FROM HAPPY TO PISSED AND SORROWFUL

          Do you dream? Do you remember your dreams when you wake up? I’m asking because I do dream and I don’t always remember the dream. I had one Thursday morning and I’m not sure what it was really about because I can’t remember much. I do know that I woke up laughing. I got up to go to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet, I laughed and laughed and laughed. It was the kind of laughter that would have had other people joining me if I hadn’t been alone. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to stop, but I eventually did. Back in bed, I went back to sleep, still giggling a bit and surely smiling.

          When I woke up again a couple of hours later, I could remember laughing so hard and practically being unable to stop, but I couldn’t remember much about what was happening in my dream. I know it had something to do with horses (probably because I’m watching “Heartland”), that the horse was pulling a wagon or sleigh, and there was mud or dirt. The conveyance stopped dead and the horses continued on. I wish I knew something else about the dream so I’d know why it I thought it was so funny that it made me laugh so hard for so long. I do know I woke up happy.

          I have a friend who almost always remembers her dreams in vivid detail, can identify the people who inhabit her dream, and sometimes has an orgasm depending on what she’s dreaming at the time. She doesn’t tell me much about those dreams…guess they’re private.

          For me, I hardly ever remember the dream or who was in it with me. I know I’ve had sexual dreams, but no orgasms that I can remember. Some people think you should keep a pad and pencil nearby so you can record your dreams as soon as you wake. That would work well if I could remember the dream when I wake up. It’s very unusual, in fact, I think this morning has been the only time in my life I’ve woke up laughing and kept laughing for a time. It was fun and I loved laughing like that and wished there were folks that could have joined me because it was the kind of laughter where you stop, look at someone and break down laughing again.

          And, who knows, but perhaps it was my body’s or brain’s way of relieving some of the angst I’ve felt the last few days. My reasons for the angst are in relation to my ability to complete my hour’s walk each morning. My need for a bathroom has cut my walk in half every morning this week. Plus, I have a sore spot on the bottom of my right foot. I have a tele-appointment with my doctor today, so perhaps she can provide some insight to my problems.

          It’s really really annoying to do everything right and proper for all the appropriate reasons and have my body sabotage my efforts. I mean, seriously, does it want to just sit and vegetate on the couch and have the grim reaper come calling a lot sooner than wanted? If that’s not the case, then why is my body not cooperating in my efforts to stay active and healthy? Perhaps the laughter from my unremembered dream this morning is my body’s way of saying sorry and releasing some of those happy endorphins I hear about? I loved the laughter and it made me feel wonderful, but an hour’s walk without having to cut it short or having my foot hurt with every other step would also make me feel good. Why can’t I have both???

          Then, my happy really took a beating. I was going through the last cigar boxes of John’s stamp stuff and found two things that were very upsetting. First, I found letters from some woman named Karen. She lived in California and their relationship began in 1973 or thereabouts when John was down there visiting people who I thought were friends to us both. Apparently not. Apparently they were only John’s friends because they assisted with the communications between John and Karen. Then, judging by the postmarks, this Karen and her family moved to Tennessee and the letters and phone calls continued. This was through the early 1990s. I had found other email communiques when I cleaned out the file cabinets, but nothing quite as blatant as this.

          The other surprise, except it wasn’t a total surprise were purchase orders from a Seattle firm for more than $20,000 in gold. Now, I knew John believed gold was a good investment and at some point, he finally told me about it and showed me what he had on hand. The surprise was that he began purchasing gold back in the mid- to late 1990s. And, just so no one thinks I have a pot of gold here, John apparently cashed it all in before he died because there hasn’t been a single piece of gold to be found anywhere in this house…I’ve looked and looked.

          Finally, I hope you have happy dreams and remember them. I hope your body cooperates with whatever you wish it to do. And, lastly, my advice to anyone reading this is to be upfront and communicate well about EVERYTHING before it’s too late. And, if you are having an affair and exchanging emails and/or snail mail, may I suggest you very carefully destroy it so the living partner doesn’t find out what an absolute fucker you were during the marriage.

ZIP, ZERO, ZILCH...

is exactly how much writing I accomplished yesterday. Haley came and we again went through a bunch of crap. In one box were the speakers from the first stereo system I ever purchased. There was another speaker that undoubtedly lived in some place like a restaurant or something else. And, wonder of wonder, and how horribly exciting, another entire box of cancelled stamps various folks had saved for John. Steve my stamp friend is going to have more fun in the not too distant future.

          So, apologies for such a short post that’s not very entertaining or informative. Maybe tomorrow’s will be better.

DUST

          Do you hate to dust? I absolutely hate to dust and you’d know that if you came to visit, if you could come to visit. If you did and looked around at all the crap, I mean important to me stuff, that sits around on every single available surface, you would think the highlight of my life would be dusting all those wonderful glass pieces so they’d sparkle and shine. You would think wrong.

