just hand over the money and no one gets hurt

don't worry, not another ramble about my war with NY State for Mom's extra money. They want it, I'm not giving it up. I don't particularly want the money and will donate it to the activity dept. at Mom's nursing home. It's that the money grubbing State had it's greedy little hand out before we could think. 

This is about deciding who to buy from, who to disappoint, and trying to figure out where you'll put thirty boxes of Girl Scout cookies, tins of Boy Scout popcorn and all the coupon books you've been buying. This is soon to be followed by magazines out the ears. Yup, it's buying season. And all those people who once bought my boys crap now have little ones or first grandkids selling crap. Pay back is a true bitch. 

We only sold cookies and wreaths as kids. Cookies from my Girl Scouts and wreaths by my brother's Boy Scout troop. No big deal, Mom and Dad bought an equal total of each. One wreath equaled appx. 4 boxes of thin mints and short breads. At Halloween-eve we'd go house to house with our UNICEF boxes. The honor system still lived back then. And we did it because we really believed our little orange boxes of loose change made a huge difference. I still choose to believe it. 

Now, they start selling in pre-school: wreaths, Kindergarten: magazines, and soon the onslaught hits. Every year, several times a year. Coupon books, car washes, bottle drives, chocolate, popcorn, cooking  kits, pizzas, Christmas paper, gift cards, more than you can imagine. And every hand is out. 

Now, I was once guilty. I pimped stuff in my time. I was the winner of the 'Parent who bought the most' three years straight. I bought the hell out of that wrapping paper. Wrapping paper isn't the devil (chocolate, I'm allergic), it doesn't spoil, expire or start to smell after a while. Everyone needs wrapping paper (or bags, which isn't a bad idea. I'd buy gift bags. Save me trips to the dollar store. ) Unfortunately my prize was a basket of wrapping paper. I only recently ran out. 

I get e-mails from people's kids. I get phone calls from parents. I even got a postcard in the mail. When did pimping stuff get to high tech? We had to go door to door, every door. We had to trudge back out and deliver it all weeks later. And we only did it once a year each. Now it's school, sports, activities, clubs, you name it ..they fund raise. And we are reduced to avoiding calls, pretending we didn't see e-mails, and hiding behind the couch with the dog whenever the doorbell rings. I can only buy so much and I'm at my limit.

Unless my granddaughter is selling. I can always use more of whatever she's selling. And I'm sure who ever is reading this would like to buy some too..... I'll have her give you a call. 

Jack Frost was a pervert with a nasal fetish

that got your attention, didn't it?

The wind is blowing through my house. It comes in the back windows and goes out the front. The dog is hiding from the curtains, they keep chasing him. It smells like Autumn. On Friday and Saturday nights I can sit outside and listen to the HS footballs games. The noise carries in the air from the local school. I can tell by the roars if we're winning  and the quiet when we aren't. 

This is sleeping weather. Cold at night, chilly in the morning but sunny all day long. The grass isn't growing so fast but we trade our mower for rakes and fight Mother Nature (and lose). The apple orchards are in a full out frenzy as couples and kids pick their own. And it's pumpkin time, every grower has something to entice us. Hayrides, petting zoos, crafts, pony rides, corn mazes and haunted houses. Anything to get us in and before you know it you're headed home with a trunk full of doughnuts, pumpkins, cider and apples. 

I love this time of year. NY gets real pretty in October and the colors are already beginning to pop. My Mom's favorite bushes go all red, Burning Bushes, she loved them and planted several at the lake. The Golden Rod's faded but the bright trees make up for it. 

Life is rolling on. We got past Mom's birthday and my birthday. Next is my brother's. Then just a few more firsts. I'm not sure why they are sad days but they are. I'm hoping time eases that. Every two weeks I go up to the nursing home and visit Mom's friends, my friends now. I count faces when I walk down the hall. I need to know they're all there. Sometimes one's missing. After all they don't go there to get younger. All my faces accounted for I visit with Mom's roommate Doris and my adopted person Jean. I decorate their doors with Mom's decorations. Much better than boxing them up throwing them away. It's healing to go up, and now it's already Fall.

Halloween is everywhere, a little early but who cares, it's not s-wording yet. Cross your fingers. According to my caterpillars, it's going to be a cold cold winter. It's the perfect time to walk Watkin's Glen or Letchworth or to go to  Butter Milk Falls. I'm a creepy cemetery walker. I think the headstones are beautiful pieces of artwork. The history is fascinating to me and the trees and the leaves set the scene. 

