Why does my husband like to point out all the different makes and models of cars? I know my youngest daughter will be buying another car within the year. However, just because he shows me these cars doesn't mean that I'll remember what they even look like much less all their stats. So why do it??
While watching TV, why does he maintain a running commentary? How many times can a person say, "Shh?" Will he ever take the hint?
Added to all that, why can't he ever seem to find anything if he believes I put it away? I always put things in the same place. Why can't he just look there??
Thank goodness I really love this guy..
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
You'll Never be a Landlord.
My husband is a fantastic landlord. Anybody living in his apartment building can attest to that. Depending on the tenant, his quest for the rent can be a mission of small expeditions or one highly intense, text to text miscommunication that only he seems to be able to sort through.
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| Our apartment
Karen works at the neighborhood bar. She pays the rent with her tips and small salary. On any given day she can call him up four to eight times.
"Isik, are you going to be at the apartment?"
"When do you want me there?"
"I'm at the laundromat. I'll be there in 20 minutes."
"Ok, call me when you get home." (After owning this building for over 15 years, he finally figured out to wait for the call that signals the tenant has arrived home. In the past he's been blown off from these meetings on a regular basis. A tenant on the road never means they'll make it home when they say they will. All they need is an offer for a free drink and hours later - oops, they remember their appointment with my husband.)
"I got delayed. Can I meet you tonight?"
"Sure, what time about?"
"Oh, about 6."
Now, since the laundry is usually done and taken home in the morning, Karen is off and running. Not necessarily a good think in her case. About 6 she'll call again with...
"Isik, are you at the apartment?"
"No, when do you want to meet?"
"I'll be there in 15 minutes unless you want to pick me up. I'm at my friends."
The first time he picked her up from her friends, he discovered her friend was another neighborhood bar. She was feeling very "happy."
So this time he says, "Why don't you call me when you get home."
This could go on through the week. Either Karen runs out of the money she was saving for rent or the weekend arrives and she'll be getting more money to add to it.
At that point it'll be, "Are you going to be at the building on Monday??"
"What time about?"
Karen always pays and even though she pays in bits and pieces, she's ultimately ahead by a month or so with her payments. She even has security deposit which she doesn't know about. Isik will surprise her one day when she falls behind in her rent.
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| Side of building
I'm horrible. If I had to diplomatically deal with tenants, I'd be doomed.
Let me explain just one day of accompanying him on his daily routines.
The night before he received a three-tiered text. The apartment dwellers are late (as usual) with the rent. That's generally because of the three girls paying, one hasn't got it together yet. But they're in a panic because, as I said, they're late. So, the text boils down to
1. We're sorry we're late but we're at work and can meet you at 9PM if that's not too late.
2. We'll be putting the rent in the mailbox and you can pick it up in the morning, oh and
3. Call me in the morning.
Of course he really better be there in the AM because the mailman comes after lunch. These gals pay partially in cash, check and money order. The mailman'll think he's getting his Christmas bonus early if he opens that box before Isik can get to it!
In the morning we have our granddaughter with us. His building is on the way to her pre-school so we stop for the rent. Isa and I play in the first snow of the year while he retrieves the rent. She's annoyed that it's impossible to make a snowball. I find that the snow on our car produces a satisfactory snowball, so we scrape snow off the hood until grandpa returns, frustrated. No rent in the mailbox.
I implore him to call the girl up or ring her doorbell. Maybe she's still in the apartment. Lo and behold he catches a glimpse of one of the girls, ready to get into a cab.
"Go ask her about the rent!"
"No, no, I can't, she's not the one that handles it. I can't stop her. I'm not going to embarrass her that way."
"Ok, then call up the girl who handles it. Or check the mailbox again. Maybe this one was suppose to put the money in there but she was late."
So he calls up the tenant. No answer. He goes back to the mailbox. No money. Does he ring the doorbell?? Nope.
I'm going crazy by this time.
"Don't bring me with you when you do this. Why can't you call the other girls up? Why can't you ring the doorbell? Why are you making me and Isa wait? At least text her about being out here."
He has me text her and we deposit Isa at her school, arriving late.
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So, we drop Isa, head off to the doctor's appointment (late) and also receive the answer to our text about the rent.
She was still in the apartment (like I thought) and was apologizing profusely. She was now putting the rent in the mailbox.
"What about the mailman? What if he gets there before us? Tell her to leave it in the apartment and you can pick it up off of their kitchen counter. What is wrong with you? Why aren't you more foreceful? Why do you let them walk all over you?"
Isik sighs.
"You'll never really be a landlord, will you."
By the end of the day, not only does he get this rent but another tenant has texted. She's putting the rent under the door of the basement. We have two basements. Will we have another problem about that?
He has taken tenants to Aldi's, picked them up from Walgreens and gets parking passes for them. I guess the best example of his bond with his tenants was the day one of the pregnant gals was in labor. She was single and had a two-year old with her. She yelled out the window when she saw Isik and he quickly dropped both of them off at the hospital. He had always joked with her that if she ever needs to have him take her to the hospital, he's available. He never thought she'd actually take him up on that offer!
After all is done, I'm in a frazzled state. Irritated beyond measure with him. Agravated even moreso with the tenants, until I receive a call from my daughter.
"Can you take out Andre? I forgot to ask you earlier."
Aww, my granddog Andre needs me.
I guess we all have our weakness - Isik's are his tenants. He says they're like his kids. I guess that's why so few move out until they have to or have saved enough to buy a home. He's only had to evict twice, and both times they did move out before the battle arrived in the courts. One time one did say, "Go ahead, evict me!" It was like she was laughing at him so he did proceed with it. When he turned up at court, Isik ended up in the wrong court room. He tried to ask if he was in the right room but every time he went to the front, the bailiff told him to "Sit down and wait your turn."
When everybody left the court, the bailiff realized Isik was still there. He looked up his name and said, "Oh you're in the wrong room. You're suppose to be next door and they're finished."
