Even when someone is not dead, gone, the moment that you remember they usually would be providing you with some sort of support and encouragement even when you do not need it, that's when it really hits you.
For the last five years, I've been the coordinator for an event that our Boy Scout troop participates in. We do a huge burger burn. It is our BIG fundraiser. Huge. We can make between 2,000 and 4,000 dollars with this event. It keeps us going. One year, we made 800 bucks because of the weather. It sucked. I think that was the second year I ran this. The last two years have been huge. This year, also will be huge. The forecast is upper 60s, no rain, light humidity... there are 40 vendors at the event, and literally hundreds of people are going to be lining up to get burgers, dogs, and sausages from us.
It is kind of a big deal.
I never wanted to take on the responsibility of throwing this shindig. I always doubt my ability to be organized enough, plan well enough. And each year on the Thursday before the event at our BSA Troop meeting, Marie would be there and would lovingly ask me things like ...
Do you have enough charcoal?
Is everyone lined up for picking up the ice donations in the morning?
Are there enough parents on grill?
Will there be older Scouts there at the very beginning to set up the tents?
Do you need me for anything?
My goal was to say yes to everything except the last one. I'm all set, honest. Everything is all set. I am good. Things are good. Things are organized. This person bought that. This person covered this. All the ice is all set.
And I knew it would always please her.
Last year she was too sick to attend for long. She was there for a few minutes, and it was nice to see her beaming and smiling at the boys and the dads as they rocked out in serving the customers and cooking the food.
This year, everything is under control. With a few minor hiccups.
Our charcoal and ice supplier fell through this year so right now I'm scrambling for ice and got it all figured out and lined up. It's all good. I got this. I bought the charcoal (such a deal) and will just donate it to the Troop myself. The ice situation is alright. Everything else feels really in control.
But I feel like I'm missing something. I'm missing that check-in, that status report. That time with her where we talk about all these things.
And it feels so empty.
Don't get me wrong, don't ever get me wrong -- I love our new committee chair to death. She is on top of me and others making sure everything ins in place. She's plot walking (they move us every year) to make sure we've got the right amount of space. She's communicating with Park & Rec (which I so appreciate her doing) while I communicate with the Troop Parents. She's perfect for me as a partner in crime in executing all of this.
But tonight I miss Marie.
I may just go to the hospice tonight and sit with her and let her know everything is all set for the event on Saturday. She doesn't have to worry. Tons of ice and coolers. Boys lined up for the pitching of the carpark tents. Both of them.
We got this. We do.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
thoughts on funerals and hospice and bedsides
My friend got her wish yesterday. Her son came to visit her in the morning and found that she was not at all well and could no longer be at home. He called hospice and transport to get her into the facility. She did not wish to die at home, and she did not wish for her boys to find her dead. She was found alive, she was wrapped up and cuddled, she was transported to hospice. Her son, the one who found her, is by her side and has been there since yesterday morning.
She is there now, and most likely will not last the night.
Several friends went there during the day, and a few reported back that she's truly on her way out. Her two sisters are there and are incredibly agitated with all the traffic. "Coffee hour is over, you had your time. Go away so we can say our goodbyes" is what they said, and according to a friend, they commenced to clearing the room of the last 3 visitors. They chastised their nephew for all his joking about and laughter. At one point my friend Debbie and the son were telling stories and laughing and Marie's heart rate and respiration rose. The sisters got very upset, that they were upsetting her and made them stop. Thing is, Debbie and the son (and I) think she was listening, she could hear, she's not dead yet... and this was making her laugh.
I did not go over this afternoon. It may be a good thing, since I don't want to be part of any family drama or anger, but it also may mean I missed her and saying goodbye to her.
See, I didn't say goodbye. I told her "see you next week..." and that's right now. And at some point during today I should have swung over.
In theory, I still can. I can pretend I do not know that the sisters have banned further visitors tonight. I know her son is staying the night, and maybe they are maybe they aren't. I can call the hospice maybe and see if he's by himself, or if they're there and I'll stay away.
A deep abiding part of me wants to go and be with him, since he told Debbie that right now he feels "utterly alone," even with his family members there. Because they're not doing the death thing the same way he's doing the death thing. They've already commenced to mourning; he hasn't.
We all do the end differently. By the bedstands of someone we deeply love and adore, we process our loss and grief in totally different ways. I think I'm a lot more like my friend's son, and the bedstand is the place to tell stories and laugh and sing and read favorite poetry. Not to put a black veil on and wait for the departure of the mortal soul.
Debbie and I talked a few minutes about what we want when we are in the hospice, if we should be in the hospice. What do we want to have happen around us.
Laughing, you better believe it. Music, tons of it. Perhaps friends with their guitars and some live performances. Inappropriate jokes... yes sirree! Oh yes. And I know funerals are for the living, not the dead person. And sometimes funerals happen that would make the dearly departed FREAK OUT if he or she knew what was going on. I remember when Clayton died, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes sprinkled out over a cliff on Martha's Vineyard. His mother said No Way. "It's my son, I want a place where I can go and visit him." She wanted a headstone and a funeral plot. And I don't know that she's ever come to visit. She certainly doesn't communicate that to us and ask if we'd like to have lunch or something.
His last wishes were not honored, because momma trumped them.
Debbie said she wants a New Orleans Jazz funeral, with trumpets and slide trombones and people marching down the street. No black clothing allowed -- all color, all floral prints, big huge floral print ties on the men. Flowers bring her incredible joy, so she wants all of us to be wearing them.
I told her that I'll hold her family to that and fight them in the octagon if necessary to make sure that her wishes are met.
I don't think I'm going to head over. I'm a little wary of the sisters. I don't want to start a bru-haha by accident. And I don't want her to die tomorrow on 9/11, I'm a little selfish on that because I don't what her associated with the historical events. So... maybe she'll go tonight... maybe not.
sigh
She is there now, and most likely will not last the night.
Several friends went there during the day, and a few reported back that she's truly on her way out. Her two sisters are there and are incredibly agitated with all the traffic. "Coffee hour is over, you had your time. Go away so we can say our goodbyes" is what they said, and according to a friend, they commenced to clearing the room of the last 3 visitors. They chastised their nephew for all his joking about and laughter. At one point my friend Debbie and the son were telling stories and laughing and Marie's heart rate and respiration rose. The sisters got very upset, that they were upsetting her and made them stop. Thing is, Debbie and the son (and I) think she was listening, she could hear, she's not dead yet... and this was making her laugh.
I did not go over this afternoon. It may be a good thing, since I don't want to be part of any family drama or anger, but it also may mean I missed her and saying goodbye to her.
See, I didn't say goodbye. I told her "see you next week..." and that's right now. And at some point during today I should have swung over.
In theory, I still can. I can pretend I do not know that the sisters have banned further visitors tonight. I know her son is staying the night, and maybe they are maybe they aren't. I can call the hospice maybe and see if he's by himself, or if they're there and I'll stay away.
