Category: Uncategorized

My two best friends

grace&sweetieI have a dog. She is a rescue that came to me when I lived on the Big Island. I had wanted a small dog for about a year and one day she appeared. Of course there is more to the story than that.
I was housesitting which included watching over the cat, four dogs, one horse and 40 chickens. I was driving home from Pahoa town going down the narrow two lane road that led to the beach when I spotted a small dog running along side the road. Oh that’s not good, road kill I thought as this could be a busy road on the weekends. I turned the car around and went back to the spot where I had seen the dog, got out of the car and started calling here Sweetie come here and there she was looking up at me, so I scooped her up and put her in Big Red (my jeep) and back to farm. I knew I couldn’t let her out with the other dogs that often had a pack mentality so I wrapped her up and found a chicken cage to put her in. That night she slept with me in the loft while the other dogs scratched and whined at the door. She was so small, I felt like I was taking care of a baby. It was the weekend so I had to wait to Monday to call the animal shelter to find out whom she belonged to as she did have a tag on her collar. I find the owner and take the baby dog who is really maybe 4 years old back to the owner, who is this eccentric woman who tells me that the dog was kidnapped and that she hasn’t had the dog that long. The crazy woman raises exotic cats and had this large outdoor cage where she kept the cats and did say that when she went away she would leave the dog in there with the beasts. The whole time she is telling me this story the little dog is sitting on my lap, she has made no attempt to acknowledge her owner. We both noticed this. I leave feeling sorry for the little dog but thinking maybe I wasn’t ready to have a dog as this one seemed so needy.
About two months later the crazy woman calls me up to say that it is not working out with the dog, the cats want to scratch her eyes out. And since you saved the dog maybe you should take her. I was living in this koa wood cabin at the time that had not been occupied for a while so I was sharing it with some critters that turned out to be mongoose. It must have been mating season because they had started to show them self to me more often and I could tell they felt I was taking up to much room. I have a YouTube video about how I tried to capture and relocate them. Anyway a friend mentioned that the dog would probably help discourage the critters. So I took the dog. She had a Hawaiian name that meant something like sweetheart but I kept forgetting it so I just called her Sweetie. Well my friend was right she went into and under and over that cabin and made sure that we two were the only ones living inside.
Sweetie has been my best friend now for 8 years.
She is rat terrier/Chihuahua mix? Everyone has an opinion as to her breed. I am a bit of a dog snob and never thought I liked Chihuahua until I met Sweetie but of course she is not your average dog. She does not nip, or yap and has learned how to visualize her inner German shepherd so rarely shakes. She understands English; she likes people (women more than men), is polite to dogs and cats and will poop on command.
More about Sweetie later.

Storage

I finally made it up the two flights of stairs to the queen mum’s storage space. Four big boxes and a small suitcase, not bad I think. Wrong. What do we keep in storage? All those mementos that we just can’t seem to let go of, the important papers, pictures, letters, cards, tapes, history. I carried them down the fourteen steps slowly as I don’t feel grounded and falling, tripping,stumbling would not surprise me.
I’ve been trying to stay “in the moment.” Trying not to think too long or hard about what happened that last month but I don’t find it easy. Trying to remember to eat, brush teeth, smile, relax, breathe while inside I’m cowering in the corner. So today it was the boxes from storage that brought the tears and the pain in my heart to the front. Boxes full of memories, most wonderful, some grab my soul sad. She had saved every piece of paper that had anything to do with my brother Sean’s death. Her husband Capt. Rolly had saved drawings from my nieces when they still drew Birthday cards, such a sweet, sentimental thing to do. Family pictures, b&w photos of relatives I never knew, every card I’ve ever sent them. Their life now in a box to be thrown away.