          I’m not sure I understand how all this came about or if it’s just a factor of getting older. I remember my mom’s house was always pretty decent, but there were always a couple of areas as she aged that she simply didn’t clean or dust very often. They weren’t important areas like the kitchen counters or dining table, but I noticed and wondered at the time why she didn’t pay more attention.

          Well, now I think I know…I’m older and simply don’t care about the dust. It always comes back no matter what you find to dust with that’s supposed to make it so easy. I watch those Swiffer commercials and want to beat those “I’m so happy I dusted people.” about the head and shoulders with the other end of the Swiffer stick.

          I can think clear back to my first apartment, our first house and now this house and how I used to clean up a storm. You could, quite possibly, have eaten off my floors without getting some kind of disease or even dog hair in your food. You could gaze out my sparkling windows rain or shine and not have your view blocked by dirt. And, dust, oh my word, I dusted every single Saturday, every single thing in the house.

          Now, it’s just me, myself and I, plus the two doggies that have the run of this house (well the doggies don’t, I keep them out of the bathroom and bedrooms). You would think my cleaning habits from decades ago would kick in and I’d have a sparkling house from floor to ceiling. Well, I don’t.

Back when I could entertain, having family or friends over was a great excuse to drag out the vacuum, follow that with dusting and cleaning the floors. In the time since I’ve been sheltering in place, I’ve done very little major cleaning. My windows could use a good wash inside and outside. I could hire the man down the street who’s in that business. I could even save up and have the Molly Maids return for a thorough cleaning of every single room.

But, you know what? I simply don’t care if everything sparkles and shines. I do keep the big chunks picked up. I do clean the bathroom and kitchen regularly. I do vacuum every couple of weeks and clean the floors if the doggies have tracked mud all over. But, dusting, well it’s on my list and I’m sure that one day I’ll wake up energized and excited to drag out the dust cloths or Swiffer stuff to whisk the dust away until the next time everything looks extremely dull and well, dusty.

SORT OF OUT-OF-SORTS WITH SORTING

         Seriously, I love AJ and Haley, but their visits tend to leave me both on the verge of a major depression and unbelievably thankful they are so willing to come here and help me. They came on Monday and spent an hour or so pulling boxes out of the other side of the garage attic. Then, AJ showed me photos of what’s still up there and it’s just unfuckingbelievable!!!!

          Besides what you see in the photo, AJ’s truck was filled with old pieces of molding, other pieces of wood and old drapery rods and other kinds of metal pieces for who knows what. The wood will be cut down to firepit size (or garbage depending) and the metal rods recycled. AJ said he couldn’t believe the entire pile didn’t ever fall from the top of the cabinet where they were stored. All the door openings and shuttings should have sent it right down on someone’s head. And, let’s not forget the HUGE TV box from the last TV we bought about 10 years ago.

Haley will return on Wednesday to help me sort through all those new boxes (including the ones not photographed). As for the others still up there, son Thor is going to need to come at the same time as Haley and AJ so the remainder can be brought to ground. Then, please God, light a candle, rub Buddha’s belly, do a crap-fest dance, whatever will help bring all this wading through 50 plus years of crap to an end. 

While they were here Monday, they also managed to tip over the five-gallon glass water jar full of pennies without breaking the jar. Now, when Haley isn’t available, I can have a real fun time rolling all those damn things. And, actually, the bank will undoubtedly be happy to see me once they’re rolled because I just read in the paper yesterday there is a coin shortage…and I’ve probably got the market cornered on the pennies.

MORE SAD

          Sunday morning, I looked at my email for the first time since Friday. I was just so very very busy on Saturday…hah. I wasted, if you want to call it that, the entire day watching “Heartland” on Netfliks. I began before 9:00 am and didn’t stop until after midnight. I did take bathroom and food breaks and wrote my post, but spent the day in my nightie with one or both of the doggies on the couch staring at the television. Don’t ask me why because I honestly don’t know. I just did it.

          In some ways, I’m very sorry I ever started watching “Heartland.” It has 11 seasons and so far, 18 shows per season. I think I just finished the fourth season. It’s produced in Canada and set in Alberta. I’ve never been there, but the scenery is gorgeous and I do so envy the folks who star in this program. It’s set on a ranch called Heartland with an entire family from Grandpa to the baby just born in the last episode I watched. The ranch has beautiful horses and one of the granddaughters is a “horse whisperer,” who becomes known as “The Miracle Girl.” I would absolutely love to live there and ride horses all the dang time.

          Perhaps I just needed to escape for the day between John’s birthday and Father’s Day. That’s what I’m going to attribute it to. I spent the day in Alberta with a group of friends I really love. Spending virtual time with them made me feel good and didn’t allow me to think of much else.

