One Of These Is Not Like The Other…

Friday night we attended a party that a friend of a friend invited us to. It was at a local bar, so there were plenty of people mingling as we made our entrance. We looked around, then at the same time turned to each other and said, “And *why* were we invited to the annual conference of anorexic blondes?”

Found Time

We were supposed to go abalone diving this weekend. We were planning to drive up the coast early Saturday morning, dive all day, roast yummy abalone over the campfire in the evening, camp, play night bocce ball, then come back on Sunday.

The weather reports today were, to put it mildly, ominous. The expert diver in the group sent out this message:

“Fellow abalone hunters..

…having camped in the rain on many a dive trip I can say that it is not the best way to experience the lovely north coast…and it becomes a much less social-sit around the campground and banter sort of trip…That said …rain won’t really change anything about the diving…it is going to suck..the conditions currently are as follows: …Wind Speed: 12-18 mph Surf: Overhead Sea State: Very rough Wave Height: 11 ft.”

We called off the trip.

I am so excited. I have at least 36 hours of bonus time – time to do anything I want. No one knows I will be in town, so I can be completely selfish in my decision. Ahh, freedom.

Just A Few…

Few is an overused word. I wonder if people truly know its meaning, or intentionally misuse it.

amounting to or consisting of a small number

Picture this:

I’ve just put my pasta on to boil. Instructions call for it to boil for 7 minutes to reach the al dente stage.

The phone rings. I answer it. The woman on the phone purports to be from an independent research firm and wants to gather my thoughts on current issues. “This will only take a few minutes.”

The questions center around the recent election in San Francisco and the upcoming run-off. She asks questions about did I vote, do I intend to vote, am I more inclined to vote for Gavin Newsom or Matt Gonzalez, did I think Willie Brown did a good job….

“I’m going to read you a few statements about candidate Gavin Newsom. Please tell me whether, after hearing the statement, you are more inclined or less inclined to vote for him, or whether it makes no difference.” She reads 10-12 statements.

“Now I’m going to read you a few statements about Matt Gonzalez. Please rate the statements in the same manner.” She reads another 10-12 statements and at this point I think she must be close to finished.

My pasta is done; unfortunately, it is not al dente. I have allowed it to cook for too long. It is soft.

“Now I’m going to read you a few statements about district attorney…”

“Excuse me, how many more questions do we have?”

“Um. I think we are almost, but not quite half way through. How long have we been on the call?”

“At least 8 minutes, because my pasta is no longer al dente. How long do you expect this to take?”

“Well, at least 15-20 minutes.”

“Thank you for inviting me to share my views, but this call is done. My dinner is ready.”

“But, if you hang up now I can’t use any of your answers.”

“Well, if you would have explained to me it would take 20 minutes at the beginning of the call, I would not have wasted your time or mine. I don’t even talk to my friends for 20 minutes on the phone, much less a stranger. I wish you much luck in your opinion gathering.”

She wasn’t happy and neither was I.

All could have been avoided by not abusing the few.

They Say It’s Your Birthday…

Happy birthday to the funniest man alive. Truly.

Spirit of the Season?

Seen on a sign on a garden shop as we were leaving Spartanburg, South Carolina:

“Spread holiday cheer.

Spread mulch.”

Say What?

After dinner we ordered coffee (for me) and tea (for Mom). The waiter, probably a college student, placed a saucer in front of Mom then laid a paper lace doily on top of it. In a somewhat joking, somewhat flirting manner Mom said, “You must have known I was going to spill my tea and are already preparing for it.”

His reply, “Oh, no, ma’am. I just wanted to make it purty for you.”

I blinked a couple of times and let it set in. I just heard a grown man use the word “purty.”

The Visit

I’m not sure what I expected. I’ve never really seen someone “near death.” By the time I arrive, they’re usually already dead.

We arrived at the assisted living facility late in the afternoon. I question the appropriateness of that term. There was quite a bit of assistance going on, but not so much living.

As we walked down the hallway, my mother leaned over. “There she is,” she whispered. “Where?” I asked, seeing only a shriveled old lady inching away from us in her wheelchair. “Right there, in the wheelchair.” Oh.

We walked around to the front of her wheelchair and leaned over, careful not to surprise her. “Grandma! Hi! How are you?”

She appeared startled for only a moment, then a glimmer of recognition crossed her face. “Law! Where you been? I been watchin’ the hi-way for neely an hour. I jus plum gave up and figured you wasn’t comin’.”

This was a good sign. She was still her same old ornery self, complaining, in a syrupy sweet manner, about everything around her.

Mom started to explain how my flight was delayed because of thunderstorms in DC, so I had to be re-routed through Chicago, and had an extra layover, and arrived to Greensboro three hours late, then we still had a four hour drive to see her. And we came straight from the airport, not even stopping for lunch.

All this went unnoticed by Grandmother.

“Yeah. I waited and waited and waited. Don nobody come to visit me anymore. I jus figured you the same. Not comin’. So I’m goin’ back to my room to get ready for supper.”

Never mind that my parents, as well as my sister, as well as her own sisters, come to visit her several times a week. Nobody comes to visit. Her spirit was the same, though her physical appearance was not. Once a tall, solid woman, she now hunches in a wheelchair, her legs reduced to spindly matchsticks. Her snow white hair frames lifeless skin hanging from sharp cheekbones; bruises in all stages, aubergine, violet, greenish-yellow, regularly appear on her paper-thin skin.