I got attitude

My petite estate sale is tomorrow, and I’m okay ready. A so called friend who I have never really had any dealings with except having to go to her husbands boring birthday parties because he is an old friend of my mom Grace and her then husband Rolly called up and offered to help with the sale about three days ago. I called right back and said yes please because I have pretty much given up buying stuff and had no idea how to price ( I have a give it away mentality, which when you are broke is maybe, why you are broke}. So she doesn’t show up the first day she said she might and the second day she calls to say she thinks she is sick and doesn’t want to infect ( so Port Townsend considerate) and then goes on to say she doesn’t price stuff, just waits to somebody asks and then you know makes a party of it and has fun trying to get them to pay a good price. it’s around this point as I listen to the message I hang up as yeah that is how I feel right now, let’s party with my dead mothers’ stuff. So then she calls back and says I just realized what I said to you, I’m so sorry. Guess what? I’m busy and you aint’ helping so goodbye. I had made a sign for the estate sale that said “Make me an offer but don’t offend me. I have attitude.” When I showed it to a real friend who did help she said “that might be a little off putting”. I felt I had toned it down, my original sign was: Make me an offer, but don’t offend me. I’m not in the mood to suffer fools.

Taking care of the details

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon I will be able to think about something else besides the queen mum. Yes, she is still running the show. So many details go with the death of a loved one. Friends and family to contact, some by phone (that is the hardest) some by social network (that is easier but so impersonal). I found out my dearest friend had committed suicide by an email. That was hard, the news coming that way. Is there a good way to find out about someone you love death? There is no good way.
Every day details. The newspaper, TV guide, dish, telephone, magazine subscriptions, dental insurance, AARP
insurance, give 30 day notice at apartment, send out memorial cards, put in an obit in the newspaper, change address, notify bank, credit cards, send back dish box, find a home for pet, go through all her papers, cards, pictures, she never threw away anything that belonged to her dead husband, have an petite estate sale, go through kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, closet, storage. Throwing away stuff, stuff and more stuff. Giving back the hearing aid she had just bought, returning the birthday and Christmas gifts she never saw or got to use. Donating to local charities, changing titles on car, cancelling her life. I’m almost done.
This is good, as I need to think about something else for a while. I need to forget and remember, to come back to the present, to brush my hair and wipe the sleep out of my eyes, to get out the big eye mirror and check for long black hairs that show up overnight on my chin. I want to be able to read a book, magazine, look someone in the eye without crying, and get my shoulders out of my ears. I want to feel it’s ok to take time to go swimming, take a yoga class, be nice to myself without feeling like I need to finish something first, enjoy my food instead of forgetting to eat and then eating too fast because I’m not paying attention to the food but the list that is going on inside my head.
Oh I’m not saying I’m almost finished, I still have boxes and garbage bags full of medical supplies and medicine and photos and cards to got through but I will do them at my pace not dealing with a deadline.
And when I’m back in my body in the here and now I am going to do something about our local nursing home.

My Town?

I have lived in mum’s gentrified, adorable, PNW town for six years. Besides being her caregiver, I have had jobs working at a hotel, cleaning houses, and pet sitting. I haven’t met a lot of people but I took some creative writing classes and swam at the local pool (lap swimmers are very unfriendly). I was hurt when mum died and the only people who called to offer sympathy were two of her old local friends. I am grateful that my old friends called from around the country. No one that I had met in this quaint, almost all white bread, politically correct, GMO sensitive town felt the need to call. They are so aware here, they are too correct.
Here is one example of my limited exchange with “my” community.
For almost four years I have known a couple in town that I once worked for as their housekeeper, I have babysat their animal, I have the keys to their house even though I no longer houseclean for them, I have the keys because they have been known to call me up to check on house, animal whatever. I have had Thanksgiving dinner with them, the wife and I have girl dinners together. I am a Facebook friends with both of them so they could read about what I am up too. The husband calls me up to ask me for some help (they always pay generous) and during our conversation after I assure him I would be happy to take care of his concerns he says to me “I hear your mom died, were you close?” My heart skipped a beat and I’m sure my face turned bright red (good thing we were talking on the phone) as I replied “Yes we were, I’ve been her caregiver for the last six years, that is why I moved here.” With no hesitation he goes back to talking about his problems. My town. Am I concerned he might see this? Not really, I doubt he would even think I was talking about him.