When Isik returned home, she was already moved out.
My weakness?
My grandchildren - and my granddog!
Monday, December 5, 2011
How I Keep my Memories
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| Mom's painting - bought for her when I had my gallbladder operation.
Why do I remember some things like this and not others?
As I walked past my mom's painting this morning, a vivid image burst into my mind - my strolls with her down the hallways of the Ravenswood hospital after my gallbladder surgery. She visited me almost every day of that week, difficult since it was the week before Christmas. She had the festivities to prepare for but here she was with me, gently coaxing me to "take another step, think of your baby waiting for you."
They had potraits and paintings lined up in those hospital halls. Mom stopped each time we came to the painting of the boat, alone in the water. I bought that painting for her because she loved it. I was so lucky to have her able to take care of my baby while I recuperated from surgery. I knew she wouldn't take money for all that babysitting time. The picture hung in her front room from then on.
Now that she's gone, I'm glad I have that picture to remember her.
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| Renoir - bought by my husband because it reminded him of me and his girls.
I know my husband sees his girls as toddlers, and the Renoir keeps them toddlers. I was exasperated with his purchase, but now I understand how fleeting those childhood days were. I love the idea that I might be thought of like that mother. My girls would probably argue that I never dressed them as well as that mom did. In my defense, they insisted on picking out their own outfits. They swear that's not true.
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| Portrait done by a parent at the girls' grammar school.
I worked at my girls grammar school. I was involved in the PTA, busing and their classes. I sometimes taught the class they were in (at extreme embarrassment to them) but mostly, I was there. Always in their lives. That's what the potrait reminds me of - the parent at Newberry wanted a family that was bonded to each other like no other family around. That was me and my girls. I couldn't get enough of them. They were funny, especially when bouncing jokes off of each other OR at my expense. (that happened a lot!) One day after school let out, this parent stopped me before I got into my car and asked if she could take our picture. We were thrilled! She snapped quite a few pictures in her studio before she settled on this one.
You can see our personalities so clearly in the photo!
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| Bonnie's friend was selling original paintings.
The painting I bought from a friend of Bonnie's kind of caught me off guard. I didn't need another picture, but I was really taken by this one. Had to have it. Why?? When I inherited my mom's painting, I finally realized why. I was back there, with her.
Mommy....
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Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Next Controversy Begins..
Was it food poisoning or the stomach flu virus??
Thanksgiving is celebrated at my home every year. One of our traditions. I used to pick up my mom when she was alive and rational. (She developed dementia later in life.) and have her make all the Turkey, stuffing and gravy, then half the time I'd take the credit for it. I always made the spinach pie.
Now that she's gone, I'm filling in for her.
Keep in mind that I am the oldest of eight - almost all my siblings have children and some of the children have children. I'd say we had at least 42 people at the house. Guys were all sitting in the frontroom, trying to watch the holiday sport which I believe, for Thanksgiving, is football. Some are grumbling because I don't have all the sports channels. Why should I? I don't watch any sports except for boxing or ice skating. I don't need anything special for that!
Well, my turkey was taking it's sweet time this year and as a consequence, everybody arrived and had to wait patiently. It was well worth the wait; I believe it was one of the best I've ever baked. When the line formed for the feast, people sure piled on the food. Oh, the luscious desserts! Everything was top-notch.
Lots of noise. Lots of back and forth. My oldest son, Dino, couldn't stay as long as he wanted to because his wife was calling. Nathan had the stomach flu and was throwing up - again. Dino kissed his way out of the house and that's really when this story begins.
The next day, my daughter-in-law calls and says Nathan needs a perscription filled. They had to take him to the emergency room because he was throwing up so much. Doctor told them he had the virus and it's one of the worse they've seen in a long time.
I drive over to Jewel for her. I know it's a supermarket but way, way in the back, there's a tiny drugstore. I encounter the slowest-moving pharmacist - he scanned the perscription, scanned the insurance card, typed in the information, and phoned the insurance company . Even though I implored him to hurry, that I had one really sick grandson waiting for this medicine, all he could reply is, "Did he get food poisoning?"
Oh, and he helped another customer with her questions about multi-vitamins.
(You know, Dr Oz has got to stop confusing us - too much vitamin A? Not enough vitamin D? Don't get iron!! Unless you're a menstruating female that is...) You could tell this woman watched Dr. Oz by the unGodly amount of questions she had.
Anway, it took over an hour. In the meantime, the appraiser was coming to my house and I was hoping to clean it (again) after the relatives had their way with it on Thanksgiving. Luckily my husband was able to get things back to normal and the appraiser loved the place. Said it was one of the most unique homes he'd every appraise. That does mean it'll be hard to find comps, but my husband, an ex-realtor, had a folder of comps, surveys and an actual appraisal done just two years earlier, ready to hand over to him. The appraiser seemed to be plenty grateful. Hope that gets us the amount we need for our reverse mortgage!) (You can read about that ordeal in my earlier posts.)
When that's done, I finally get a chance to check my emails and facebook. Curiously, I realize that a pattern is emerging. Lots of family seemed to also come down with that virus.
Here's the rundown - four from my family of ten.
two from Mike's family of seven.
two from Jimbo's family of three.
four FIVE from Lin's family of nine.
three from Mary's family of six.
and three from Jeannie's family of five.
That's at least eighteen people that got sick!!
So wouldn't you question whether it's really the flu or food poisoning?? Check this story out, found in the Chicago Tribune. http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/chi-ap-mo-grapetomatoes-rec,0,7718546.story
Thought so...
Thanksgiving is celebrated at my home every year. One of our traditions. I used to pick up my mom when she was alive and rational. (She developed dementia later in life.) and have her make all the Turkey, stuffing and gravy, then half the time I'd take the credit for it. I always made the spinach pie.
Now that she's gone, I'm filling in for her.
