for Dad. He lived in the same house on Sylvan Avenue in Terryton (small New England town), for forty one years. During those years my mother catered to him on hand and foot and attended to his every need. He found fault with my mother and it is fair to say that he treated her with great disrespect. If she cooked a meal he was not pleased with, or a meal he was not in the mood for, it was shoved across the table and often onto the floor. He was never pleased. My father is not a 'happy' person. He finds fault with everything. I foolishly thought that he would come here and be happy. What was I thinking? He has been here for two months, and according to him, everything is wrong. It is too hot, too cold, too sunny, too rainy, nothing is quite right. So in fact, his happiness level has not changed. What has changed, is that myself and my family are the targets of his frustration and general discontent.
At least once a week he is threatening to move back to New Hampshire. My husband usually sits down with him and calms him down and gets my father to think rationally for a few days. Eventually something arises that upsets dad and then we are back to "getting the hell out of this place!" This evening during dinner he tells Lee that he is moving because he doesn't have a phone hooked up in his apartment. Dad has his own cell phone, which he uses about once a week. The only phone call that comes into the house for my father is on Sunday evenings when my brother calls. I speak with my brother for a while and then bring the cordless phone down to dad. Tonight, there is a great need for him to have an extension down in his apartment. Dad agrees that if the phone is hooked up, he might stay for a few more weeks.
After dinner Lee begins running the phone line downstairs. It isn't a huge job and certainly not difficult. Lee recruits some help from my teenage son Matt and within no time at all the phone line is connected. Once the job is complete, Lee tells dad that everything is set up and dad says, "It's about time." Lee and Matt clean up the mess and leave Dad downstairs to make his "important phone calls."
Within ten minutes, the house phone rings. We wait to see if Dad picks up the phone. The phone keeps ringing and ringing. Finally we tell Jay (my nine year old) to answer the phone. He picks up the phone "Hello? No, you have the wrong number. Hey PaPa is that you? No PaPa, I'm not Lynn, it's me Jay, I'm upstairs. I think you dialed the wrong number. OK, Bye." Lee and I look at each other. Jay says, "It was PaPa, he thought I was Lynn." Lynn is my father's Internet friend. After my mother's passing my father was hot on the trail to "find a woman". Within three months he began exchanging emails with a Vietnamese woman who lives in California. They exchange phone calls every now and then. Three minutes later the phone rings again. Jay answers, "Hello? PaPa, it's me Jay again. You are dialing the wrong number. I don't know who Lynn is." Lee looks at me and tells me that I better go see what's going on down there.
When I get downstairs Dad has his cell phone in hand, looking at his phone list and dialing a number. The phone list is something that I made up for Dad and taped to his wall. In big red marker are written the numbers that he may need to dial. I ask him "Dad, what's going on?" He looks at me, clearly irritated, "I'm trying to call Lynn, but somehow Jay keeps picking up the phone." I ask him to show me Lynn's number and he points to our house number, which is labeled "Our house phone number." He continues to dial and say the numbers out loud "2.......2.......5......" I interrupt him and say "Dad you are dialing our house number, the phone right here at the house." "DON"T BOTHER ME, I'M CALLING LYNN! 2........2.........where is the 5 oh yeah, 2..........5.........." The house phone begins to ring. I stand and look at him and the phone continues to ring. He whispers, "It's ringing." I whisper back, "I know." The house phone rings a few more times and he yells, "ARE YOU GOING TO PICK THAT UP OR NOT!" I calmly tell him, "No. I'm pretty sure I know who it is!" He stomps over to the newly installed phone and places it to his other ear, "Hello?" "Hello??" "HELLO???"
He then listens to the cell phone and speaks, "Hold on, I've got someone on the other line." Then he turns to me and says, "Somebody picked up Lynn's phone and these other people won't talk!" Finally he slams down the house phone and focuses on the cell phone and then realizes that they have hung up. He is so upset he has to sit down. He is out of breath and shaking. I point to the house phone number and explain "This is our house number. This is the number you dial to call that phone (pointing to his new phone). This is the number you just dialed on your cell phone." "NO, I called Lynn." "Ok dad, show me what number you dialed." He points to 'Our house phone number'. I then point to the number listed as 'Lynn's number' and tell him "THIS is Lynn's number." He says, "Right, that's who I am calling." At this point I decide to give up. He doesn't understand, he isn't going to understand. I ask him if he would like me to dial Lynn's number for him, he nods and hands me the cell phone. He says, "Maybe Jay won't answer if you do it."
