Ashes to Ashes

I saw my Father in Law the other day.  It was interesting, because he is dead. 

I think about him all the time, John's parents have basically been our best friends for 4 years.  And then his father died.  I have always been accepting of death, especially when it's a 79 year old man.  But Tom Wilson was different.  I did not get to spend enough time with him and I was not ready for him to leave us.  He did not want to leave, he fought hard until the end.  He cheated Death for many years, he took every sucker punch God threw at him and he kept going.  

So, lest you become frightened that I am seeing ghosts again, John and his Mom, Joan, played golf the other day.  I, being a crippled gimp, drove the golf cart that Dad usually drove.  It is good to play golf, Mom loves it and so do John and I, but I cannot play and for the first time ever, I must drive the golf cart that Dad drove due to his missing leg.  I think about him the entire time, I miss him and the golf cart just makes it so much more vacant as I am not sitting next to him, cheating by sneaking a ride and having a laugh with Dad.  He was such an incredible man, and my husband is definitely his son to the tee. 

So, seeing Dad.  After golf, we took Mom home.  We sat and chatted a while, as we had to stop by Joanne's (John's sister) school on the way home and get the paperwork for her school to take the safety patrol to Wild Waves, which is by us.  Mom started talking about Dad, she is not a cryer, she just talked about Colorado, and all the nice things, and then she said that she should have not allowed the open heart surgery and brought him home instead for the surgery.  Then she asked if we wanted to see him.  John, being John, looked at Mom and I like we were alieans.  Then I put my two cents in.  "yes"  I wanted to see him.  So she went into the bedroom, and took him out of the dresser.  He has his own drawer.  and she brought the black box out.  She asked if we wanted to hold it to feel how heavy it was, and John gave the look again.  I said yes, and she passed the box to John, who passed it to me.  John handled it so delicately, and Mom pretty much flopped it around.  So, I flipped and flopped Dad's box, and stated that he felt like a box of really heavy cake mix.  He would have liked that.  Mom said maybe he was not alone in there, maybe someone else's ashes was in there with him.  He would like that too!  Tom Wilson loved to talk to people. 

At this point, John was in a panic, he thought ashes were going to fall out of the box, which had a small opening to slide out the drawer.  I told him that Dad felt like a box of cake mix because he must be in a bag.  So, we all debated opening the box and looking at Dad, and both John and Mom thought that was weird.  I, of course, said I would like to see him.  But John ended up pulling open the drawer and looking, and I did not want to intrude.  So I only saw Dad's box, and flopped him around a bit.  But I was glad I got to see his box, and feel him in a way.  I  miss him. 

I consider myself fortunate to be 43 years old and to truly feel a loss of life for the very first time.  I have known many people who died, but I have never felt like this before.  The only comparison is September 11th.  I refused to accept that the World Trade Center Towers had fallen.  It was just the top floors, they were too large, too strong to collapse.  When the smoke cleared, I fully expected to see the buildings minus the top floors.  And that never happened.  The Orkin Man can verify this because I dragged him into my house and we sat there crying for hours.  I never even knew his name. But that is what I feel with losing John's Dad.  I feel that the skyline will always be missing those grand buildings, for he was a skyline unto himself.  He was larger than life, a friend told me.  She cried about his death and she had only met him once.  But he had made himself eternal to her, as he had to so many people.  I just wish I had more time with him. 

train tracks

Ok.  I admit it.  I grew up next to the train tracks.  I know that is a supposedly a bad thing, but I am really thinking my life in Glen Rock (twist, twist) taught me more common sense than I realized. 

The news a few nights ago had yet another story about a person who was walking, talking on a cell phone, and got run over by a train.  How the Hell do you NOT see the train tracks?  You know I do, and not only do I see them, but every time I cross them, in car, or or feet, or even on a bus (especially on a bus) I expect to look up and see a massive engine barreling down on me. 

I used to think this was paranoid behavior, but I realize now that it is not.  I have walked the tracks, crossed the tracks, and survived.  And it did not take much sense at ALL.  Hello, LOOK when you are anywhere near train tracks.  They are easily noticable, big metal lines and gates going down a nd red flashing lights too.  Hard to miss.

Of course, if you walk on the tracks as though you were a train, you are a sitting duck.  You simply cannot hear the train barreling down on you, and when you do hear it, you are about 10 feet away.  It happened to me once.  And I got lucky, as I threw myself and my friend over into the rocky pit and we were a bit scuffed up but we were not flat as a board.  First time Sue was thankful for that!  (yes, she was flat)  (she still is)

So, if you are listening to your iPod or MP3 player or talking on your cell phone or texting on your Crackberry, please remember that you are not alone in the world, that there are trucks, trains, cars, bears, cougars, endless ways to die when you do not know what is lurking behind you. 

Sometimes I am thinking I am not so paranoid.

some did die

So, new ways to die actually was true.  Scores of people raced out to the rivers last weekend during the "heat" wave (85 degrees with no humidity!) and John spent all day Saturday pulling people out of the river who were in danger.  Of course, there were a few dopey ones who swam to an island and refused to swim back because the water was too cold.  DUH. 