Keep in mind that I am the oldest of eight - almost all my siblings have children and some of the children have children. I'd say we had at least 42 people at the house. Guys were all sitting in the frontroom, trying to watch the holiday sport which I believe, for Thanksgiving, is football. Some are grumbling because I don't have all the sports channels. Why should I? I don't watch any sports except for boxing or ice skating. I don't need anything special for that!
Well, my turkey was taking it's sweet time this year and as a consequence, everybody arrived and had to wait patiently. It was well worth the wait; I believe it was one of the best I've ever baked. When the line formed for the feast, people sure piled on the food. Oh, the luscious desserts! Everything was top-notch.
Lots of noise. Lots of back and forth. My oldest son, Dino, couldn't stay as long as he wanted to because his wife was calling. Nathan had the stomach flu and was throwing up - again. Dino kissed his way out of the house and that's really when this story begins.
The next day, my daughter-in-law calls and says Nathan needs a perscription filled. They had to take him to the emergency room because he was throwing up so much. Doctor told them he had the virus and it's one of the worse they've seen in a long time.
I drive over to Jewel for her. I know it's a supermarket but way, way in the back, there's a tiny drugstore. I encounter the slowest-moving pharmacist - he scanned the perscription, scanned the insurance card, typed in the information, and phoned the insurance company . Even though I implored him to hurry, that I had one really sick grandson waiting for this medicine, all he could reply is, "Did he get food poisoning?"
Oh, and he helped another customer with her questions about multi-vitamins.
(You know, Dr Oz has got to stop confusing us - too much vitamin A? Not enough vitamin D? Don't get iron!! Unless you're a menstruating female that is...) You could tell this woman watched Dr. Oz by the unGodly amount of questions she had.
Anway, it took over an hour. In the meantime, the appraiser was coming to my house and I was hoping to clean it (again) after the relatives had their way with it on Thanksgiving. Luckily my husband was able to get things back to normal and the appraiser loved the place. Said it was one of the most unique homes he'd every appraise. That does mean it'll be hard to find comps, but my husband, an ex-realtor, had a folder of comps, surveys and an actual appraisal done just two years earlier, ready to hand over to him. The appraiser seemed to be plenty grateful. Hope that gets us the amount we need for our reverse mortgage!) (You can read about that ordeal in my earlier posts.)
When that's done, I finally get a chance to check my emails and facebook. Curiously, I realize that a pattern is emerging. Lots of family seemed to also come down with that virus.
Here's the rundown - four from my family of ten.
two from Mike's family of seven.
two from Jimbo's family of three.
three from Mary's family of six.
and three from Jeannie's family of five.
That's at least eighteen people that got sick!!
So wouldn't you question whether it's really the flu or food poisoning?? Check this story out, found in the Chicago Tribune. http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/chi-ap-mo-grapetomatoes-rec,0,7718546.story
Thought so...
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Made my holiday plans.
I never liked the holidays - always gained weight, always felt tortured by the "plenty." I've come upon a great plan though. I make my yearly doctor's visit after the holidays. If I can just stay the course through the holidays, I'll feel like I accomplished alot. Last year I gained 10 pounds. I think I've already gained that.
It's especially frustrating when I have Thanksgiving at my home. All the leftovers!! My sister's oreo ice cream cake - my brother's lasagna, my girlfriend's pierogi's ...
So, I've cleaned the house and made my plans.
Gotta think thin... Keep in mind that doctor's visit is on the horizon.
Oh, and shop, on-line for all those great Xmas deals..
It's especially frustrating when I have Thanksgiving at my home. All the leftovers!! My sister's oreo ice cream cake - my brother's lasagna, my girlfriend's pierogi's ...
So, I've cleaned the house and made my plans.
Gotta think thin... Keep in mind that doctor's visit is on the horizon.
Oh, and shop, on-line for all those great Xmas deals..
Friday, November 11, 2011
Looking for opinions.
Now that I'm "retired" we're searching for ways to free up some money. We decided to do a reverse mortgage. It's an FHA loan and if we qualify, we won't have to make a loan payment FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES!
We checked it out at the AARP website. It turns out there were some horror stories about seniors losing their housing because of this mortgage. It goes like this - somehow the broker, for whatever reason, tells one of them to sign over or "quit claim" deed the property to the other. Why? It could be they'd get more income, a bigger lump sum or maybe one of them was too young to qualify. Well then, when the person holding the mortgage dies, the other one is forced to leave.
We did research on the various loans being offers and selected the one we wanted. After the company sent up a library of information, we next went to a counselor.
You can't get this loan without a mortgage counselor and it seems all of them want to charge you, up front, for their words of wisdom. We finally make an appointment with one that only charges if you close the deal.
As soon as we entered his office we could tell he was going to give us a really long song and dance. (Obviously wants us to close the deal. How else will he make his money?)
I explained that we both were real estate agents with lapsed licenses and were pretty astute in housing issues. My husband and I use to buy fixer uppers to rehab and sell before the market crashed. (Thank goodness we got out of that before getting stuck with a lemon!)
Nice guy, our counselor, but there must be something about being over 60 that makes people want to explain things like you're a child. Did I change my facial features so that I'm looking confused? On my way to senility??
Well, we got through that and sent the paperwork to our mortgage broker. This guy ends up trying to confuse us. He has our instructions on how we want to proceed, then calls and asks all the questions to find out how we wish to proceed.
I'm don't understand his problem until I ask, "Steve, do you have the figures we agreed to in front of you?" He confesses that his computer is slow and he's winging it. (Again, thinking I'm not going to catch on - aging adjustment??)
He sends all the paperwork to sign, sticking a post-it on one pile, "Sign these" and on the other pile, "Keep as your copy."
Trouble is, he sticks the wrong pile, which we dutifully sign - again, getting confused since it has blank pages that we feel we should fill out. The final clue that it was wrong - a stack of documents for "Joe Borrower." Why would he want us to go through paperwork for Joe Borrower?? Dated Aug. 2010??