We wheeled her into the common area where mom and I pulled up chairs on either side of her wheelchair and chatted. As other residents entered the area, she introduced us, me, as her oldest granddaughter, mom, as “Jerry’s wife.” The other residents smiled, nodded, or merely continued staring blankly into space.

She talked on and on, rambling about who had sent her cards, which nurses she likes, which she doesn’t, who had lived, who had died, and the mental state and ailments of the other residents. I was pleasantly surprised by her mental state, until she began repeating the same stories over and over. And when we would ask questions, she would pause, surprised, then usually continue with her soliloquy, not answering our inquiries. She definitely could hear us, and understand what we said (I think) because several times she talked about the horrible weather everywhere (referencing the thunderstorms that were the cause of my tardiness) and how that’s a definite sign that the second coming of Christ is near and the earth as we know it will cease to exist. Amen.

She (mis-)quoted a lot of the Bible.

On our second day visiting, when mom was off talking to the head nurse about grandmother’s physical therapy regime, grandma leaned over. “You back with that husband of yours yet?”

It was my turn to look at her astounded. I’ve been divorced for almost 4 years and there has never been any reason for anyone to suspect a reconciliation between my ex- and I.

“No, grandma, Steve and I aren’t together. We’ve been divorced for almost four years.”

“That’s a shame. You know, I always did like him. Such a nice boy. Such a nice, nice boy.”

I thought back to when I first announced my engagement to Steve to that side of the family. I was in South Carolina, visiting grandma and all her sisters. One of my cousins, probably a second or third, great or some other adjective preceding it, said to me, “He a Christian boy?” “Why, yes,” I replied. “He Baptist?” “Well, no.” “What is he then?” “Greek Orthodox.” Everyone looked up, eyebrows arched. My great second, third, forty-fifth cousin boomed, “Greek Orthodox? That ain’t like one of them Catholics is it?” Steve’s status among my relatives has increased considerably since not being a part of our immediate family.

“Well, grandma, I’m sure that I’ll meet another nice boy. Or maybe not. And that’s okay, too. I have a really blessed (thinking I’ll appeal to the Bible quoter), really full life.”

“Mmm. Nevah did have any babies either. Shame, real shame. Even yo baby sista had a baby. But not you. Mmm. I tell you. That’s a shame.”

Again, as painful as this was, I took this as a good sign. She still has enough strength to complain about the status of my life.

“When you movin’ back a North Carolina?”

“Well, grandma, I don’t think I am. California is really my home now. I’ve lived there for almost 11 years. I have a good job, and lots of friends.”

“That’s a shame. A real shame. What out there that ain’t out here?”

At that moment another resident came and sat down near us. Hellos were said then I resumed my conversation with grandma, expecting to be berated about the clothes I was wearing or some other trivial matter.

Instead, she started harping on the resident sitting only feet from us. How much she smokes, how she doesn’t speak proper English, how no one can understand her…

I’m glad I made the visit. She’s physically ridiculously weaker than when I saw her merely a year ago. She requires extensive help for so many of the activities she once performed by herself, getting up in the morning, bathing, getting dressed, eating, going anywhere… That part was difficult to see. But her spirit hasn’t weakened. The way I see it, as long as she has something or someone to complain about, she’ll be around. And we’ll be hearing it.

Waiting…

Shortly after I returned to California after my grandfather’s funeral, my mother called me. I could tell by the tone of her voice something was not quite right.

“Your grandmother is very sick.”

“How sick?”

“Well, if you want to see her before her funeral, you’d probably better look into getting a flight back out here.”

sigh.

That was basically the conversation that took place about a month ago, but instead of my paternal grandmother being sick, it was my maternal grandfather. I booked a flight for the following week; three days before I flew home he died. So instead of visiting with him, I attended his funeral.

After hearing of my grandmother’s somewhat sudden demise, I again booked a flight. Unfortunately, the earliest I could return back to North Carolina was in a couple of weeks. Today, precisely.

Each time my parents have called since I booked my flight, I’ve wondered if I again would be attending a funeral instead of visiting with a sick relative. I leave for the airport in half an hour and still haven’t received that call yet. And, similar to my last trip back home, still haven’t packed.

Fly Away!

In celebration of the 100 year anniversary of the Wright Brothers’ historic flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, British Airways is having a $100 sale. Hurry – flights must be booked by November 6. I’m going to London!

For the Love of Computers…

At a recent computer expo (COMDEX), Bill Gates reportedly compared the computer industry with the auto industry and stated, “If GM had kept up with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving $25.00 cars that got 1,000 miles to the gallon.”

In response to Bill’s comments, General Motors issued a press release stating: If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be driving cars with the following characteristics:

1. For no reason whatsoever, your car would crash twice a day.

2. Every time they repainted the lines in the road, you would have to buy a new car.

3. Occasionally your car would die on the freeway for no reason. You would have to pull over to the side of the road, close all of the windows, shut off the car, restart it, and reopen the windows before you could continue. For some reason you would simply accept this.

4. Occasionally, executing a maneuver such as a left turn would cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart, in which case you would have to reinstall the engine.

5. Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, was reliable, five times as fast and twice as easy to drive – but would run on only five percent of the roads.

6. The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would all be replaced by a single “This Car Has Performed An Illegal Operation” warning light.

7. The airbag system would ask “Are you sure?” before deploying.

8. Occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door handle, turned the key and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.

9. Every time a new car was introduced car buyers would have to learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would operate in the same manner as the old car.

10.You’d have to press the “Start” button to turn the engine off.