It was all over the news, endless reminders and warnings that the rivers are full of RAPID ICE MELT, which is REALLY COLD and DANGEROUS.  So you would think that people would wear life preservers just to make sure, but no, lots of them did not.  One kayaker was experienced and wearing a life jacket, and he is toast.  It's a shame, but it's not like we all weren't warned three thousand times on TV and radio not to go jump in the river.  I did not jump in the river, and I made it through the weekend without using up all my deodorant.  And voila!  I am alive! 

Smelly and alive is better than death, because you very rarely smell good when you are dead.  Or so I've heard.

Of course, now my smart mouth is going to be run over by a Mack Truck for being so smug.  Or else God will be really kind and just let me live a long life before He sends me Straight to Hell. 

New Ways to Die

New Ways To Die!  Is that not exciting or what?  I am watching the news, and we have been told about 6 billion times in the past few days that a massive heat wave is coming our way.  It could even get close to 90 degrees!  GASP! 

But, no worries, we will not die of the heat.  We will die from the COLD in the heat.  That's the Pacific Northwest for ya.  See, people here like to jump in the rivers and lakes when it's hot out.  The only problem is that the water is FREEZING all summer long.  But people who grow up here are tough, they can take the ice water even though they barely know how to swim.  So, summer is a big swift water rescue time.  And unswift water rescue, for those who jump in lakes and really do not know how to swim that well, especially among the icebergs.  We take the boat out on Lake Washington in summer, and I am forced to swim in it's freezing waters.  I stay on the top 1 foot of the water, floating, feeling like I am sliding on a sheet of ice.  Those who went to college with me know that I despise cold water.  A LOT. 

On the brighter side, people like to tube down the rivers here.  But the snow melt this heat wave will raise the rivers quite high and make them more dangerous.  I learned today about two new ways to drown, the "Strainer" and the "Undercut Rock".  While you are joyfully tubing your frozen butt down the river, you can float into vegetation and dreaded shrubbery that is newly covered by snow melt river water.  You get stuck.  You turn into a Strainer (we call it a Collander on the East Coast).  And you drown.  Yay!  The undercut rock is a big rock, which there are tons of out here, under the water that has a ledge you can float into and under.  And you drown.  In the cold water, because it is never above 50 degrees. 

They say a really good way to stay safe is to throw a stick in the river, and if it is faster than you can walk, the current is dangerous and too strong for human activity.  Although I like to play Pooh Sticks with my kids (throw sticks in the river, run to the other side of the bridge to see who's floats out first, they win.  Winnie the Pooh.  It's awesome), I have no intentions of actually TOUCHING the freezing water.  It's all glacier melt here, and icey water is just not my thing. 

Frankly, Ihave the best way to stay safe out here.  Do not go in the water!  AT ALL.  And if you cannot swim well, you should stay out of the hot tubs too, because you never know when a Tsunami will hit. 

God has a sick sense of humor

Once upon a time in New York City, Brenda and Anthony and I went to see a comedy show at Caroline's Comedy Club.  Actually, we went several times to Caroline's, but one sticks out in my mind this evening.

We saw Paul Provenski or something like that.  He was HILARIOUS.  He was talking about God, and we three Catholics were laughing our asses off while praying we weren't going to Hell.  Ok, only I was thinking about Hell, Anthony and Brenda probably weren't.  They were having a good time, like normal people would.  Me, laughing while my hands shake as I admit in my mind that I am going straight to Hell for this one day.  Normal for me, abnormal for most others.

So, this guy in the front row is telling Paul that he is going to Hell for joking about God.  And Paul is laughing, and finally says, "No, I am not going to Hell.  Because MY God has a sense of humor and He thinks that I am really fuckin' funny!".  At this point I nearly peed my pants laughing, all the while praying that yes, God does thing Paulie is really effing funny.  Because then I will be excused for laughing my ass off when I get to the Pearly Gates.  IF I get that far, that is.

Why do I fondly recall the gentle moments of my 20's, you ask?  Well, because last night my daughter, who is 11, came out of her bedroom around 10:30 at night when she is supposed to be asleep.  And she says she can't sleep.  I yell at her and tell her to go to bed, as I have the most severe heartburn and indigestion I've had in decades and I want to be left alone.  So John goes into Chloe's room to see what the problem is, and she is crying and they talk.  Withing 50 seconds, John is back in the living room and says that I need to go to talk to Chloe no matter how bad I feel.  WHY?  Well, evidently, John tells me, Chloe is afraid she is going to give birth to a baby tonight.  Ooooookaaaay.  So, I drag my not feeling well butt into Chloe's room, and ask her WHY in the world she thinks that she is going to give birth tonight.  She says she heard that an 8 year old girl can get pregnant (NO idea where she heard that one) and she is afraid she is pregnant and oooohhh boy am I thinking, God is giving it to me now.  First, he gives me children who cannot talk, and I talk more in a week than the average person does in a year.  I think, hmmm, God is cute, He has a sense of humor.  Now, I am thinking, God is giving me paybacks for every damn joke old Paulie told that night. 