So we go back to the other pile and realize there are highlights on various pages. Those blank pages we feel we should fill out are now brimming with information that needs our verification.
Well, we sent everything on it's way. Now we've got to wait for the FHA appraiser - with the market being so volatile, will our home be worth what we think? Here's a picture of it. What do you think?
We checked it out at the AARP website. It turns out there were some horror stories about seniors losing their housing because of this mortgage. It goes like this - somehow the broker, for whatever reason, tells one of them to sign over or "quit claim" deed the property to the other. Why? It could be they'd get more income, a bigger lump sum or maybe one of them was too young to qualify. Well then, when the person holding the mortgage dies, the other one is forced to leave.
We did research on the various loans being offers and selected the one we wanted. After the company sent up a library of information, we next went to a counselor.
You can't get this loan without a mortgage counselor and it seems all of them want to charge you, up front, for their words of wisdom. We finally make an appointment with one that only charges if you close the deal.
As soon as we entered his office we could tell he was going to give us a really long song and dance. (Obviously wants us to close the deal. How else will he make his money?)
I explained that we both were real estate agents with lapsed licenses and were pretty astute in housing issues. My husband and I use to buy fixer uppers to rehab and sell before the market crashed. (Thank goodness we got out of that before getting stuck with a lemon!)
Nice guy, our counselor, but there must be something about being over 60 that makes people want to explain things like you're a child. Did I change my facial features so that I'm looking confused? On my way to senility??
Well, we got through that and sent the paperwork to our mortgage broker. This guy ends up trying to confuse us. He has our instructions on how we want to proceed, then calls and asks all the questions to find out how we wish to proceed.
I'm don't understand his problem until I ask, "Steve, do you have the figures we agreed to in front of you?" He confesses that his computer is slow and he's winging it. (Again, thinking I'm not going to catch on - aging adjustment??)
He sends all the paperwork to sign, sticking a post-it on one pile, "Sign these" and on the other pile, "Keep as your copy."
Trouble is, he sticks the wrong pile, which we dutifully sign - again, getting confused since it has blank pages that we feel we should fill out. The final clue that it was wrong - a stack of documents for "Joe Borrower." Why would he want us to go through paperwork for Joe Borrower?? Dated Aug. 2010??
So we go back to the other pile and realize there are highlights on various pages. Those blank pages we feel we should fill out are now brimming with information that needs our verification.
Well, we sent everything on it's way. Now we've got to wait for the FHA appraiser - with the market being so volatile, will our home be worth what we think? Here's a picture of it. What do you think?
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Observing exponential aging in my husband.
My husband decided to get rid of all the overflowing plants.
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| Final Product |
My husband decided to get rid of all the overflowing plants.
The final product is nice, neat and delightful, I must say. I also must say, why, after going through the hassle of chopping down a bleeding plant that oozed white syrup all over the floor, why try to root an avocado pit?? Is he even doing it right??
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| Why the new avocado plant? |
Another thing about my husband - he naps, constantly. We wake up at 6:30am, take our granddaughter to pre-school and after returning to a yummy breakfast, he naps.
What I thought was really strange was that during the past weekend, when daylight savings was finally over - you know the saying, "Fall back, Spring forward?"
With that extra hour of sleep, you'd think he'd skip the nap. Nope. Matter of fact, he was even more tired so he took two!
Why couldn't we save him?
Michael Jackson - the King of Pop - died on June 25th, 2009. Finally some measure of justice has been netted because his doctor, Conrad Murray, was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter. He'll be given his sentence on my birthday, 11/29/11.
Bobby died that same year as Michael Jackson. He was my grandson and was only 12 years old. Where will the justice come for him?
He was born with a heart defect and stayed in the hospital for almost 6 months of his newborn life. He received heart surgery even though he was feverish. Doctors wanted him to be healthier and bigger but it wasn't happening. I visited him almost every day while he was there.
He had to use a feeding tube when he was finally allowed to come home. Was I ever scared to feed him? You bet, but it was more important to be a part of his life. In spite of all his difficulties, he was pretty happy. He did have asthma though.
We'd babysit in our home and Grandpa made him laugh hysterically. Grandpa created goofy faces, wierd sounds, or the ultimate gesture, a skewered salute, and Bobby would almost fall to the floor. His whole face crinkled up, his eyes became tiny slits and his head would be tilted to the side with whole-hearted enjoyment.
He loved firemen and at first he'd draw pictures of their trucks and clothes. Eventually he talked us into taking a tour of the station. Now he could draw the bunks, kitchen and poles too! As he gradually perfected his store of information, 9/11 happened to change his life.
He saw those images on TV. Who can really tell the impact they could make on a small child? He constantly talked about it, drew pictures of it and started writing his stories.
They were truly impressive. All kinds of books with diagrams and dialogue. He wrote about the family, his uncles and aunts and my favorite, "Bobby in Wonderland."
We had him read the entire story during our traditional Thanksgiving celebration. While sitting at the kitchen table, Bobby took out his book and read out loud. The room was totally quiet as he clearly read to an enraptured audience of aunts, uncles and cousins. For a child who was diagnosed as possibly autistic and definitely learning disabled, Bobby poured his heart out, reading with passion and maturity beyond his ten years.
My daughter and I had "Bobby days" during out summer break. They shared an album of him with each Bobby day recorded for future reference. He'd draw a summary of what occured that day and Shenel would take pictures of him. All went into that album. I'll never forget his favorite Bobby Day. After a day of outdoor action we split up for a bit with Bobby going across the street to his aunt's home. I wanted to check my email or some such nonsense.
All of a sudden the house shook with an explosion coming from the street. The sewer cap blew up into the air almost landing on one of the neighbors. I was in a panic, worrying about my grandson and daughter across the street.