I raked my first leaves yesterday. The first on the block! And this morning the first leaf removal trucks came by. Beats the heck out of bagging them. Every Fall my Dad bought  apples and turned the kitchen into an apple sauce factory. He froze it and all year round we had fresh applesauce at hand. When he retired and spent winters in Florida, he always bought a bushel to take back. Those NY apples were a prized commodity in Sunny Florida. I might try my hand at applesauce this weekend, or maybe make pies. Just so I can smell Autumn in my house and savor it while it's here. 

Winter isn't too far away...

Happy birthday to Mom, happy birthday (almost) to me

Yesterday was Mom's birthday. She'd have been 90. A lot of things happen in 90 years and she lived through most of them. That's pretty amazing, even if she almost made it to her day.

I always hated Mom's birthday. Not because of her, that was a separate issue. I hated her birthday because I never got my own birthday. Those few days in between our's  were ignored in my house. Her birthday was mine, even though it wasn't. Sure, I got the usual kids sleepover with three of my friends. We'd take over the trailer in the driveway for a sleepover and we'd stay up way too late and giggle about the silliest, stupidest things.
But when it came to family celebrations, her's and mine were always the same day, the same meal, the same cake. I never understood why. There were three days in between us and those three days seemed pretty big to a kiddo.
I get my own day now. This year I do.
For the years I was more Mom to my boys and less daughter to my Mom, I'd have my own day too. But when she came to us, it reverted back. I reverted it, out of habit I'm sure. Last year it was too sad of a day and Mom was to sick so I skipped over the 50th birthday willingly. I didn't need Nifty Fifty gifts to remind me I was older, being a grandma hits that home. My friends didn't notice my day and my Mom wasn't able to. I was okay with that.
Not that I mind being older. As I've said before, I like me now. I know who I am, I fit in my skin and I like me better now than I did at twenty or thirty. I'm okay with who I've become, even through others might not be.
In two days I get older, officially. Some friends will notice, a couple probablywon't. I'll be happy to know what I've done with my life, I'll be sad not to have Mom to share my day with and I'll be grateful for all the times that she did share it. Who I am at almost fiftyone can see the memories a little clearer than who I used to be.
This year, yesterday, I celebrated Mom's birthday. Some drinks and some toasts, some conversation and tears with my brother. A long long walk with my camera and a lot of memories in my head. I think Mom would have had a nice birthday.

Happy birthday to Mom, she lived a long life.
Happy birthday to me, I know that I won't and I'm okay with that too.

Happy birthday to us Mom,
I'd gladly share our cake this year and when I blow out the candles my wish will be that you are wishing me a happy birthday too.

Phonies, dead guys, and stuff.

My goal for this morning is to get the house cleaned while on the phone with Florida. I figure it will take me at least three rooms of dusting and sweeping to get the bank to agree to close Mom's last account. They are holding a hostage I'm willing to slay. $4.45. Yup, for $4.45 they will not close my Mother's account and I don't want the damn money. It would cost me more to send certified copies of the death certificate to them. Today we will do the word dance that seems to be banker foreplay.

My version may have additional words, that went unsaid, added to tell the real story.

Me: Hi I'd like to close Shirley McMyMom's account because she has passed away. 

Them: We are sorry for your loss. Can you verify the death?

Me: You're not sorry. Yes I can. 

Them: Oh you're still there? <whispers to coworker "I got  live one here" they cackle> 

Them: Is there a balance on the account?

Me: Yes, you blood sucking ...I mean yes there is. 

Them: <I'll teach this one to sass me> Can you verify the balance please?

Me: yes I can.

Them: well?? 

Me: you asked if I can, I can. You didn't ask me to do it. Sheesh. Way to go public school edumacation. 

Me: since you said please... it's four, count them one-two-three-four dollars and forty-frikkin-five stinking cents.

Me: And I do not want it.

Them: <to coworker> this will piss her off cackle cackle ... 

Them: Ma'am. Ma'am that money is legally owed to the estate. 

Me: You keep it, buy yourself a new outfit. 

Them: it is so on now MA'AM!

Them: WE cannot release this money without proper paperwork. You need xxx and vvv and ooo and we will require notarization <picks nails and smirks> and it will need to be sent registered mail. 

Me: BUT I DO NOT WANT IT, just close the account paaaleazzzzeeeee.

Them: Ma'am, we cannot close an account with an active balance. 

Me: thinking it's time to try a new approach. 

