Peace

This is my parents' house today. I came back to tutor my niece in English so she can graduate high school. All the old stuff got to me when I came into the house. I am staying here by myself. The quiet. The dark. And it was all overrun by my parents' spirits and their memories and all the complications of my life. Then, I was wandering around and I realized, my parents died years ago. My niece and nephew in law have lived here and since moved to California. My sister and brother in law are moving in this summer. The place is being painted. New floors are being put in. It seems like you can bring in the light during the day, and the place is cool at night. There's a conservation area right across the street for snowy morning hikes. I am staying in my father's little bed, the same one I had when I was a kid. I've made peace with the place. That's what I am saying.

Freedom Street Fades

Here's where my parents lived. The garage door is open, and there's their car. I don't know when this picture was taken, but it looks like a nice day. The lawn has just been mowed. I don't know how healthy my mom and dad were at the time. Did my dad mow the lawn? Was my mom able to walk around still?

This is a picture from Google maps. Eventually, like the satellite picture from above, this picture will be updated. Their car will be gone. The garage will look different. Inside, it will be different. That tree will be bigger. So will those bushes.

Freedom St

The house on Freedom Street was my parents house for, I don't know, not twenty years. But I think over fifteen. But as I realized a few weeks ago, it was not my house. It was not the house I grew up in. It was not full of secret childhood memories. I did not get to peek into old corners and discover any surprising secrets about myself. And, I had already been through all the old boxes and stuff in the basement. This house was a small, one-story functional, practical little place that was dark in the middle and way too quite for my tastes. Because it was just me. Both my parents were gone, and it was highly unlikely, I realized, that either of them would ever see Freedom Street again.

When my dad got too sick, they had to put my mom in the nursing home, as he could no longer take care of her. For awhile (a few days? A week?) he was home alone with nothing to do but try and fix his situation. He wasn't quite sick enough be with my mom, yet. But he was getting so sick that he was losing his independence. He had colon cancer, liver cancer, lymphatic cancer and he was having trouble just getting himself from the couch to the refrigerator. The doctors did not recommend this procedure, but they could go in and take a look. Since his systems were shutting down, they might be able to bypass some of them, and give him a few extra days. He was thinking with a few baggies strapped to him, and some surgical tape, he might have a few more weeks to either be with my mom in the nursing home, or, be well enough to take care of her again.

When I got out there stuff was a mess. Once they opened him up, they found bad stuff. He got an infection. They did some emergency surgery, but he was not doing so well.

But this dark house. The first day or so, I had to keep positive. And all his stuff was there as if his day-to-day life was still happening.

Two bananas on the counter.
His Looking Good, Bob glass, and my mom's Happy Birthday coffee mug in the sink.
One half of a two pack of double chocolate chip muffins with St. Patty's Day icing. (a gift, I think, from one of his househelpers).
His pants, socks, and shirt laid out on his bed.
His little bed (the one I slept in as a child) made, as always, perfectly (Air Force training).
Trash, ready to go out.
Pile of newspapers, ready to go out.
A bag of donettes by his bed.
The lawn car guys showing up.
12 packs of Genny Cream Ale and Labatt's Blue.
His glasses.

And his last grocery list.

Wishbook

I found some of the old Sears and Penney's catalogs online. http://www.wishbookweb.com/ And around Christmastime, I sent a bunch of pages to my parents. I had just about everything there was from those catalogs. I remember a great hot wheels Christmas, where I got everything I must've asked for, and some other stuff I did not remember even seeing in the catalog. My dad (wait. santa) had set everything up, too. So it was all set up under the tree and ready to run. Plastic orange is a great all-over-under-the-tree color.

I remember Christmas's pretty well. They were a big deal to me. I have a dad who liked (and still likes) toys, so there was no weird gap there. He seemed to have fun, too. And, because of that, they bought me some cool stuff.

Looking through the catalogs made me recall a small gap that I was aware of as a kid, and I wondered if anyone else remembers this. There were toys that were yours, that you remembered getting, right? A great Christmas (or birthday or some other holiday) and you can remember getting it. It's yours.

But then, there's some other stuff that I remember, that I do not where it came from. I think, as a kid, this was something I was fairly interested in. There were cars and racetracks and stuff that I liked but did not recall receiving.


And, whether it was given to me by my parents, or if it came as a hand-me-down from neighbors, or my sister or something, the point was, that it came to me before I could remember getting it. And, I remember being aware as a kid, that there was this whole section of my earlier life that I could not remember clearly. A blurry, dark area of my seven year old brain, already damaged. It bothered me. It seemed so shameful.