Shenel called 911. Bobby exclaimed, "You're calling the firemen to come here?"
It seemed to take only a minute before they arrived. Bobby was in his glory. To have the fire department come to him?? Outstanding! We took some great pictures of him with plenty of action that day!
After that summer I didn't see as much of him as I should have. His father and I were embroiled in this battle over the presidential elections - Dino was a Republican at that time. I was a Democrat. We got into stupid arguments and emailed each other ridiculous stories that damaged our relationship. That Christmas I didn't even give Bobby and Nathan their gifts. We usually had our private celebration at Dino's home after all of us finished visiting my sister's home.
That year I noticed that Bobby didn't have much energy, except to eat his favorite food - my spinach pie. He was probably already feeling the discomfort that was to eventually end his life. Looking back to that time now, I realize he was extremely tired and listless. We attributed it to asthma. It was rougher for him than usual.
I gave their gifts to Sara, my younger daughter. She was babysitting with them later that week and gave them the gifts in my behalf.
When Nathan's birthday came in February, we were invited over for a celebration. Things were getting better between Dino and me. My daughter-in-law, wise in so many ways, had this small celebration and hoped it would heal the rift between us. We hugged and had amazing conversations. Shenel took pictures of the kids with Isabel, my new granddaughter. Bobby was crazy about her!
That was the last time I saw him alive.
On March 7th, 2009, he had heart failure. His asthma probably hid or actually was, a heart condition.
I have a hard time talking about the many details surrounding his death. Seeing him, lifeless, in the hospital - the beautiful service at their church, the pot-luck dinner with family and friends - all of it is a haze.
His school and especially his class had a celebration of his life and planted a tree in his honor.
Since my youngest daughter Sara also has what we thought was severe asthma, we decided to pursue the heart condition that might also be afflicting her.
It turns out she has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It mimics asthma and is the enlarged heart condition that kills so many young athletes.
So, Bobby saved her life. Why couldn't we save his??
Bobby died that same year as Michael Jackson. He was my grandson and was only 12 years old. Where will the justice come for him?
He was born with a heart defect and stayed in the hospital for almost 6 months of his newborn life. He received heart surgery even though he was feverish. Doctors wanted him to be healthier and bigger but it wasn't happening. I visited him almost every day while he was there.
He had to use a feeding tube when he was finally allowed to come home. Was I ever scared to feed him? You bet, but it was more important to be a part of his life. In spite of all his difficulties, he was pretty happy. He did have asthma though.
We'd babysit in our home and Grandpa made him laugh hysterically. Grandpa created goofy faces, wierd sounds, or the ultimate gesture, a skewered salute, and Bobby would almost fall to the floor. His whole face crinkled up, his eyes became tiny slits and his head would be tilted to the side with whole-hearted enjoyment.
He loved firemen and at first he'd draw pictures of their trucks and clothes. Eventually he talked us into taking a tour of the station. Now he could draw the bunks, kitchen and poles too! As he gradually perfected his store of information, 9/11 happened to change his life.
He saw those images on TV. Who can really tell the impact they could make on a small child? He constantly talked about it, drew pictures of it and started writing his stories.
They were truly impressive. All kinds of books with diagrams and dialogue. He wrote about the family, his uncles and aunts and my favorite, "Bobby in Wonderland."
We had him read the entire story during our traditional Thanksgiving celebration. While sitting at the kitchen table, Bobby took out his book and read out loud. The room was totally quiet as he clearly read to an enraptured audience of aunts, uncles and cousins. For a child who was diagnosed as possibly autistic and definitely learning disabled, Bobby poured his heart out, reading with passion and maturity beyond his ten years.
My daughter and I had "Bobby days" during out summer break. They shared an album of him with each Bobby day recorded for future reference. He'd draw a summary of what occured that day and Shenel would take pictures of him. All went into that album. I'll never forget his favorite Bobby Day. After a day of outdoor action we split up for a bit with Bobby going across the street to his aunt's home. I wanted to check my email or some such nonsense.
All of a sudden the house shook with an explosion coming from the street. The sewer cap blew up into the air almost landing on one of the neighbors. I was in a panic, worrying about my grandson and daughter across the street.
Shenel called 911. Bobby exclaimed, "You're calling the firemen to come here?"
It seemed to take only a minute before they arrived. Bobby was in his glory. To have the fire department come to him?? Outstanding! We took some great pictures of him with plenty of action that day!
After that summer I didn't see as much of him as I should have. His father and I were embroiled in this battle over the presidential elections - Dino was a Republican at that time. I was a Democrat. We got into stupid arguments and emailed each other ridiculous stories that damaged our relationship. That Christmas I didn't even give Bobby and Nathan their gifts. We usually had our private celebration at Dino's home after all of us finished visiting my sister's home.
That year I noticed that Bobby didn't have much energy, except to eat his favorite food - my spinach pie. He was probably already feeling the discomfort that was to eventually end his life. Looking back to that time now, I realize he was extremely tired and listless. We attributed it to asthma. It was rougher for him than usual.
I gave their gifts to Sara, my younger daughter. She was babysitting with them later that week and gave them the gifts in my behalf.
When Nathan's birthday came in February, we were invited over for a celebration. Things were getting better between Dino and me. My daughter-in-law, wise in so many ways, had this small celebration and hoped it would heal the rift between us. We hugged and had amazing conversations. Shenel took pictures of the kids with Isabel, my new granddaughter. Bobby was crazy about her!
That was the last time I saw him alive.
On March 7th, 2009, he had heart failure. His asthma probably hid or actually was, a heart condition.
I have a hard time talking about the many details surrounding his death. Seeing him, lifeless, in the hospital - the beautiful service at their church, the pot-luck dinner with family and friends - all of it is a haze.
His school and especially his class had a celebration of his life and planted a tree in his honor.
Since my youngest daughter Sara also has what we thought was severe asthma, we decided to pursue the heart condition that might also be afflicting her.