Full Moon

I always have a hard time sleeping when there is a full moon. I don’t know why that is. I know a woman who says her hair gets weird during the full moon. And emotional, I get emotional during the full moon, maybe because of a lack of sleep. One time my sister, mother and I went outside when the moon was full and the three of us howled. That’s a good memory. I’d like to dance by the light of the moon. Soon, this weight will lighten and I’ll be there.

What is

Should I tell people the truth when they ask ” Did she suffer,I hope she didn’t suffer?” I know they want me to say “No, she didn’t suffer, she went peacefully.” But that is not the truth. I tried my best to give her a “good death.” Now I don’t even know if that is possible unless you go quickly. What difference does it make now if she suffered or not, if she was here I think she would say, “Everything is fine.” She was good at saying what she thought you wanted to hear. She knew how to keep secrets. I didn’t learn that from her, I don’t know how to say what I think you want to hear. I don’t know how to keep secrets.

Blue can mean so many different things.

Marvin looked in the mirror and thought, “I’m old”. He had been looking at his face for seventy-five years. He barely recognized himself. His face had sunken in and his skin was pasty. He stared at his swollen nose and bushy eyebrows through lifeless eyes.
He was old and ready to die. His wife had died. The dog he got to keep him company died. His friends were gone. Even the neighbors had moved or died.
It was time. He knew it. He felt it. Wearing this attitude he crossed the street without looking in either direction.
When he bumped into the VW bug at the STOP sign he fell to the ground.
Marvin lay on his side, eyes closed. He knew he wasn’t seriously hurt, definitely not dead. He had banged his head. He felt the pounding behind his eyes. “Are you alright?” he heard her yell. He decided to open his eyes even thought he didn’t want to. It was so bright he thought maybe he had died after all, and was in heaven.
“Color,” he screamed. “I can see color.” Tears filled his eyes making the colors blend. Everything was beautiful.
Marvin let the girl help him up. “What color are your eyes?” he asked her. “Why blue, my eyes are blue,” she replied.
“Blue, beautiful blue, “ he cried. All his life he had been colorblind. Everything the same color, just in different shades. “Thank you so much,” he whispered.
Suddenly he didn’t feel old anymore. Smiling, he stared at the blue sky and crossed the street. A truck hit him. Hard.

I love looking at stats, who knew?

I used to be a disc jockey on the radio; I usually did the all night shift on weekends or early morning fill in. I wasn’t a serious jock, I was there by accident (nepotism) and I loved music. I enjoyed playing good music that the audience might be hearing for the first time or play a set that drew a picture or put together a segue which made you think it was one long piece of music.

The thing I liked was I saw this as instant art, done and then blown into the cosmos, having been told that radio waves just keep going.

When I started writing this blog this current time I just needed an outlet for my emotions, a way of breathing out the pain. I wanted to relate to others who have gone through the same thing; I just didn’t want a hug. I could do this with Facebook and a blog. I didn’t write the whole thing out on fb because I don’t feel it’s the right avenue for such talk and I figured if anyone wanted to know more they would go to my blog page, and they did. It felt good. But what really felt good is when I started looking at the stat page and saw that there were people in other countries looking at my page, for some reason this made me really happy. I guess it’s the idea of relating somewhere other then where you are. I live in a small town.

If you have looked at my blog you have maybe noticed I have no idea what I am doing. I only know how to print in one size, put a picture in the middle or the top, can’t figure out tags, so it is very basic. I haven’t been editing or revising my writing, just throwing it on the wall, like spaghetti. Somebody from Italy read one of my pieces, ITALY. How cool is that?