A deep abiding part of me wants to go and be with him, since he told Debbie that right now he feels "utterly alone," even with his family members there. Because they're not doing the death thing the same way he's doing the death thing. They've already commenced to mourning; he hasn't.
We all do the end differently. By the bedstands of someone we deeply love and adore, we process our loss and grief in totally different ways. I think I'm a lot more like my friend's son, and the bedstand is the place to tell stories and laugh and sing and read favorite poetry. Not to put a black veil on and wait for the departure of the mortal soul.
Debbie and I talked a few minutes about what we want when we are in the hospice, if we should be in the hospice. What do we want to have happen around us.
Laughing, you better believe it. Music, tons of it. Perhaps friends with their guitars and some live performances. Inappropriate jokes... yes sirree! Oh yes. And I know funerals are for the living, not the dead person. And sometimes funerals happen that would make the dearly departed FREAK OUT if he or she knew what was going on. I remember when Clayton died, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes sprinkled out over a cliff on Martha's Vineyard. His mother said No Way. "It's my son, I want a place where I can go and visit him." She wanted a headstone and a funeral plot. And I don't know that she's ever come to visit. She certainly doesn't communicate that to us and ask if we'd like to have lunch or something.
His last wishes were not honored, because momma trumped them.
Debbie said she wants a New Orleans Jazz funeral, with trumpets and slide trombones and people marching down the street. No black clothing allowed -- all color, all floral prints, big huge floral print ties on the men. Flowers bring her incredible joy, so she wants all of us to be wearing them.
I told her that I'll hold her family to that and fight them in the octagon if necessary to make sure that her wishes are met.
I don't think I'm going to head over. I'm a little wary of the sisters. I don't want to start a bru-haha by accident. And I don't want her to die tomorrow on 9/11, I'm a little selfish on that because I don't what her associated with the historical events. So... maybe she'll go tonight... maybe not.
sigh
Monday, September 09, 2013
And then this happened.
But.
My commute this morning sucked, as I rear ended a car in front of me and totaled my new to me but very old and wonderfully gifted to me Volvo.
I'm fine. Do not worry. Just... feast your eyes and say "dang, yo."
So, how was your day?
Friday, September 06, 2013
"love is watching someone die"
The entry title comes from a song by Death Cab for Cutie called "What Sarah Said," and it is a special, poignant song to me, full of incredible depth and sadness. The official video is worth watching, if you have the time. And also if you need a good cry. This is a good excuse.
"I'm thinking of what Sarah said. That love is watching someone die. So who's going to watch you die?" Whom do you love enough to sit, over time, over days, weeks, months or years, and watch them die?
In essence, we're all watching each other not just live but actually die.
And in truth, I'm watching someone die.
My friend Marie, the former committee member for our Boy Scout Troop, was diagnosed with cancer a few years back. And yes, Cancer sucks.
She has fought it good and hard for quite some time. She lost her husband unexpectedly in December 2011. He struggled with lung diseases and COPD, and his loss was a big blow to her and her ability to fight.
She rebounded quite a bit, she had surgeries, chemo, surgeries, stints, chemo and all sorts of things. Last year things got bad, and this spring her doctors ordered her to go on a family vacation with her sister and kids and everyone, and go enjoy herself.
The family went on a cruise in early July. She had a wonderful time, ended up back in the hospital for a little bit, and then released back home.
I didn't realize that she was basically told around then that she had the three months to live. I knew it was terminal, and I knew that the end was near, and that hospice was involved at home. But... that basically brings us to "now" in the three month span.
We were going through our own horrible turmoil, with looking for a place to live. On the last day of school in June we had to go to the superintendent's office, and Marie works in the same building, so we stopped in and visited. She looked fantastic really. Working, happy, smiling, laughing. Getting things done. It was so wonderful to see her, and she gave us so much love and hope with our situation and the fight we were in.
Once the packing process started, after she was home from the cruise and out of the hospital, I talked to her on the phone a couple of times. I knew she was home, I wanted to go visit. I made a few meals for her and her sons. I never seemed to connect with her being there at the house, just the boys. The youngest one recently got Eagle in our troop, and is a really funny kid. He's about 19, and I like him an awful lot. So we had a lot to talk about and I tried to really communicate to him that he could always turn to me and to Doug if he was feeling upset, frustrated, angry. We'll be there for him.
19 year old boys don't pay that much mind, really.
And then the moving started. We moved the next town over from where we were living, and the road to get there goes right by her house... so 10, 15, 20 times in a week I was driving past her house and saying "dang it. I gotta stop and see Marie."
"Doug, please remind me to give her a call later, okay?"
"I'll try, but we're kind of busy."
"I don't want us to be too busy. I want us to make time for her. I don't want to be selfish and focused only on us, when she's dying."
"It is okay for you to be selfish."
"No it is not."
"Do you want to stop in now? I'll pull in the driveway and we can go visit now. If that will make you feel better."
(looking at myself covered with dust and dirt and crap and probably infected with the hantavirus from all the mouse poop in our old house...) "No, I'm not in good condition to stop in and just visit like that."
One day we drove by and there were seriously 10 cars in the driveway. I groaned. "Oh no. Look how many people are there, Doug..." I wondered if she had passed away on us. I emailed a friend and found out that she was still alive and at the house and everything was going as okay as could be expected. Breathing a sigh of relief, I knew I had a touch more time.
Finally, this past Tuesday I talked to her son and told him to let her know I'd come by in the afternoon. I had a doctor's appointment, and would swing by on the way home. I got there and she was dressed nice and groomed all pretty and waiting for me. I felt like a filthy grubby schlub in comparison to her, and smiled and hugged her.
"Thank you for not dying on me," I told her. "I have been so busy with moving and packing that every day I was beating myself up for not getting over here to see you."
She laughed and said she was waiting to see me. She was so happy to see me. And I was so happy to see her.
We talked about so many things, and she totally lit up when we talked about the Boy Scout Troop and how the guys were doing. She wanted to hear all about Geoff's summer camp experience, and the new Sea Scout program. I told her about Schooner Fest and she just beamed with joy.
I asked about her cruise, since I hadn't seen her since the end of June, so she filled me in on all the details. The food and the music and how she didn't care for the rocking of the boat. It would have been nicer to do all these things on solid ground, but it was wonderful to be together as a family.
"And who is going on your cruise with your family?" she asked me.
And here is a lesson for everyone. Right now.
A while back, when Doug's grandmother was dying, we talked about "actively dying" and how the body and brain all do weird things. Especially the brain. Brain chemistry changes, memories shift and change. And sometimes personalities change. Beautiful, kind people turn into ornery bastards. People who maintained a secular or atheist life suddenly cry for Jesus. Not as a death bed conversion, but because their brains are doing wonky things (okay, yeah maybe a little bit of that good old Holy Spirit thing happens but... you know. Maybe not).
So I knew not to argue with her that we were not going on a cruise. I knew to say "Oh, I don't think we're going this year. Money's tight with the move and everything... so we're gonna skip it."
She thought that was a good idea, and then we talked about the new apartment.