It turns out she has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. It mimics asthma and is the enlarged heart condition that kills so many young athletes.
So, Bobby saved her life. Why couldn't we save his??
Saturday, November 5, 2011
No hassle shopping - or exponential aging with friends
It's like this - when my friends and I went shopping, we saw something we liked, it was on sale, we bought it. Did it for more years than I care to remember.
No hassle shopping.
Yesterday those same friends, K and Sue went to Carson's. First off, I make sure they know I have coupons.
"Don't buy anything without a coupon! 20% off, or $20 off if you spend $50! I have a little one for $10, too."
So, we go our separate ways. When we were young, we'd never do that. We'd stick together like a pack of wolves. (maybe more like a pack of cows, grazing? I can't believe we're the same size when physically we are built so differently.)
K is going to a wedding next weekend and needs jewelry. I'm looking to spend my coupons even though I really don't need a damn thing.
Sue calls me over to K when she's ready to purchase. She's already had the sale rung up by this much older woman. The salewoman is very slight with prominent features - close-set eyes, hooked nose and that burnt out blonde hair that is suppose to hide her grays. (She's close to 80 if not more.)
She asked K if she needed a box for the jewelry and K told her "No."
She was bent over that cash register, concentrating so hard! Total came to close to $100. Sue and I gasped. Then I remembered the coupons.
"K, you're not spending that much, are you? And did you forget I have coupons?"
K tells the saleswoman, "Oh, can you take off these earrings? I really don't need this second pair."
Saleswoman gives her a look and is saying, "Ok but then I have to delete this and start all over."
She seems to think that's going to sway K to change her mind. Like K's gonna tell her, "Oh, I couldn't let you do that. I don't want you to go to all that trouble!"
In the meantime I notice the floor has some kind of crunchy cereal spread all over it. I wouldn't have paid much attention to it but it was slippery as well as crunchy. I could feel my feet losing it's grip and held on to that counter so as not to slide.
The saleslady starts again. I give her the $10 coupon. She rings it all up and it still comes out to over $50.
I exclaim, "Oh wait, don't use that coupon! I have a $20 coupon we could use."
Now the saleslady stares at that new coupon in exasperation. She reads it thoroughly, trying to find a loophole to get out of once again deleting what she just rang up.
The once over she gives K is, to say the least, withering, especially when Sue decides to explain how we used to have such a hard time getting K to buy anything for herself. She'd never buy. We're so happy she's finally spoiling herself after all these years. Yadda yadda yadda ....
You see K lost a shitload of weight these past years.
"I have to delete this again. It'll be the fourth time."
We all know it wasn't the fourth time, but we let her get in her licks. She turned to the cash register and slowly, very slowly, puts in the information, waiting for us to startle her with another demand. We turned away from her. Yeah, we were laughing. She could hear the crunching of that cereal as our feet pulled our body first away then back to face her again.
When she finally returned to the counter she ask K how she wishes to pay. K pulls out a credit card and now that poor woman's eyes are bulging. She grasps that card, wishing it would miraculously change. She also glanced down at that cereal mess we've spread out even worse than before.
"I can't use that card. You're purchase has to be on a Carson's card!"
"I don't have one."
Before she had a chance to stroke out or worse, Sue pulled out her Carson's and said, "Use mine."
The sale was finalized. The saleslady put the jewelry in a box. (Yes, K did say she didn't need one, but who was going to bring that up now?)
We quickly exited out the South doors, with the alarms beeping. Sue's package - as usual. I could only imagine that saleslady watching and probably thinking, "I knew there was something wrong with them!"
All I could think is, what ever happened to no hassle shopping? We use to be so good at it!
No hassle shopping.
Yesterday those same friends, K and Sue went to Carson's. First off, I make sure they know I have coupons.
"Don't buy anything without a coupon! 20% off, or $20 off if you spend $50! I have a little one for $10, too."
So, we go our separate ways. When we were young, we'd never do that. We'd stick together like a pack of wolves. (maybe more like a pack of cows, grazing? I can't believe we're the same size when physically we are built so differently.)
K is going to a wedding next weekend and needs jewelry. I'm looking to spend my coupons even though I really don't need a damn thing.
Sue calls me over to K when she's ready to purchase. She's already had the sale rung up by this much older woman. The salewoman is very slight with prominent features - close-set eyes, hooked nose and that burnt out blonde hair that is suppose to hide her grays. (She's close to 80 if not more.)
She asked K if she needed a box for the jewelry and K told her "No."
She was bent over that cash register, concentrating so hard! Total came to close to $100. Sue and I gasped. Then I remembered the coupons.
"K, you're not spending that much, are you? And did you forget I have coupons?"
K tells the saleswoman, "Oh, can you take off these earrings? I really don't need this second pair."
Saleswoman gives her a look and is saying, "Ok but then I have to delete this and start all over."
She seems to think that's going to sway K to change her mind. Like K's gonna tell her, "Oh, I couldn't let you do that. I don't want you to go to all that trouble!"
In the meantime I notice the floor has some kind of crunchy cereal spread all over it. I wouldn't have paid much attention to it but it was slippery as well as crunchy. I could feel my feet losing it's grip and held on to that counter so as not to slide.
The saleslady starts again. I give her the $10 coupon. She rings it all up and it still comes out to over $50.
I exclaim, "Oh wait, don't use that coupon! I have a $20 coupon we could use."
Now the saleslady stares at that new coupon in exasperation. She reads it thoroughly, trying to find a loophole to get out of once again deleting what she just rang up.
The once over she gives K is, to say the least, withering, especially when Sue decides to explain how we used to have such a hard time getting K to buy anything for herself. She'd never buy. We're so happy she's finally spoiling herself after all these years. Yadda yadda yadda ....
You see K lost a shitload of weight these past years.
"I have to delete this again. It'll be the fourth time."