          Back to Sunday morning and my email. The second email in my feed was from Judy, the wife of a man with whom I went to high school. Her email was to inform me (and others) that Dale had passed away early Saturday morning. Like John, Dale had been battling health issues for some time, and I know their lives had not been easy. Still, when one of you suddenly, even if you expect it, has gone on ahead, it’s very difficult. I sympathize deeply with this friend.

          Dale and I both went to Lincoln High School. We didn’t have many classes together, but I knew him. When he went off to the Air Force, he wrote to me for a time, and then we lost touch. Years later, John and I became great friends with Dave who had met Dale at North Seattle Community College after he, Dave, moved to Seattle. In any case, Dave brought Dale and his wife back into our lives. It was good to see an old friend, and we always saw them at least once a year at a July 4^th picnic.

          Twelve years ago, at that picnic, Dale wanted to know where I’d been in June. Turned out our high school’s 45^th reunion had been held then. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but told Dale I’d go to the 50^th with him. And, I did and it now seems impossible that it was only seven years ago. So few years really, when both Dale and John were in good health. So few years, and now they are both gone.

          I know there won’t be a picnic this July 4^th because of the pandemic. I also know there most likely won’t be a funeral or memorial for Dale because of the pandemic. In some ways I’m happy about the picnic not happening because not only would I miss John’s presence so very much, but now I would also miss Dale. I think I’ve reached that point in life where there are going to be more and more people whose absence will be noted and missed by me until the time comes where I’m absent as well. I know it’s all part of living, but dang it, I sure don’t like it much at all.

HAPPY FATHERS' DAY

My dad came into my life when I was two years and 8 months old. It is, I think, just about the first memory in my storage bank and one I treasure still.

          My mom was a widow and she and my grandma moved with me from Tennessee to Idaho when I was a year old because that's where two of Mom’s brothers were living at the time. I don't remember riding the train, or a lot about anything that happened before I met my dad. I do remember the little shack we lived in before he joined us, especially the bathroom, but that's a tale for another day.

Anyway, there we were, me and Grandma, just hanging out, maybe reading a book. The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp, sparsely furnished and Grandma was sitting on a wooden chair near the metal stove that provided heat. The door opened and my mother came in, followed by someone I'd never seen before. I scurried behind Grandma, shyly peeking around her at this new person.

My mother smiled and said, "Don't be scared, Paula. This is your new daddy."

And, there he was, right up beside her in the room with a big smile on his face. He looked all friendly and nice, but once I grew up and looked back at that memory, I realized he may have been smiling, but he was probably even more scared than me. After all, he didn’t just marry mom, he took on her mother and a little daughter. He had to have loved my mom so much to have taken on wife with so much baggage. And, once I grew up and could look at my parent’s relationship as an adult, it was quite apparent they loved each other until death they did part. In fact, my mother continued loving daddy for another 20 years and looked forward to being with him again.

I don't remember my response to this strange man upon our first meet and greet, but he was the best daddy my mom could possibly have found…the only thing missing on a “want” list would have been lots of money. But, the money wasn’t important, what was way more important was that never once did I doubt daddy loved me, even when mom gave him a son and daughter. He always made me feel special, called me, "Little One," and believed I was capable of accomplishing anything I set out to achieve.

The only memory I have of our being at odds with each other and fighting was when I was in high school. It was spring or summer and I don’t even remember what we were arguing about. Daddy was on one side of the dining room table and I was on the other. I got so exasperated with him, I picked up the vase of flowers I’d picked and put on the table and threw it at him. I was immediately horrified by what I’d done, and that might have been the first time he’d ever hit me if I hadn’t looked so ridiculous. When I grabbed the vase, I did it with two hands and raised it over my head. The water and flowers cascaded over the top of my head. As daddy came around the table, I grabbed up one of the flowers. Its stem was broken and as daddy approached me, I shook it at him and the flower bobbed up and down.

“Don’t you dare touch me!!! Don’t you touch me.” I yelled, then dropped the flower and ran from the room.

How daddy managed to keep a straight face at my appearance I have no idea. We never talked about that incident and I met my mother at the bus that night so I could prepare her for homecoming. Daddy acted as if nothing had happened and had cleaned up the flowers, water and broken vase. I don’t know if he and mom talked about it later or had a good laugh, but she never said anything to me either.

Daddy left me after 30 years. He was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor the day after my 31^st birthday and it took his life 18 days before my next birthday. But, 30 years, three decades, is a lot of time and it is chock full of memories I cherish. I could probably type for hours and still not provide a title for all the slides in my personal PowerPoint. We danced...my small feet on his when I was very small and again at my wedding. We camped and fished...caught my first catfish on Lake Pend Orielle even though daddy had to bait the hook and take the fish off.