Naomie Campbell
2003
For several weeks now Dad has been talking about his latest woman on the internet. He says that she is "dark skinned" but he doesn't mind because she is a real pretty one. This is a new twist for my father because he is the most racist person I have ever known. He tells us that she sends him pictures of herself in her underwear! This makes him smile. This makes me……..gag. It seems that she wants him to send her $250.00. He is a bit leary of this since the last woman almost took him for $200.00. He asks Lee to stop by and have a look at her and see what he thinks.
On Saturday Lee and I make our drive to Terryton. It's about time that I give the house a good cleaning anyway. I've been trying to get my father to hire a cleaning person. He is very tight with his money. This amazes me. He is willing to shell out hundreds of dollars to people he has met on the internet, but won't part with a dime for his family, or for his own needs. He knows very well that Lee travels weekly, that my children are busy with school and that I have a full time job, but yet he expects me to clean his house and we are expected to provide lawn care and snow removal. He refuses to pay for these services.
When we get there dad greets us with a smile. We sit at the kitchen table for a few minutes and small talk. Lee and dad head for the computer upstairs and I begin cleaning. To his credit, he keeps the house fairly tidy. He will run the vacuum, wash his dishes and sweep the floor. On the surface things aren't too bad. Look any farther and it is obvious that the house is neglected. The mail is neatly left on the counter for our review. My father is unable to pay his bills or understand any type of paper work that is mailed to the house. He has never written out a check in his life. My mother managed all household affairs. Now that she is gone, Lee and I manage everything. Each check still requires his signature. He refuses to give up any control of his finances. He is paranoid that everyone is out to steal his money away. Everyone meaning his family, neighbors and store clerks, especially that guy down at the Whole Donut! Everyone does NOT include strangers on the internet - who happen to be the only decent people he knows.
As I clean, I think of my mother. I miss her so much. I wonder what her life was really like here with my father. She used to tell me "Stacey, you don't know how bad he is. He doesn't remember anything anymore. You just don't know how bad." I know that my father was less than kind to my mother. He always was. Since her passing he lives a fairly isolated life. He doesn't have any friends and he has alienated most family members. My father has always been a narcissist. It's all about RAY!
After an hour or so, I am summoned upstairs. Lee tells me to come and see Dad's new girlfriend. He pulls up the picture on the screen. My eyes widen and Lee is laughing. Lee asks me "Do you know who that woman is?" I say "Well yes I do!" My father is shocked! "You know my girlfriend???" Lee says "What is her name Stacey?" Now I'm thinking, and I can't get it out, it's on the tip of my tongue. "Oh you know she is one of the Victoria Secret models!" Lee laughs and says, "That is Naomie Cambell. Ray, she is a super model. When you come to our house Stacey can show you her picture, in a magazine!" My father turns to Lee and says, "Why would a super model need my $250.00???" He has a bewildered look on his face. He shrugs his shoulders, scratches his head and says, "Maybe they don't pay her that much."
I tell my father that the person he has been talking to has used Naomie Campbells picture. The real person he has been talking to is NOT Naomie Campbell. He does not understand, and wants to know why she wants his money. I have to leave the room. I am angry because he doesn't understand. I am angry that he is so delusional that he really thinks that a Victoria Secret model might actually be attracted to him. Lee spends the next thirty minutes upstairs calmly explaining the situation to my father. My husband is a very patient man. A very kind man. He does not get angry. He never shows frustration. I don't know what I would do without him.
I finish cleaning the house. I make lunch and call them down to eat. By now my father understands that someone could possibly present themselves as another person. He is still skeptical that his girlfriend would do that to him. She tells him that she loves him no matter how old he is. He says that he will ask her about it when he talks to her again.
My father later confronts this woman with his "knowledge" of Naomie Campbell, and she says she is so sorry for lying to him. He has been taken for yet.............another ride.
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