We all know it wasn't the fourth time, but we let her get in her licks. She turned to the cash register and slowly, very slowly, puts in the information, waiting for us to startle her with another demand. We turned away from her. Yeah, we were laughing. She could hear the crunching of that cereal as our feet pulled our body first away then back to face her again.
When she finally returned to the counter she ask K how she wishes to pay. K pulls out a credit card and now that poor woman's eyes are bulging. She grasps that card, wishing it would miraculously change. She also glanced down at that cereal mess we've spread out even worse than before.
"I can't use that card. You're purchase has to be on a Carson's card!"
"I don't have one."
Before she had a chance to stroke out or worse, Sue pulled out her Carson's and said, "Use mine."
The sale was finalized. The saleslady put the jewelry in a box. (Yes, K did say she didn't need one, but who was going to bring that up now?)
We quickly exited out the South doors, with the alarms beeping. Sue's package - as usual. I could only imagine that saleslady watching and probably thinking, "I knew there was something wrong with them!"
All I could think is, what ever happened to no hassle shopping? We use to be so good at it!
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Sunday, Sunday, can't trust that day...
Wake up late and think, "Ahh, gonna have a great day!" After all, it's Sunday! First my youngest daughter phones. "Can I come over and use your treadmill?"
"Of course."
She brings her Boston Terrier, Andre, who is pissed - I washed his bedding and the funky smell he usually leaves on them is gone. Plus, it's all puffy, making him a bit of a woosh if he actually sleeps on it. So he sits instead. We can't talk him down. While I'm cooking breakfast, daughter 2 decided to share the meal first before she exercises. Spinach pie with yogurt topping it. She needs the iron.
She heads for the exercise room upstairs and that gets me to thinking I need to do the same. Leslie Sansome is my hero so I put on her DVD and then sneak upstairs to watch daughter 2. She doesn't need much coaxing to join me with Leslie. We've lost 3 hours already. Daughter 2 states our home is like the Bermuda Triangle - she gets "caught up in it"- and she can never figure out how to leave once she gets here.
Daughter 1 calls. Wants to get a haircut with me and also, have granddaughter 1 get her first haircut ever. She's 3 1/2 and has long, stringy hair. She really needs a cut and she's really excited about the whole prospect. Her mamma has been explaining everything, step by step. Granddaughter decides she'll watch us first. (Gives her "chicken out" time.)
After another 3 hours, we are all cut, blow dried, and looking very nice. Granddaughter sat immobile for the cut. Now she keeps tossing her head, feeling her hair whip in to place.
So, the day headed for minor greatness except while waiting for those two to get their cuts, I kept looking at myself in the mirror and realizing, "This really isn't going to help much." I can see it's happening. At 62, I'm seeing that I am "exponentially aging" and it's not going to be pretty no matter how many times I go to a stylist, exercise or change my eating habits. I can see the hanging neckline, the thickened kneecaps and the drying hair. My skin looks discolored. My hair stylist has to cut off lots more than he usually does and although he doesn't say anything, I noticed he was extremely light-handed with the hair beauty products.
When he finished though, he exclaimed, "Beautiful, just beautiful," and I find that aging isn't that big of an issue after all.
"Of course."
She brings her Boston Terrier, Andre, who is pissed - I washed his bedding and the funky smell he usually leaves on them is gone. Plus, it's all puffy, making him a bit of a woosh if he actually sleeps on it. So he sits instead. We can't talk him down. While I'm cooking breakfast, daughter 2 decided to share the meal first before she exercises. Spinach pie with yogurt topping it. She needs the iron.
She heads for the exercise room upstairs and that gets me to thinking I need to do the same. Leslie Sansome is my hero so I put on her DVD and then sneak upstairs to watch daughter 2. She doesn't need much coaxing to join me with Leslie. We've lost 3 hours already. Daughter 2 states our home is like the Bermuda Triangle - she gets "caught up in it"- and she can never figure out how to leave once she gets here.
Daughter 1 calls. Wants to get a haircut with me and also, have granddaughter 1 get her first haircut ever. She's 3 1/2 and has long, stringy hair. She really needs a cut and she's really excited about the whole prospect. Her mamma has been explaining everything, step by step. Granddaughter decides she'll watch us first. (Gives her "chicken out" time.)
After another 3 hours, we are all cut, blow dried, and looking very nice. Granddaughter sat immobile for the cut. Now she keeps tossing her head, feeling her hair whip in to place.
So, the day headed for minor greatness except while waiting for those two to get their cuts, I kept looking at myself in the mirror and realizing, "This really isn't going to help much." I can see it's happening. At 62, I'm seeing that I am "exponentially aging" and it's not going to be pretty no matter how many times I go to a stylist, exercise or change my eating habits. I can see the hanging neckline, the thickened kneecaps and the drying hair. My skin looks discolored. My hair stylist has to cut off lots more than he usually does and although he doesn't say anything, I noticed he was extremely light-handed with the hair beauty products.
When he finished though, he exclaimed, "Beautiful, just beautiful," and I find that aging isn't that big of an issue after all.
My Jokester
Tommy did it again. He pulled another practical joke on me. He's been doing this for a very long time, but recently he's had a thing about my earrings. He's like Houdini – one minute I have those earrings in my hand, and the next, POOF! One of them is gone.
Thing of it is, Tommy's been dead since 2007. You'd think his jokes would have gone with him.
We knew the summer of 2005 that he might be seriously ill. He was having trouble with his throat.
He beat the cancer without surgery but he couldn't beat the liver disease that slowly destroyed him two years later.
At first I thought it was one of his practical jokes. He lost his sense of direction and wanted me to go the most bizarre ways to his home after his treatment in the hospital.
He gave me weird instructions like, “Go south on Lake Shore Drive. (He lived north.) “I know a short-cut. Go to 294.” I ignored him. I wanted to know what the joke was. It wasn’t though. It was the poisons not getting filtered from his liver properly. He died a few months later.
