Monday, July 02, 2018

hello, remember me? maybe

you don't. It hasn't been an easy year. If L hadn't been here, it would have been truly horrible. Vermont; I don't think I'm ready to let that go. I was just thinking about the old spaghetti and steak house (really!) on 103 that was there when we arrived; Mom hired the daughter (what was her name? I can see her). Learning to swim in Spring Lake. Ranch Sarca (wasn't it called that? you tell me) and the bear roast they had every summer; the ice house. The siblings of Mia F, so impossibly thin, swimming in Spring Lake, one of them up at the ranch to recuperate from whatever. The person who ended up living there, who always wore a tie with a paperclip as a tie clip. You tell me how I can let this go.

Saturday, January 27, 2018

Here's a phrase

that doesn't cut it, doesn't 'do' it, doesn't express shit, really: Sorry for your loss. Really? This is when it's been used in the past month(s): I'm sorry for your loss. You're entitled to only 70 percent of his Social Security monthly payments, even though you've been married for 30 years. Sorry; you're not retirement age yet. I'm sorry; contact your congressman and complain to him/her. Those are the rules. Also? You can't earn more than a pittance before your SS monies must be returned. I'm sorry for your loss. Sign here so I can load up the hospital bed from the living room, and the oxygen tank, and the roll-away table. I'm sorry for your loss [said while looking over my shoulder], although I'll post a Facebook meme in which I claim to clasp any and all depressed persons to my personal bosom. I've even lost FB friends because I've expressed that 'sorry for your loss' doesn't cut it. They're actually offended. "What are we SUPPOSED to say?" they whine. How about: "I don't know what to say. What can I do, or not do?" There; I wrote that in September. Here it is now.

Friday, September 08, 2017

Something elser

The Green Line from Clay Pipe Music. Other news: figuring out what to do next if the heating system is kaput. Don W is on it, with screening, some kind of glue for woodstoves, and an ancient part for this 30+-year-old Lennox system. Then he told me that he and D had hitched up a garbage can to act as some kind of venting system last year. Oy. What I don't know can fill a, well, venting garbage can. What a summer; what a year. What will I do?

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Something else

to keep your mind off of everything, including, but not limited to, the dog's worrying herself over fleas she shouldn't have.

Saturday, August 26, 2017

FB

Face book is now like a crowded elevator, with everyone breathing on you, sneezing, and trying to read your copy of the New Yorker, while standing on your foot and pretending not to notice. AND: it's always going down when you want to go up.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

Revelations

Just a minute ago the phone rang, and on the other end was an older widow lady (not unlike me, actually, when you think about it) who offered to comfort me by reading me a Bible verse, this one from the book of Revelations. I listened to her, after being asked whether I believed in the Resurrection; to which I said yes (but don't really). But then I cried after I hung up.