It was an easy transition... because I knew how to play it. She doesn't know I'm not going on a cruise. She was talking about her cruise and then her brain just said "oh, She's going on a cruise too, right so yeah let's ask okay purple monkey dishwasher shiny things."
Actively dying.
Please always remember this, dear reader, when you know someone in hospice, or someone dying, that sometime they will say goofy things to you. Don't fight with them. Go with it, sometimes ask them for some clarification, and maybe they'll realize what they're saying and correct themselves but if they don't...
no harm, no foul.
We had a wonderful two hour time. We talked about what happens when she dies, how she doesn't want to die in the house because she doesn't want the boys to see her like that and think of the house as the place where their mom died. We talked about all sorts of arrangements. We talked about whether or not she wanted a hospital bed or her own bed. She was a touch angry at hospice because they won't let her go INTO hospice, but they're keeping her at the house. She said that it is because she isn't in pain. If she was in pain, and her pain was not manageable, she'd be admitted to hospice. She wants to be there, not at home. I told her to take things as they come, she might just get her wish. I told her that I was so relieved she wasn't in pain. Pain sucks! Her only real symptoms are exhaustion and nausea. She doesn't eat, she's gone from a size 2x to about a size 6 (no kidding). She's basically wasting away. Her squinty smiling eyes are now huge giant big beautiful eyes, all because her face has ... gone. For lack of a better word.
Her hospice nurse came for a check-in, and was there while we were talking. We talked as if she wasn't there. And the nurse just sat and smiled at our laughter and gibberish. She told me "you can come visit all my patients if you can make them laugh like this."
Nope, sorry lady. Just this one.
So, I'm watching someone die. All the committee members and the moms in the Troop are talking about MassJam weekend, and making sure her son can go on the trip if he wants to. We're talking about doing shifts and spending time with her so she isn't alone, so the son can go be with his dudes and have some fun. We want him to have that, and to be honest, some of us need that time with her.
I'm watching someone die. And I'm putting a strong and brave, assured and confident face on it. I'm laughing, I'm trying to make her laugh. Inside I know we're all terrified and crying though. But... Love is watching someone die. And I do love Marie. Very much.
Today is her 64th birthday. Most likely her last. And yeah. That's some heavy shit right there.
I'm watching someone die.
"I'm thinking of what Sarah said. That love is watching someone die. So who's going to watch you die?" Whom do you love enough to sit, over time, over days, weeks, months or years, and watch them die?
In essence, we're all watching each other not just live but actually die.
And in truth, I'm watching someone die.
She has fought it good and hard for quite some time. She lost her husband unexpectedly in December 2011. He struggled with lung diseases and COPD, and his loss was a big blow to her and her ability to fight.
She rebounded quite a bit, she had surgeries, chemo, surgeries, stints, chemo and all sorts of things. Last year things got bad, and this spring her doctors ordered her to go on a family vacation with her sister and kids and everyone, and go enjoy herself.
The family went on a cruise in early July. She had a wonderful time, ended up back in the hospital for a little bit, and then released back home.
I didn't realize that she was basically told around then that she had the three months to live. I knew it was terminal, and I knew that the end was near, and that hospice was involved at home. But... that basically brings us to "now" in the three month span.
We were going through our own horrible turmoil, with looking for a place to live. On the last day of school in June we had to go to the superintendent's office, and Marie works in the same building, so we stopped in and visited. She looked fantastic really. Working, happy, smiling, laughing. Getting things done. It was so wonderful to see her, and she gave us so much love and hope with our situation and the fight we were in.
Once the packing process started, after she was home from the cruise and out of the hospital, I talked to her on the phone a couple of times. I knew she was home, I wanted to go visit. I made a few meals for her and her sons. I never seemed to connect with her being there at the house, just the boys. The youngest one recently got Eagle in our troop, and is a really funny kid. He's about 19, and I like him an awful lot. So we had a lot to talk about and I tried to really communicate to him that he could always turn to me and to Doug if he was feeling upset, frustrated, angry. We'll be there for him.
19 year old boys don't pay that much mind, really.
And then the moving started. We moved the next town over from where we were living, and the road to get there goes right by her house... so 10, 15, 20 times in a week I was driving past her house and saying "dang it. I gotta stop and see Marie."
"Doug, please remind me to give her a call later, okay?"
"I'll try, but we're kind of busy."
"I don't want us to be too busy. I want us to make time for her. I don't want to be selfish and focused only on us, when she's dying."
"It is okay for you to be selfish."
"No it is not."
"Do you want to stop in now? I'll pull in the driveway and we can go visit now. If that will make you feel better."
(looking at myself covered with dust and dirt and crap and probably infected with the hantavirus from all the mouse poop in our old house...) "No, I'm not in good condition to stop in and just visit like that."
One day we drove by and there were seriously 10 cars in the driveway. I groaned. "Oh no. Look how many people are there, Doug..." I wondered if she had passed away on us. I emailed a friend and found out that she was still alive and at the house and everything was going as okay as could be expected. Breathing a sigh of relief, I knew I had a touch more time.
Finally, this past Tuesday I talked to her son and told him to let her know I'd come by in the afternoon. I had a doctor's appointment, and would swing by on the way home. I got there and she was dressed nice and groomed all pretty and waiting for me. I felt like a filthy grubby schlub in comparison to her, and smiled and hugged her.
"Thank you for not dying on me," I told her. "I have been so busy with moving and packing that every day I was beating myself up for not getting over here to see you."
She laughed and said she was waiting to see me. She was so happy to see me. And I was so happy to see her.
We talked about so many things, and she totally lit up when we talked about the Boy Scout Troop and how the guys were doing. She wanted to hear all about Geoff's summer camp experience, and the new Sea Scout program. I told her about Schooner Fest and she just beamed with joy.
I asked about her cruise, since I hadn't seen her since the end of June, so she filled me in on all the details. The food and the music and how she didn't care for the rocking of the boat. It would have been nicer to do all these things on solid ground, but it was wonderful to be together as a family.
"And who is going on your cruise with your family?" she asked me.
And here is a lesson for everyone. Right now.
A while back, when Doug's grandmother was dying, we talked about "actively dying" and how the body and brain all do weird things. Especially the brain. Brain chemistry changes, memories shift and change. And sometimes personalities change. Beautiful, kind people turn into ornery bastards. People who maintained a secular or atheist life suddenly cry for Jesus. Not as a death bed conversion, but because their brains are doing wonky things (okay, yeah maybe a little bit of that good old Holy Spirit thing happens but... you know. Maybe not).
So I knew not to argue with her that we were not going on a cruise. I knew to say "Oh, I don't think we're going this year. Money's tight with the move and everything... so we're gonna skip it."
She thought that was a good idea, and then we talked about the new apartment.
It was an easy transition... because I knew how to play it. She doesn't know I'm not going on a cruise. She was talking about her cruise and then her brain just said "oh, She's going on a cruise too, right so yeah let's ask okay purple monkey dishwasher shiny things."
Actively dying.