They would explain to me that I was just a baby, and that nobody remembers when they were a baby. But, I did not buy it.

I still don't.

I Saw New York City!

I got to fly into Newark at night. I was in a window seat, but I couldn't figure out if I was going to get a good shot of Manhattan or not. And then I saw it. We were farther away than I wanted to be, but wow. Wow. You could see all the streets going east to west and they were all completely lit up with car lights, white one way and red on the other, and in the middle of the city you could see Times Square like a big pinball game in the middle. It was just around dusk, with everything lit up, but everything also lit by the setting sun. It was cool.

I had an okay flight to Newark. There was hardly anyone on the plane and it was one of those small ones that has just one seat on one side and two on the other. The flight from Newark to San Francisco was pretty good, too. I got to sit next to a pretty lady with no one in the middle seat. I got to watch 30 Rock and Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I had planned on drinking, but the drink cart only came around once. I was going to go back and ask for a drink. They're usually pretty good about that. But after Rise of the Planet of the Apes, I did not want to push my luck. So, still, it was kind of a long flight. But it could've been worse.

A week earlier, my flight to New Hampshire was cancelled and I had to reschedule. Sonny can tell you that this is true. In the Chicago Airport, my connecting flight was late, and then it just kept getting later. They kept adding hour after hour onto the arrival time. I walked up and down the airport terminal. I had some beef and some beer. But then the whole being-in-the-airport thing got old. I started thinking that I had never gone on a plane with anybody else. I've always traveled by myself. (It turns out that this is not true). I can think of three times I've flown with others. Once when I was fifteen to San Antonio, Texas. Once to Hawaii, and once to Los Angeles.

Still, this did not feel like a vacation. I was, at the time, kind of dreading seeing my folks, and the shape they were in. And it seemed like the airline (the gods) were making me wait and wait to get there. An airport layover that keeps getting later and later when you're dreading the destination is, I think, what the Catholics call Purgatory.

Now, let me sum up. My dad, as I think I've mentioned, has cancer, and they've given him a short timeline. And, he is looking a little bit worse for the wear. My mom was moved to the recuperation place when the blackout occurred on the east coast. When they went to bring her home, somehow, she fell out of her wheelchair in the ambulance and broke her leg. So, when I got there, she was in the hospital, and during my visit, she was moved back to the recuperation place (this time without incident).

Both my folks are troopers. Except for a broken leg, and being immobile, my mom seems to be in hardy shape. I got to spend a very nice amount of time with her where we would talk for awhile, look at photo albums, then she would read her kindle and I would do some crossword puzzles. It was relaxing and very, very nice. I do not get to see her very often, and it was nice that both of us did not feel the need to do anything but be in each others' company.

My dad looked a little smaller, and he had shaved the beard he's had since, I don't know, maybe forty years ago? That can't be right. I think he was around forty when he had his appendicitis. He was in the hospital getting his appendix out, and he grew the beard. When he went back into the hospital for the cancer surgery, he shaved it off. He's a bookend kind of guy like that. I appreciate that.

Since my mom got all messed up with her back, and the pain, and the medication and the immobility, my dad won't go out to eat or anything. He says it is unfair to her. You can try and reason with him, tell him that my mom would want him to go out and enjoy himself, that it might be making her feel bad, his staying home like a martyr. But he won't hear of it.

But then, things have changed for him. When I complain in my head, I think things like how my parents have never seen an apartment of mine since I was in college, that I missed many, many years with them and that I missed a lot of stuff, like having a drink with my dad somewhere.

But, this time, he let us take him out. Three times! Me and him had a steak dinner, Italian(Greek) and Mexican. He had a martini! He is charming and just awful at the same time. He and I played roommates for 6 days. It was crazy and really nice. The first night I was there, we stayed up 'til 6 in the morning, just talking.

My parents are going through some rough times, but they are still very nice to spend time with.

I look forward to seeing them both again in January.

If you are keeping score

I've got to get this stuff done by Sunday. This is actually yesterday's report, but I will update it later today or tomorrow.

12 formal reports. These are ball busters.
17 final essays.
9 final persuasive papers.
12 final essays which are really double essays (double rubrics, double grades).
14 more of the exact same thing.
Finally, I've got to deal with two blatant plagiarizers.

Now, I've still got two classes worth of discussions going and I still am supposed to be working on chapter 10 for Joel. But Joel says he can wait til next week.

Now, feel for me. Feel for me!

I Live!

I just ate four fig newtons.


Why does that remind me of volkswagen?