Growing up, the entire family laughed and commiserated every single day it was possible at the dinner table...a practice I brought to my own marriage and family. We shared the highs and lows and the joys and sorrows of each day there. Some of the memories created at table still have the power to make me smile, laugh or even cry. We went as a family on picnics, family reunions and even a few vacation trips. Those trips weren’t anything fancy, just car trips to places in the Northwest. I do remember the trip to Crater Lake and the one to southern California the summer after I graduated high school. I didn’t want to go, but my mother didn’t drive and I did, so I went as daddy’s relief driver.

When John came into my life, he and daddy got along as if they were old friends. Daddy walked me down the aisle and gave me away to John. Daddy was a baker, so he took vacation time and made and decorated our wedding cake…it was very special to me. For the next 11 years, all of us went camping, shared family dinners and played cards. From something John said years later, I think he was as devastated by daddy’s death as I was.

When it came to fathers, I was extremely luck in having John as a daddy. He carried on some of the traditions with which he’d grown up. I once asked John where he learned to be such a good dad because I knew his own growing up experiences had been awful. He told me he learned from the Watkins family. The amazing thing about that statement is the parents ended up divorcing and the kids did not turn out very well.

I think John learned from my dad as well. They had some great times together, were both die-hard sports fans, and liked to fish. The year daddy was dying, he would not give up driving no matter what I said or did, including not allowing AJ to spend the night at my parents because I couldn’t trust him not to put AJ in the car and drive. My parents came to watch the Sonics win the championship and I don’t know what John said to dad, but when he drove himself and mom home that night, he hung up the keys.

My tale of fathers doesn’t end here though because I also had a biological father. I was unable to identify and find him until I was 69 years old. Imagine finding out you have another whole family at that age. That man was no longer alive, but I met his son, my half-brother, most of his sisters and brothers, and his best friend. Based on what I learned about this man and the kind of man my brother is, I would say he was undoubtedly a great father as well.

I so wish I could have had daddy in my life for another 30, 40 or even 50 years. I wish he could have seen his first grandson, whom he loved dearly, grow up to be the wonderful, compassionate and beautiful man he is now, a father in his own right. I wish my younger son could have experienced that special grandpa-grandson bond that so enriched his older brother's life...I feel as though he was cheated of something very special. I know our granddaughter had a great relationship with her Pa; and, again, I wish John had been allowed more time to be a Grandpa to his grandson.

Heck, as long as I'm wishing, I wish I could, just once more, hear daddy's voice call me "Little One." No one has called me that since I was 31 and I miss it...I miss him...still. I wish John were here so we could argue about when to have his birthday dinner. When the boys were growing up, we always celebrated his birthday on Father’s Day…a two for one. John had a hard time letting that go when his own sons became fathers and needed that special day with their own progeny.

Happy Father's Day to all the daddies of my life. Biological daddy thank-you for giving me life and a wonderful brother. Daddy, thank you for raising me with love and for loving my mom. John, thank you for being such a good daddy and partnering with me in the creation and raising of two amazing men. Thanks to all three of you, I have a filing cabinet full of memories I will always cherish.

HOT AND SWEATY PROGRESS

        It’s getting late in the day on Friday and I don’t know what the temperature is, but the sun isn’t shining very much at this point. I got busy and left the deck door open after the sun rose over the hill and now the house is hot and humid. I’m a bit annoyed with myself, but a gin and tonic once I’m through here should make me better and cooler.

          I spent most of today organizing another of John’s collections. I’m sure he was totally surprised to hear me cursing at him after being so nice to him the last couple of days. I wouldn’t have bothered, but I moved everything into one location which was on my dining room table and I want the table back. I had it kinda semi-sorted, so didn’t just want to throw it all back in a box and then have to start completely over, so I persevered.

          Excel wasn’t a particularly good program for me when I was working. I could do it, but there was some muttered cursing when things didn’t go well. I believe I’ve used Excel more since I began organizing John’s stuff than I ever did at work. The only good thing is I don’t have to mutter the curses, I can scream them if I really screw up.

          At some point, my plan is to use the Excel spreadsheets to see if any of the crap I’ve organized is worth any money. I’ll start that once I’ve gotten all the crap organized, so it may not be utilized until next winter. At least I’ll have it. I did try looking some stuff up, but so many sites can be confusing and I’m not sure which one would be the best when it comes to determining value.

          One of the sites I visited a couple of months ago reached out and got in touch with me. For a small fee of $30.00 per item, they’d be happy to determine the value of stuff. Well, what if they determine the value is $1.00? If that happened and the way all John’s treasures are adding up, it would be more likely I’d be out $29.00.

          So, more progress in a different area and all on my own. It doesn’t seem much like the various piles are dwindling, but they are indeed going down. So, while I might sound a bit cranky here, I’m just hot and sweaty. Think I ‘ll stop and go make that G&T and read a few chapters in my book.