Please always remember this, dear reader, when you know someone in hospice, or someone dying, that sometime they will say goofy things to you. Don't fight with them. Go with it, sometimes ask them for some clarification, and maybe they'll realize what they're saying and correct themselves but if they don't...
no harm, no foul.
We had a wonderful two hour time. We talked about what happens when she dies, how she doesn't want to die in the house because she doesn't want the boys to see her like that and think of the house as the place where their mom died. We talked about all sorts of arrangements. We talked about whether or not she wanted a hospital bed or her own bed. She was a touch angry at hospice because they won't let her go INTO hospice, but they're keeping her at the house. She said that it is because she isn't in pain. If she was in pain, and her pain was not manageable, she'd be admitted to hospice. She wants to be there, not at home. I told her to take things as they come, she might just get her wish. I told her that I was so relieved she wasn't in pain. Pain sucks! Her only real symptoms are exhaustion and nausea. She doesn't eat, she's gone from a size 2x to about a size 6 (no kidding). She's basically wasting away. Her squinty smiling eyes are now huge giant big beautiful eyes, all because her face has ... gone. For lack of a better word.
Her hospice nurse came for a check-in, and was there while we were talking. We talked as if she wasn't there. And the nurse just sat and smiled at our laughter and gibberish. She told me "you can come visit all my patients if you can make them laugh like this."
Nope, sorry lady. Just this one.
So, I'm watching someone die. All the committee members and the moms in the Troop are talking about MassJam weekend, and making sure her son can go on the trip if he wants to. We're talking about doing shifts and spending time with her so she isn't alone, so the son can go be with his dudes and have some fun. We want him to have that, and to be honest, some of us need that time with her.
I'm watching someone die. And I'm putting a strong and brave, assured and confident face on it. I'm laughing, I'm trying to make her laugh. Inside I know we're all terrified and crying though. But... Love is watching someone die. And I do love Marie. Very much.
Today is her 64th birthday. Most likely her last. And yeah. That's some heavy shit right there.
I'm watching someone die.
morning, laundry, coffee, quiet
My son left for school on his bike this morning at 5:45 to get to the gym by 6am so he can work out. Even though he isn't on the football team, he's been going once or twice a week to work out. "Bro, do you even lift?" is a thing 16 year old boys say to each other so he's looking to make with the lifting a bit. Doug left exceptionally early to go to an 8am meeting at work. The dogs woke me up at 7 and I thought it was 8. No one had taken them out yet... I guess when you're in a hurry to go lift and a hurry to go sit in a two hour meeting you don't take time for the dogs.
This morning is exceptionally chilly. We closed all the windows last night, and I'm sitting here on the couch feeling how cold it is through the glass behind me, thinking about how cold it is going to be in here this winter.
Taking the dogs out, Doug had mowed the lawn yesterday and the dew was heavy on the grass. I didn't realize exactly how cold it was, and the cut grass coated in dew stuck to my feet, my toes, and it was a stunning experience. Oh, so cold! Not used to this! Do Not Want!
I realized that my entire summer got pissed away this year, I had little or no recreational fun. My feet were not tan, nowhere near as tan as years past. I didn't get to the beach once. I felt a sudden sadness at the fact that my favorite season was here. Just like that.
I retreated into the house thinking I had 20 minutes to get ready for work, then realizing that it was an hour earlier than I'd first thought. I took a shower to warm up my feet. I loaded the washing machine (again... so much laundry) and now am enjoying coffee while relaxing and reading my blogs and facebook news feed.
This is really the first time since about late July that I feel kind of relaxed and calm. I have a ton to do, but I feel like things are manageable, and it is a good feeling. That was a rough season to get through there, that month and a half or so... Happy to be sitting here smelling the clean laundry and listening to my snoring dogs.
This morning is exceptionally chilly. We closed all the windows last night, and I'm sitting here on the couch feeling how cold it is through the glass behind me, thinking about how cold it is going to be in here this winter.
Taking the dogs out, Doug had mowed the lawn yesterday and the dew was heavy on the grass. I didn't realize exactly how cold it was, and the cut grass coated in dew stuck to my feet, my toes, and it was a stunning experience. Oh, so cold! Not used to this! Do Not Want!
I realized that my entire summer got pissed away this year, I had little or no recreational fun. My feet were not tan, nowhere near as tan as years past. I didn't get to the beach once. I felt a sudden sadness at the fact that my favorite season was here. Just like that.
I retreated into the house thinking I had 20 minutes to get ready for work, then realizing that it was an hour earlier than I'd first thought. I took a shower to warm up my feet. I loaded the washing machine (again... so much laundry) and now am enjoying coffee while relaxing and reading my blogs and facebook news feed.
This is really the first time since about late July that I feel kind of relaxed and calm. I have a ton to do, but I feel like things are manageable, and it is a good feeling. That was a rough season to get through there, that month and a half or so... Happy to be sitting here smelling the clean laundry and listening to my snoring dogs.
Sunday, September 01, 2013
Keys
Well, last night we finished sweeping and mopping the old place. This morning Geoff is in Gloucester, Jess is sleeping, Doug is the deacon in charge of fellowship at church and I am sitting in the office at a desk that is too small for my body and for our computer set up (the desk/table that we usually use is in pieces next to me, waiting for Doug to have time to reassemble it...) I am not using my laptop this morning because for some reason the i and o keys are not working. I've taken the keys off the keyboard, I have cleaned the components underneath the keys... nothing. Next step is call my friend Gerry to see if he can give me a hand.
I have the place to myself, well, me and three dogs who are up my butt like hemorrhoids because they're still mightily freaked out about this whole scene.
And I am sitting here laughing because I locked all the doors at the old house last night, and have no idea whatsoever where the keys are to those doors. Oh well. Well, I have an idea... it's all about boxes though and the art of unpacking.
My friend Judy said that three weeks before you pack everything is meticulously organized, boxes labeled; 2 weeks in the boxes might say what room they're destined for; week before everything is randomly chucked into boxes; moving day -- trash bags. Yup. That's exactly what happened here. So we'll start with our trash bags and work our way backwards to the carefully packed and labeled boxes. And the keys will be in one of those meticulously labeled boxes. I bet you.
My sister was here for three days helping us, which was such a blessing. Friends from church helped there and here, which was a blessing. People brought us meals, which was a blessing. I didn't break down and cry once, which was a blessing. The dishwasher works here, which is a blessing. My son made dinner last night while Doug and I were at the old house, and even though he used all the mozzarella when he should have used a third of it, that was a blessing. Carrie arranged for someone to give us a used 1996 volvo, for free, which has been the greatest blessing we could have hoped for... and...
The washing machine arrives Thursday, and that will be the biggest blessing of them all.
I found out some more about my landlord and the former tenant... I guess that after the former tenant decided they were not renewing their lease, and the landlord advertised the apartment, showed the apartment, rented the apartment... the dude changed his mind about moving. The landlord told him "no dice, dude, sorry."
So the previous tenant was not exactly happy, or compliant, about moving.
I'd informed my landlord about the exchange between my husband and the dude in regards to the dumpster, and all the shit he left behind in the garage. My landlord was apologetic and filled me in on their less than perfect parting. Interesting. Lots of behind the scenes drama while we were planning our move.