Me: With the fees you take out this account will overdraw on September the first. Then it will be an overdraw fee which will not be paid. Then that will add up, some genius in your legal dept. will get himself a stiffy for the money owed, he will sue my dead Mother and when it goes to court I will show up and point out that you cannot get blood from a rock, or from a box of ashes that hangs out in my hall next to Dad and a stuffed lamb. The judge will  ask your legal eagle why this dead thing wasn't noticed before now and he will slink back to the office. Dead Mom win!

Me: or... you could close the damn account. BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD

Them: Ma'am, we cannot close an account with an active balance. WE cannot release this money without proper paperwork. Ma'am, you need xxx and vvv and ooo and we will require notarization <picks nails and smirks> and it will need to be sent registered mail. 

Them: Ma'am

Game. Set. Match.

In the way back of my fridge, surrounded by

In the way back of my fridge, surrounded by half empty salad dressings and marinates that sounded good in the store but tasted bad on the grill is a small can of ginger ale. I keep it so I can let other things go. I took a picture of it to show my brother. As soon as I prep a crock pot cobbler I'll explain it.

My Mom was a lot of things but I'm finally letting it go. Why carry grudges that no longer matter. My Mother was my worst enemy growing up, a sad kind of ghost in my mid years, and a human being at her end. I'm a grudge holder. If someone hurt me I never forget. I've just learned to stop picking scabs. I had to to find my own balance. Sometimes bad parents aren't bad parents by choice. Any child of a mentally ill parents can tell you that. I just had to learn how to let go of what she was as a child and learn to love the wounded person she was now. I fought it tooth and nail. The whole time I was fighting it I was saving everything of theirs. I couldn't give away Mom's things with Mom still alive. That just isn't right. So I kept it all in tubs under the pinballs against the wall. Out of sight out of mind.

I've finally started throwing it out. I have to let things go. I went to two garage sales this weekend. Both were children selling off Mom and Dad's stuff. We're becoming an epidemic. Adult children selling the folks stuff for a buck. I will not do that to my kids. They'd toss it before the ambulance door shut.. Unless they piss me off,I'm sorting it for them. I'm starting by liberating mom and dads stuff. It's time. I'm parting with the tea cups I really don't like. A couple for the sons girls, a couple for tea parties with my granddaughter.  The rest need to go. And lots of things do/did. Last week I let go. Then went away for a couple days. This week the rest goes. I'm keeping the photos but not much else. A pretty glass item here and there, my great grandpas rocking chair. Some family things. The rest is gone. I gave old photos to people who were in them. Gave my cousin letters his dad wrote as he traveled the world at eighteen. Letters his grandmother wrote to her sister. Mom had them. We figure Dad collecting stamps comes into play. My Dad's Army things to a son. Some china to the other. The rest recycled or donated.
It feels good. I needed to do it before my kids got it some day. I needed to cut the emotional ties. Get rid of the emotional clutter. I'm keeping things that make me smile, like Mom's weird JELLO book of recipes. I'd like to meet the person who wrote that. Maybe they can make me understand why anyone in the right mind puts celery in JELLO. Geh!
And I'm also keeping one tiny can of ginger ale.
The last one in Mom's ginger ale stash in her room. She almost ran out. We kept her hooked into the ginger ale back streets, she never ran out. She loved her ginger ale and they'd give us five or six extra to hide in case they ran low. Shirley wanted ginger ale and by God she would get it. All it took to keep her happy was a little can of ginger ale with a bendy straw and the straw was optional.  A little can just like this

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down

A couple things have me thoughtful today. The death of a friend’s step-dad, the (soon) scattering of the ashes of a man I wish I’d have had as my own Dad, or a neighbor, or as a friend for a whole lot longer.

I used to mark my days by the important things like how many days until the last day of school, how many days of summer vacation, how many days until my birthday, how many days until Christmas. Then I grew up a bit and it became how long until the baby’s born, how many months/years of age is he, how many days until he goes off to college. Now it’s who died, when, and what will I do, how many days until the funeral/service/burial, how many days until Grandma Tia’s Monday.

This is a weekend of ashes. Scattering some, making plans to have others interred, sending condolences to those whose loved one(s) have died. The goodbye part of life.

I’ve been dreaming weird dreams. Bits and pieces of my childhood that weren’t scary, sad, or bad. Things like trips to Wyanoco Lake every summer. I have no idea why we started going but you know the place in Dirty Dancing? kind of like that. Group activities, meals, water, classes, games. The whole thing minus the grinding and back music. I can’t allow my brain to picture Mom and Dad with ‘hungry eyes’ playing in the distance. GEH! We went every year, met up with friends of Moms and Dads.