I can't begin to describe how devastating it was to watch Tommy die during his favorite time of year, the Christmas season. Family surrounded his bed, crying, telling stories and watching his heart slowing down. Mickey, our oldest brother, thought we should wave our goodbyes to him at his final heart beat. You know, get that last joke in on Tommy. As we turned to wave, crying and carrying on, he returned once again. We couldn’t contain ourselves; that was Tommy. He wouldn't let us have that final joke on him, no sir. He left us, hearing our laughter instead of our cries.
Tommy was like that. Joking around, smirk plastered on his gaunt face. His death should have ended it. Yet here I am, telling you about other practical jokes Tommy played on me.
It started right after we had services for him. We had him cremated, giving his ashes to his boys and saving some for mom's grave and his favorite – the White Sox ball park. I went home a bundle of nerves, missing him, wishing he had given up those final months of drinking that probably sealed his fate. Why was he able to beat the cancer and not taken advantage of that great gift of life? He should have lived! He could have lived! Those thoughts kept playing, over and over in my heart.
The next day, my keys were gone. I always placed them in the same spot, on the laundry table, as soon as I entered the house from the garage.
I moved all the stuff around and finally off the table, but I couldn't find my keys. This went on for three days. In frustration I yelled out to Tommy.
“Please return my keys!”
My daughters stood in the laundry room with me when we heard a “bling.” First a White Sox token fell to the floor. I didn't know I even possessed a White Sox token.
I looked at them and said, “Oh my God, if my keys fall to the ground like that, I know Tommy did it.”
We almost jumped a foot off the ground as sure enough, my keys fell to the ground. I think they may have been stuck to a towel but what had I just said? Wasn't that proof that Tommy did it??
During these past few years, Tommy demonstrated again and again that he's around. Earrings fall, disappear and turn up a day or two later. One earring was gone for a year! I learned to never throw away that single earring because the other one would surely turn up.
On my daughter's 32nd birthday, we were sitting around the kitchen table when all of a sudden, one of my granddaughter's toys began to play. The only way it goes on is when you press the candles on its top. Since Tommy always called his family with birthday greetings, we knew it was Tommy. Besides, it was candles!
The next day, after a full day of constant mini-searches, I gave up but my husband didn't. He began the search again, looking in the drawers, behind the desk - everywhere.
After my shower I opened the drawer and in plain view, there's that earring! I screamed. When my husband saw it, he was converted. He told me he finally believes.
Tommy is my forever jokester. I guess I'll learn to live with it.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Senioritis will not get the Better of ME!!
I worked at CPS for 22years and have now been "laid off." Shouldn't have been cuz I've got seniority. When the "powers that be" want you gone, all the arbitration and grievances filed aren't going to bring back what you had. It's gone. Final. Kaput.
People ask me why didn't I fight for my position. Well, it's simple. The fight, no matter what the result, will never give back to you what that final decree took away. So I didn't.
I go out with my girlfriends and find ways to laugh about it. Today, my friend K said that we are now "exponentially aging." I'm 62 years old and I get it. Boy, do I ever.
When I was in my 20's and 30's, I worked for Illinois Dental Service. (Doesn't exist as that now so I feel safe to mention the name.)
I was a major player - supervisor of the keypunch and clerical department. Had over 30 people working under me. My manager slept most afternoons. How he got away with that is beyond me but one day, it dawned on him that I was a major threat to his position. I knew way more about the operations than he did. He was slowly on his way out. So what did he do? He made my life miserable at every turn until I was about to resign. I even wrote a resignation letter and gave it to a trusted employee/friend. After I calmed down, I decided to stick it out.
Somehow he got wind of the letter. He coerced that poor girl into giving that letter to him and viola! I was out of a job.
So, I hired a lawyer. Fought the injustice of it for almost a year. I was given back a position in the keypunch department but like I said in the beginning, when it's taken from you, you don't ever get it back. Not ever in the way you remembered.
I lasted about a year feeling totally humiliated. I had to leave again. It let a bitter taste in my mouth and I was way too young to understand what that taste was.
Now as I've crossed the same path once again, I know what that taste is. Defeat, humiliation but, if you swirl it around a bit, taste it thoroughly and then spit it out, it becomes another great adventure in life.
I plan to change my course. Exponential aging will not be getting the better of me just yet.
People ask me why didn't I fight for my position. Well, it's simple. The fight, no matter what the result, will never give back to you what that final decree took away. So I didn't.
I go out with my girlfriends and find ways to laugh about it. Today, my friend K said that we are now "exponentially aging." I'm 62 years old and I get it. Boy, do I ever.
When I was in my 20's and 30's, I worked for Illinois Dental Service. (Doesn't exist as that now so I feel safe to mention the name.)
I was a major player - supervisor of the keypunch and clerical department. Had over 30 people working under me. My manager slept most afternoons. How he got away with that is beyond me but one day, it dawned on him that I was a major threat to his position. I knew way more about the operations than he did. He was slowly on his way out. So what did he do? He made my life miserable at every turn until I was about to resign. I even wrote a resignation letter and gave it to a trusted employee/friend. After I calmed down, I decided to stick it out.
Somehow he got wind of the letter. He coerced that poor girl into giving that letter to him and viola! I was out of a job.
So, I hired a lawyer. Fought the injustice of it for almost a year. I was given back a position in the keypunch department but like I said in the beginning, when it's taken from you, you don't ever get it back. Not ever in the way you remembered.
I lasted about a year feeling totally humiliated. I had to leave again. It let a bitter taste in my mouth and I was way too young to understand what that taste was.
Now as I've crossed the same path once again, I know what that taste is. Defeat, humiliation but, if you swirl it around a bit, taste it thoroughly and then spit it out, it becomes another great adventure in life.
I plan to change my course. Exponential aging will not be getting the better of me just yet.
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