There are weird things about this house that I am not used to. I'm wondering when the echoing noise will stop. Maybe when we unpack?
The plumbing in the upstairs bathroom (next to my bed) is very loud and when Geoff gets up at 5am for school the shower wakes me with its screaming.
There is a weird strip of flooring in the living room that is perpetually ...damp? It is kind of weird. I'm wondering if it will become un-damp when the humidity clears up?
Every door threshold has a thing across it that is raised up a bit, like a speed bump. I don't know what it is called, but I hit the bottom of my foot on it EVERY TIME I go in and out of a room.
My bathroom has hardwood floors. I've never lived in a house with a bathroom with hardwood floors. I'm perpetually worried about the floorboards getting wet, the toilet overflowing, the tub having the shower curtain not tucked in just right...
I'm off to Gloucester to meet up with Geoff and his friend Kevin to pick them up post-Schooner race. I hope they had "Plain Sailing Weather" as Frank Turner says...
I have the place to myself, well, me and three dogs who are up my butt like hemorrhoids because they're still mightily freaked out about this whole scene.
And I am sitting here laughing because I locked all the doors at the old house last night, and have no idea whatsoever where the keys are to those doors. Oh well. Well, I have an idea... it's all about boxes though and the art of unpacking.
My friend Judy said that three weeks before you pack everything is meticulously organized, boxes labeled; 2 weeks in the boxes might say what room they're destined for; week before everything is randomly chucked into boxes; moving day -- trash bags. Yup. That's exactly what happened here. So we'll start with our trash bags and work our way backwards to the carefully packed and labeled boxes. And the keys will be in one of those meticulously labeled boxes. I bet you.
My sister was here for three days helping us, which was such a blessing. Friends from church helped there and here, which was a blessing. People brought us meals, which was a blessing. I didn't break down and cry once, which was a blessing. The dishwasher works here, which is a blessing. My son made dinner last night while Doug and I were at the old house, and even though he used all the mozzarella when he should have used a third of it, that was a blessing. Carrie arranged for someone to give us a used 1996 volvo, for free, which has been the greatest blessing we could have hoped for... and...
The washing machine arrives Thursday, and that will be the biggest blessing of them all.
I found out some more about my landlord and the former tenant... I guess that after the former tenant decided they were not renewing their lease, and the landlord advertised the apartment, showed the apartment, rented the apartment... the dude changed his mind about moving. The landlord told him "no dice, dude, sorry."
So the previous tenant was not exactly happy, or compliant, about moving.
I'd informed my landlord about the exchange between my husband and the dude in regards to the dumpster, and all the shit he left behind in the garage. My landlord was apologetic and filled me in on their less than perfect parting. Interesting. Lots of behind the scenes drama while we were planning our move.
There are weird things about this house that I am not used to. I'm wondering when the echoing noise will stop. Maybe when we unpack?
The plumbing in the upstairs bathroom (next to my bed) is very loud and when Geoff gets up at 5am for school the shower wakes me with its screaming.
There is a weird strip of flooring in the living room that is perpetually ...damp? It is kind of weird. I'm wondering if it will become un-damp when the humidity clears up?
Every door threshold has a thing across it that is raised up a bit, like a speed bump. I don't know what it is called, but I hit the bottom of my foot on it EVERY TIME I go in and out of a room.
My bathroom has hardwood floors. I've never lived in a house with a bathroom with hardwood floors. I'm perpetually worried about the floorboards getting wet, the toilet overflowing, the tub having the shower curtain not tucked in just right...
I'm off to Gloucester to meet up with Geoff and his friend Kevin to pick them up post-Schooner race. I hope they had "Plain Sailing Weather" as Frank Turner says...
Sunday, August 25, 2013
more moving. MOAR MOVIN! AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGH
Oh my gosh. Moving. I hate moving.
This has been much better than the last time we moved, but it still has been an utter pain in the ass.
Sunday we met with the landlord and got the keys. The former tenant had left a mile and a half of shit in the driveway, and the town came Monday morning and took 2 trash barrels of trash, which is the town policy. The place is a mess, he barely left with all his stuff, and left a crap ton behind. For us to deal with. We told the Landlord that we'd clean up but he'd pay for it with a dumpster... he agreed to that but said he'd try and get the tenant to make good. We moved some stuff over on Sunday night, and sighed heavily as we started thinking about the tasks ahead of us.
Monday I was at work and Doug, Geoff and Thane did a ton of work and moving with a rented van. Our friend Wayne and his kids came down and helped too. The two older ones were a big help. The three younger ones were good at whacking weeds and throwing stuff in the trash and keeping the dogs busy. I got home from work in time for Pizza and bee stings. We discovered the garage, beside which we were eating, was infested with bees, yellow jackets, hornets, flying evil bastards. That brought our fun to an end.
Tuesday, same thing. Fewer Bees.Thane came over again and the three of them packmuled everything that I had packed and could pack. Keeping up with them was a challenge. Thane left for NY on Wednesday, so we lost his help. Doug and Geoff continued to work hard, and by Friday we had movers bring over the heavy stuff that we couldn't deal with on our own. Beds, bed frames, mattresses, bureaus and the like. Friday night all of our beds were over here, so ... we slept over here.
Doug brought the dogs over while I was at work. All of them except for Brodie have settled in really well. She is completely freaked out, even two days later.
Friday was interesting for Doug in my absence. Our landlord had been trying to get the former tenant to clean up the mess he left behind. The guy showed up and gave my husband attitude about how "it's no big deal" and Doug gave it right back with "if it is no big deal, clean it up, jerk." Our landlord had the guy pay my son 40 bucks to fill a dumpster, literally FILL a dumpster, with the shit he left behind.
We got our DirectTV and comcast service pumped in. I ran errands on Saturday morning, Geoff and I went on a shopping spree at K-mart to get cleaning supplies and stuff for the bathroom. My sister arrived Saturday afternoon, and we commenced to working and cleaning our asses off here at the new place. I didn't intend to have the whole day spent here cleaning when we still have stuff to do over the other house.
Today my sister and I did some cleaning here, some folks from our church joined us and we also went to the old house. I think we spent 5 hours at the old place, several of us working hard. Doug and Andy (our friend from church) cleaned the basement out. Andy's wife Jan tackled the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. I went upstairs to the bathroom and Geoff's room. Doug and Geoff went back to the house after Andy and Jan left, and I stayed and worked on the downstairs... my ADD was showing, as I walked into every room, did things, worked on things, forgot what I was doing in other rooms, and so I was not making the best use of my time. Still, I got a whole ton of stuff done alone.
We still have to do our bedroom and the study. Then mop.
I feel that we're going above and beyond on our end, so I'm extra grouchy about the douchebag of a former tenant giving my husband a ration of shit about 40 bucks and a dumpster that the landlord is paying for.
We're now thinking about paint. The former tenants didn't know how to use the woodstove so the entire downstairs smells like burning. There is soot on everything. My sister cleaned the fridge out, and it took her an hour.