As childhood travels went, it was good. Every year another road trip in the disfunction mobile, every year another state. And somehow they always knew someone somewhere where we were going and we’d park a night or two in their driveways. Or we’d stay in a State park or KOA campground. We weren’t really safe as kids back then but we thought we were. My brother and I would explore until bedtime and then make a campfire to hand out by. If Mom was still good we’d play Triaminoes or UNO before bed. It was nice. And Mom and Dad never met a museum they didn’t need to tour. I’m pretty sure my love of roadside oddities is ingrained since them. We went where ever the wind or AAA maps would take us.

And even though my inner child is having a fit over my memories, I remember them trying their best at home too. In between Mom’s ‘episodes aka ‘real life Twilight Zone’, there were the good days. That trailer we traveled in was rented out to a family who skiied at Swain. They’d rent it for the ski season so they could have a place to sleep, etc. during the season. This meant it was in our driveway from September – November.

So my birthday, which I hated and my birthday sleepover party, which I loved.. were both at home. I hated the day because it was three days from Mom’s and they were always celebrated together. I call foul on anyone who denies a kid their own special day! My party was always the same, three friends sleeping over. We got the trailer for the night. That’s independent in those days. And as a girl… it wasn’t a tent. Tents would be uncivilized. We’d do the cake thing after dinner and then we were on our own. I can’t remember what we’d do but it probably doesn’t matter “what”, it only mattered “that”. I remember counting down those late-summer days until the first day of school and then my birthday.

This year is a whole different count down, more of a count up. And the trips I’m taking are first and foremost down memory lane. More often when I sleep. Today a friend says goodbye to a man who loved not only this friend’s mom but the whole family. Friday a little bit of one of the greatest men I’ve know returns to a place he loved and shared with his own sons. And every day is another day I count, it’s been eighty one days since my Mom died but my memories are shifting and the clouds that have skewed my view of the past have left me as well. My good memories are surfacing and that makes me lucky.

and it is only forty one days until my birthday. sweet!

In the grander scheme of things

I am my Mother now. But only in the generational scheme. I am the oldest tier of relatives, I am the oldest generation in my little family. Before me came my parents and before them, their parents. Now I am the one who pulls the fabric of our family together and keeps us from fraying. I never wanted the job and this morning when it hit me, it hit me hard. I'm too young to be the elder. I'm too young to wear that crown, although I do love shiny objects and who doesn't look good on a throne?
I miss my Mom. I never thought I'd feel that, I never thought I'd love her.
My Mom was many things. To most she was seen all put together, matching outfits, hair done, lipstick on. But inside our doors she was my greatest fear. When a person is manic you never know what each moment brings. I've hinted at my childhood. It wasn't great but it was, to quote every idiot out there, what it was. My brother and I learned to tend to ourselves when Mom was in a downward spiral. We tentatively smiled when all was up and happy. And we survived and surviving made us who we are. It made him emotional and afraid of upset. It made me strong but a little too hard when people need me to be soft. And as I aged I turned my back on my parents. I had to for my own mental stability. All was well until the call. I've talked about the call before so bear with me, I have a need to retell the story.
The call. The call came in on a Wednesday. No feeling of doom as my phone rang, no black cloud overhead. Just a call from my parents neighbor. She was worried about them. Life changed quickly. For Mom, for me, for my brother and it ended for Dad. I arrived in Florida on a Thursday, the next day. Dad died a few days later, Mom died almost two months ago. Somewhere in between Dad and Mom, I found myself. I've never been a big fan of people claiming to "find themselves" and I certainly never set out to do it. Three years of Mom solidified Tia. I love my Mom. Another thing I never thought I'd say. Somewhere in between touching down in Florida and today, I learned to love her.
I know now that her mental illness shaped her. It made her weak. It made her strong. It made her a fighter. I don't think my inner strength is half as strong as her's was. Even when we reached NY, even on hospice the first time, even as cancer found her twice, even as wave after wave of manic depression hit her, she fought back. When my brother and I made that decision to let her go, her body kept on fighting until she ran out of strength and quietly left us.I miss her, I'm lost without her. She made me strong but losing her made me weak.
People tell me things like "she's in a better place", "she's with your Dad", "it was her time" and my personal favorite "she's happy now". She might be happy, she might be with my Dad in a better place, and yes it was her time but I miss her. I'm grateful that I got a chance to be with her. I learned to be compassionate, I learned to forgive and forget. I got to know who she was.
I've started to heal. The holes of the loss are filled with my granddaughter. The other end of the family scale. I heal with every moment I spend with her, she brings me joy.
Someone at the home used to call Mom 'The Matriarch'. I guess that's my job now.