I am super thankful for the dishwasher... so happy for that.
And now, Breaking Bad.
This has been much better than the last time we moved, but it still has been an utter pain in the ass.
Sunday we met with the landlord and got the keys. The former tenant had left a mile and a half of shit in the driveway, and the town came Monday morning and took 2 trash barrels of trash, which is the town policy. The place is a mess, he barely left with all his stuff, and left a crap ton behind. For us to deal with. We told the Landlord that we'd clean up but he'd pay for it with a dumpster... he agreed to that but said he'd try and get the tenant to make good. We moved some stuff over on Sunday night, and sighed heavily as we started thinking about the tasks ahead of us.
Monday I was at work and Doug, Geoff and Thane did a ton of work and moving with a rented van. Our friend Wayne and his kids came down and helped too. The two older ones were a big help. The three younger ones were good at whacking weeds and throwing stuff in the trash and keeping the dogs busy. I got home from work in time for Pizza and bee stings. We discovered the garage, beside which we were eating, was infested with bees, yellow jackets, hornets, flying evil bastards. That brought our fun to an end.
Tuesday, same thing. Fewer Bees.Thane came over again and the three of them packmuled everything that I had packed and could pack. Keeping up with them was a challenge. Thane left for NY on Wednesday, so we lost his help. Doug and Geoff continued to work hard, and by Friday we had movers bring over the heavy stuff that we couldn't deal with on our own. Beds, bed frames, mattresses, bureaus and the like. Friday night all of our beds were over here, so ... we slept over here.
Doug brought the dogs over while I was at work. All of them except for Brodie have settled in really well. She is completely freaked out, even two days later.
Friday was interesting for Doug in my absence. Our landlord had been trying to get the former tenant to clean up the mess he left behind. The guy showed up and gave my husband attitude about how "it's no big deal" and Doug gave it right back with "if it is no big deal, clean it up, jerk." Our landlord had the guy pay my son 40 bucks to fill a dumpster, literally FILL a dumpster, with the shit he left behind.
We got our DirectTV and comcast service pumped in. I ran errands on Saturday morning, Geoff and I went on a shopping spree at K-mart to get cleaning supplies and stuff for the bathroom. My sister arrived Saturday afternoon, and we commenced to working and cleaning our asses off here at the new place. I didn't intend to have the whole day spent here cleaning when we still have stuff to do over the other house.
Today my sister and I did some cleaning here, some folks from our church joined us and we also went to the old house. I think we spent 5 hours at the old place, several of us working hard. Doug and Andy (our friend from church) cleaned the basement out. Andy's wife Jan tackled the kitchen and downstairs bathroom. I went upstairs to the bathroom and Geoff's room. Doug and Geoff went back to the house after Andy and Jan left, and I stayed and worked on the downstairs... my ADD was showing, as I walked into every room, did things, worked on things, forgot what I was doing in other rooms, and so I was not making the best use of my time. Still, I got a whole ton of stuff done alone.
We still have to do our bedroom and the study. Then mop.
I feel that we're going above and beyond on our end, so I'm extra grouchy about the douchebag of a former tenant giving my husband a ration of shit about 40 bucks and a dumpster that the landlord is paying for.
We're now thinking about paint. The former tenants didn't know how to use the woodstove so the entire downstairs smells like burning. There is soot on everything. My sister cleaned the fridge out, and it took her an hour.
I am super thankful for the dishwasher... so happy for that.
And now, Breaking Bad.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
A very moving day, a very moving week
So here we are on day two of the diaspora from our beloved home into a 2 year rental that I am okay with but won't love with all my heart and all my soul. When we looked at the apartment, the tenants were in there -- and all their stuff was in there. Now 90% of their garbage sits at the end of the driveway, and the town didn't take it on trash day. They didn't "broom clean" the interior. There is stuff and crap everywhere.
We talked with the landlord about him hiring a contractor to move everything out, and we're going to just do it, get a dumpster (because really, it will benefit US as well if we have one and then he pays for it, if you know what I mean...) and I'm going to clean every surface that they left dirty.
There is a storage closet that used to be a bathroom. When we looked at the place it was filled with storage items, which makes sense. Now we see that where the tub used to be is unfinished - exposed floors and walls. I think I'm going to politely request that the landlord finish that room and make it a room instead of a half undone bathroom.
He mentioned he's going to pull the deck off of the back of the house as it is a mess, and falling down in places. So I would like for that to happen sooner than later, and really would like a bigger deck. where a piece of patio furniture and a couple chairs can fit up on it.
I have very few wants and expectations in life. My goal was to find a place in our school district that we could afford, and this is the place that we could afford. Considering there are three rentals right now in our district that are twice what this place is, I'm not complaining.
The way I see it, and this is my mantra, "It's only two years. Two years from right now, right this very minute, we can move again if we want to. Anywhere in the country. Anywhere in the world. Anywhere."
Doug has been a workhorse. I had to work yesterday, so he and Geoff and our neighbor Thane set out to work on loading the u-haul truck. Our friend Wayne and five of his six kids (the oldest is at college) came to help. Doug was happy that the older two were on the job, the younger three were a bit of a challenge but when they were given tasks they set to them and went to town. Doug had them hack down a ton of weeds in front of the house. They did a great job.
By the time I arrived from work, they were settling in to pizzas. We were sitting by the garage eating and chatting, and the three littles ran around playing... and then were attacked by bees.
So we had kind of a rough ending to the day. And have discovered the garage is full of flying stinging motherfuckers that we have to murder.
No wonder the tenants didn't clean it out.
So.... work is cut out for us. I'm just doing a quick entry before taking Geoff for a doctor's appointment. Then it is back to the grind.
More later.
We talked with the landlord about him hiring a contractor to move everything out, and we're going to just do it, get a dumpster (because really, it will benefit US as well if we have one and then he pays for it, if you know what I mean...) and I'm going to clean every surface that they left dirty.
There is a storage closet that used to be a bathroom. When we looked at the place it was filled with storage items, which makes sense. Now we see that where the tub used to be is unfinished - exposed floors and walls. I think I'm going to politely request that the landlord finish that room and make it a room instead of a half undone bathroom.
He mentioned he's going to pull the deck off of the back of the house as it is a mess, and falling down in places. So I would like for that to happen sooner than later, and really would like a bigger deck. where a piece of patio furniture and a couple chairs can fit up on it.
I have very few wants and expectations in life. My goal was to find a place in our school district that we could afford, and this is the place that we could afford. Considering there are three rentals right now in our district that are twice what this place is, I'm not complaining.
The way I see it, and this is my mantra, "It's only two years. Two years from right now, right this very minute, we can move again if we want to. Anywhere in the country. Anywhere in the world. Anywhere."
Doug has been a workhorse. I had to work yesterday, so he and Geoff and our neighbor Thane set out to work on loading the u-haul truck. Our friend Wayne and five of his six kids (the oldest is at college) came to help. Doug was happy that the older two were on the job, the younger three were a bit of a challenge but when they were given tasks they set to them and went to town. Doug had them hack down a ton of weeds in front of the house. They did a great job.
By the time I arrived from work, they were settling in to pizzas. We were sitting by the garage eating and chatting, and the three littles ran around playing... and then were attacked by bees.
So we had kind of a rough ending to the day. And have discovered the garage is full of flying stinging motherfuckers that we have to murder.
No wonder the tenants didn't clean it out.
So.... work is cut out for us. I'm just doing a quick entry before taking Geoff for a doctor's appointment. Then it is back to the grind.
More later.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Kitchen Spider
Usually, I kill spiders.
I don't like them. I don't like knowing they could crawl into my water glass and then bite me when I go to drink them (as happened to my friend Dan one night). I don't like webs and cobwebs. I do not like when I am sitting here in my ancient house and a spider has the audacity to lower itself from the ceiling RIGHT ABOVE MY HEAD and onto my laptop. I freak out. So when I see them, before they can get in my water glass or stealthily lower themselves down onto my laptop or do any other spidery nefarious activity, I kill them when I see them.
But lately, there is one spider I have allowed to exist.
It appeared this summer, early. It lives in our kitchen window, down in the bottom right corner. I would knock down its web every day when I came to get coffee in the morning, and it would build a new one every night. It didn't leave, and I didn't kill it.
This was a battle of wills between me and this little spinster.
We went away for a weekend, and I came home to find that the web was once again built, tougher and heartier than ever before, and there were flies in it. Right before we went away, some flies decided to come into my house and were bothering the crap out of me. But over that weekend the spider took care of them. Three big fat flies were dead in its web.
Aha! You are serving a purpose. Today, I will not knock down your web.
For weeks now, the spider has done its thing, and I have not knocked down its web. Sometimes it builds over to the dish strainer, and I have to knock down THAT part of things, because it will be in the way of me doing dishes ten times a day, which is literally how often I do dishes.
When I come down in the morning, get coffee and wash dishes that somehow accumulated overnight (cough, Geoff, Ramen, Pizza Rolls) it comes out of its little cone in the web, climbs up out of the window gap, stands there, and it watches me.
"Good morning," I say to it. "Do a good job today on mosquitoes and other bugs for me. Have a nice day."
It does not reply. I wonder if it drinks or needs water ever, so when it isn't there I flick water off of my finger tips towards the web. The little beads sit there, and I do not know what becomes of them later when I'm not watching. Does the spider come drink the water or does it just evaporate? I realize I know very little about the needs of spiders.
In a week, we will be halfway done moving into the new house. Today as I got my coffee and washed the mystery post-midnight dishes, I started crying when the spider came out of its opening to watch me. I realized I wouldn't be seeing it every morning anymore, and that its companionship, if you can call it that because really, honestly, it isn't like a FRIEND or anything, will end. Our morning tet-a-tet will come to an end.
And that is just unacceptable.
And I know why I'm crying. I'm not crying because of a fucking six eyed bug-eating machine. I'm crying because I'm losing my house, because my car fucking blew up in BUFFALO of all places, good God. I'm crying because I won't be able to just open the back door in the morning and let the dogs run out into the acre of yard anymore. I have to tie them up. They aren't going to understand that. They're going to look at me like "seriously, lady... when are we done here and going home to our house."
I'm crying because I won't be able to look out across the yard to Nancy and Thane's house and see them in the kitchen light. I am crying because my neighbor Jim won't be giving my dogs cookies in the morning, and he won't be standing there watching them run and play before he leaves for work.
I am crying because I feel I have lost complete control of my life. It's not about the spider. But fuck. That's my spider, damnit. I'm going to miss it.
I seriously thought about trying to catch it and bring it with me. It jumps like you wouldn't believe -- it is so skilled! But that would be ridiculous.
Pretty sure that it will be just fine when we're gone, there will be enough bugs to be had. And I wonder if it will miss me? Will it come out in the morning expecting me to pour the milk in the green mug with Rocket Dog and Life Is Good on it, my favorite mug... Will it think "Oh, she went away for the weekend again, I'll see her later."
I don't like them. I don't like knowing they could crawl into my water glass and then bite me when I go to drink them (as happened to my friend Dan one night). I don't like webs and cobwebs. I do not like when I am sitting here in my ancient house and a spider has the audacity to lower itself from the ceiling RIGHT ABOVE MY HEAD and onto my laptop. I freak out. So when I see them, before they can get in my water glass or stealthily lower themselves down onto my laptop or do any other spidery nefarious activity, I kill them when I see them.
But lately, there is one spider I have allowed to exist.
It appeared this summer, early. It lives in our kitchen window, down in the bottom right corner. I would knock down its web every day when I came to get coffee in the morning, and it would build a new one every night. It didn't leave, and I didn't kill it.
This was a battle of wills between me and this little spinster.
We went away for a weekend, and I came home to find that the web was once again built, tougher and heartier than ever before, and there were flies in it. Right before we went away, some flies decided to come into my house and were bothering the crap out of me. But over that weekend the spider took care of them. Three big fat flies were dead in its web.
Aha! You are serving a purpose. Today, I will not knock down your web.
For weeks now, the spider has done its thing, and I have not knocked down its web. Sometimes it builds over to the dish strainer, and I have to knock down THAT part of things, because it will be in the way of me doing dishes ten times a day, which is literally how often I do dishes.
When I come down in the morning, get coffee and wash dishes that somehow accumulated overnight (cough, Geoff, Ramen, Pizza Rolls) it comes out of its little cone in the web, climbs up out of the window gap, stands there, and it watches me.
"Good morning," I say to it. "Do a good job today on mosquitoes and other bugs for me. Have a nice day."
It does not reply. I wonder if it drinks or needs water ever, so when it isn't there I flick water off of my finger tips towards the web. The little beads sit there, and I do not know what becomes of them later when I'm not watching. Does the spider come drink the water or does it just evaporate? I realize I know very little about the needs of spiders.
In a week, we will be halfway done moving into the new house. Today as I got my coffee and washed the mystery post-midnight dishes, I started crying when the spider came out of its opening to watch me. I realized I wouldn't be seeing it every morning anymore, and that its companionship, if you can call it that because really, honestly, it isn't like a FRIEND or anything, will end. Our morning tet-a-tet will come to an end.
And that is just unacceptable.
And I know why I'm crying. I'm not crying because of a fucking six eyed bug-eating machine. I'm crying because I'm losing my house, because my car fucking blew up in BUFFALO of all places, good God. I'm crying because I won't be able to just open the back door in the morning and let the dogs run out into the acre of yard anymore. I have to tie them up. They aren't going to understand that. They're going to look at me like "seriously, lady... when are we done here and going home to our house."
I'm crying because I won't be able to look out across the yard to Nancy and Thane's house and see them in the kitchen light. I am crying because my neighbor Jim won't be giving my dogs cookies in the morning, and he won't be standing there watching them run and play before he leaves for work.
I am crying because I feel I have lost complete control of my life. It's not about the spider. But fuck. That's my spider, damnit. I'm going to miss it.
I seriously thought about trying to catch it and bring it with me. It jumps like you wouldn't believe -- it is so skilled! But that would be ridiculous.
Pretty sure that it will be just fine when we're gone, there will be enough bugs to be had. And I wonder if it will miss me? Will it come out in the morning expecting me to pour the milk in the green mug with Rocket Dog and Life Is Good on it, my favorite mug... Will it think "Oh, she went away for the weekend again, I'll see her later."
And then, this happened
Friday Doug was out in Buffalo NY at a conference. He took the Subaru, which was running perfectly and beautifully. But it decided to die in the middle of an intersection in Amherst NY as he was on his way to LensCrafters to get his glasses fixed at the end of the conference.
He got the car towed to a local shop, it was about 4pm and the guy was closing at 5 but gave the car a careful look over. He tried a few things that didn't work, and then told Doug that he was gonna have to look at it on Monday.
Doug called me and told me to look at some options for travel home. One way plane ticket, one way bus ticket. Bus was cheap but he had just missed the only one that day, the next one was at 12:30am the following day. Air was prohibitively expensive on such short notice. He sighed heavily and then the mechanic came over to talk to him.
"You from Massachusetts?" he asked in a thick Eastern European accent. Doug told him yes. "I am going to Ludlow tonight. Do you want a ride? We leave in an hour."
"Yes." replied Doug.
"Can you pick me up in Ludlow at about midnight?" he asked me.
Uh.
"Sure." I answered. I had thought maybe our friends in Amherst, MA could grab him at midnight and I could get him the next morning, but I knew how I would feel in his shoes. Get me the motherfuck home.
"I'll see about borrowing C's car since I'm worried about the Volvo going long distances, and I'll pick you up in Ludlow around midnight."
C loaned me her car, I headed out to get to the rendezvous point and when I arrived there were four adults outside the car, two children sleeping inside. The mechanic and his girlfriend hugged me. I said hi to a man named Peter from Poland, visiting on vacation. Doug had his suitcase and a bag of stuff from inside the car all packed up with him. We loaded up into C's car and the mechanic said he'd be home Monday afternoon and would give us a call on what is going on with the car.
I thanked them for giving him a ride this far and the mechanic said "You're good people and we're good people so we take care of each other. It was no problem. We were coming here anyway."
Goodbyes exchanged, Doug and I drive back to the Masspike, and he tells me that for the last six hours he was in a car listening to Gypsy Polka music, surrounded by discussions in Polish, lots of laughter and snacks and happiness. The mechanic had a lead foot and a penchant for the dramatic when talking about the Mafia State Troopers along the corridor who extort money from travelers and who are crooked as the mountain roads they were passing at a high rate of speed.
Doug and I had a good laugh, and I was happy to get him home at 2am, and we waited to hear about the car.
The engine is shot, gone, kaput. Just like that. The mechanic tried his best to fix it, and then started sourcing used motors for replacement. He found one at about 105k miles for 3k price. That wouldn't include the labor of replacing it. We'd be looking at around 4,500 bucks for the repair. Doug has opted to junk it. I'm bummed because we'll get about 400 bucks for the car, and I think the Dog Gate in the back of the car is worth that. I forget what we paid for it but it was a good amount.
I'm sad at a level I cannot even express or comprehend today about this. I loved that car. For as bummed as I am about losing the house, I am taking this car thing really hard. I am especially bummed out about losing the BNL bumper sticker on the back fender, because they don't even make those anymore. I'm going to mourn the car far harder and more loudly than I will the house I think. I have a place to move to, I don't have a good car to drive my dogs around in now. And I'm fucking pissed and sad like I haven't been in forever.
Our 1999 volvo started making HORRIBLE noises on the way home from work yesterday, the back left wheel is screeching so I have a call into our local mechanic for him to take a look at it tomorrow.
I would laugh if I thought it would get me anywhere. I'd cry too, if I thought that could help.
He got the car towed to a local shop, it was about 4pm and the guy was closing at 5 but gave the car a careful look over. He tried a few things that didn't work, and then told Doug that he was gonna have to look at it on Monday.
Doug called me and told me to look at some options for travel home. One way plane ticket, one way bus ticket. Bus was cheap but he had just missed the only one that day, the next one was at 12:30am the following day. Air was prohibitively expensive on such short notice. He sighed heavily and then the mechanic came over to talk to him.
"You from Massachusetts?" he asked in a thick Eastern European accent. Doug told him yes. "I am going to Ludlow tonight. Do you want a ride? We leave in an hour."
"Yes." replied Doug.
"Can you pick me up in Ludlow at about midnight?" he asked me.
Uh.
"Sure." I answered. I had thought maybe our friends in Amherst, MA could grab him at midnight and I could get him the next morning, but I knew how I would feel in his shoes. Get me the motherfuck home.
"I'll see about borrowing C's car since I'm worried about the Volvo going long distances, and I'll pick you up in Ludlow around midnight."
C loaned me her car, I headed out to get to the rendezvous point and when I arrived there were four adults outside the car, two children sleeping inside. The mechanic and his girlfriend hugged me. I said hi to a man named Peter from Poland, visiting on vacation. Doug had his suitcase and a bag of stuff from inside the car all packed up with him. We loaded up into C's car and the mechanic said he'd be home Monday afternoon and would give us a call on what is going on with the car.
I thanked them for giving him a ride this far and the mechanic said "You're good people and we're good people so we take care of each other. It was no problem. We were coming here anyway."
Goodbyes exchanged, Doug and I drive back to the Masspike, and he tells me that for the last six hours he was in a car listening to Gypsy Polka music, surrounded by discussions in Polish, lots of laughter and snacks and happiness. The mechanic had a lead foot and a penchant for the dramatic when talking about the Mafia State Troopers along the corridor who extort money from travelers and who are crooked as the mountain roads they were passing at a high rate of speed.
Doug and I had a good laugh, and I was happy to get him home at 2am, and we waited to hear about the car.
The engine is shot, gone, kaput. Just like that. The mechanic tried his best to fix it, and then started sourcing used motors for replacement. He found one at about 105k miles for 3k price. That wouldn't include the labor of replacing it. We'd be looking at around 4,500 bucks for the repair. Doug has opted to junk it. I'm bummed because we'll get about 400 bucks for the car, and I think the Dog Gate in the back of the car is worth that. I forget what we paid for it but it was a good amount.
I'm sad at a level I cannot even express or comprehend today about this. I loved that car. For as bummed as I am about losing the house, I am taking this car thing really hard. I am especially bummed out about losing the BNL bumper sticker on the back fender, because they don't even make those anymore. I'm going to mourn the car far harder and more loudly than I will the house I think. I have a place to move to, I don't have a good car to drive my dogs around in now. And I'm fucking pissed and sad like I haven't been in forever.
Our 1999 volvo started making HORRIBLE noises on the way home from work yesterday, the back left wheel is screeching so I have a call into our local mechanic for him to take a look at it tomorrow.
I would laugh if I thought it would get me anywhere. I'd cry too, if I thought that could help.
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