So, I explain to Chloe all about how you get pregnant and what to do if anyone wants to have sex (JUST SAY NO and tell me so I can kill him) and she calms down.  So, tonight, she comes around close to 10pm.  She can't sleep.  She is concerned because she is afraid the sun is going to explode and annihilate Earth.  Oh My God.  Do you know how many times I have worried about that??!!!  Pretty much every time I read the damn info on it.  Black holes too, they drive me nuts, so I have to put it out of my mind. 

So, God started out having a bit of fun by pointing out that I talk WAY too much, and now He is just plain old torturing me by making my child as obsessive about death around every corner as I am.  NOT FAIR.  I should not have to ever explain to anyone why something terrible is NOT going to happen.  I've been doing the opposite my entire life.  It's just not right. 

SO.  Now I will go to Hell unless I find a way to make my child NOT like me.  NOT FAIR.  You know why?  Because I am going to Hell anyway.  Mostly because I am hoping all the born agains are right and Jesus is going to take them all away and leave us all behind.  Imagine how nice the world would be without people trying to convert you all the time.  I hope Jesus takes the Mormon boys who try to convert you too.  And the Jehovah's, even if they only think 144,000 will go with Jesus.  I think Jesus would not be so cruel to those he leaves behind.  Take 'em all!  Leave the Catholics and the Jews and the normal Protestants behind, take everyone else with you.  Oh, the Hindus are good, and the Buddhists.  Anyone not involved in suicide bombing or ringing doorbells for Jesus is peachy in my book.  Even if I despise peach flavor, right Debbie?!

You all have a good day, because you know I never will.  And that's the way it is.

why PT sucks

Anthony would like to know WHY Physical Therapy sucks.  I guess it starts with the fact that they tell you not to shave your legs before the operation, and so you have withstand the humiliation of a guy (and then a girl) touching your hairy hairy leg.  As if that were not bad enough, they have to touch the other leg too, in order to see how the muscle is on that side compared to the other.  I didn't shave that one because it would have felt weird having one hairy leg and one non hairy one.    They don't want you to shave as you could cut yourself and there are no cuts allowed before surgery because you could get an infection.  In the operating room.  Where it is supposed to be STERILE. 

So, being paranoid about death by infection, I did not shave my legs for a good week before surgery.  Then, they operate.  And they stick my legs, BOTH of them, in these tight stockings and tell me not to bathe or take them off for a week and a day until my next appointment with the surgeon.  So, I have hairy legs to prevent sterile infection, and now I have stockings to prevent....what?  Oh, they say, to fend off BLOOD CLOTS.  Isn't that what David Bloom died from?  And so now I have to worry about infections AND blood clots?  What????   They did not tell me that BEFORE they shot me up and and knocked me out.  Bastards.

So, the first 3 days, I must admit, were a blur and I did not have a problem not bathing.  Then, as some of the drugs began to wear off and the severe knee pain started, I decided that I smelled really bad.  I guess my sense of smell started working again too.  So, I did an interesting straddling the tub thing in the kids' bathroom, took off the un-operated leg's stocking, and used a hand shower thingie to wash everything but my recovering leg.  To ensure no contact with water or various infectious bacteria, I wrapped my leg in 40 yards of cellophane and duct taped it all over.  It worked, the leg stayed dry.  I washed my hair and various other things, and towel dried and then proceeded to remove the duct tape and cellophane.  It took me about an hour, but the oxycodone might have made it seem like a lot less time, and it could have taken me 3 hours.  I like oxycodone, combined with prozac it made for a really good time.  Of course, I don't remember it, but I do recall feeling nothing at times, and that was happy. 

SO, after two weeks and a day without shaving, I go to the surgeon and find out that the physical therapist guy gets to see me first.  He cuts off the bandages, and sees the massive hair growth on my leg.  DAMN.  He is young too, so I was very embarassed, but I acted like I didn't notice or care.  So did he.  Then the surgeon gets to see the hair, and they are all running their hands on my damn hairy leg, the surgeon, the PT guy, the assistant surgeon, and the intern.  Ok, the intern didn't touch me, but he saw the hair.  Poor kid, he may quit med school because of me.   Too bad I couldn't pull out a 14 foot long ingrown hair to really freak him out like I used to do to Brenda in college.  Those were the good days. 

BUT, what also sucks about Physical Therapy is that my damn knee, which had pretty much stopped hurting, now KILLS because I am doing the damn exercises that they have told me to do.  Of course, they told me to do it AFTER they yelled at me for not using my crutches, and the female PT here yelled at me because I stopped using my leg brace too.  The brace just falls down all the time, it's useless.  I just walk carefully, that ought to be good enough.  

So, hairy legs, yelling, and, finally, knee cap pain.  That is PT.  I don't think I like them very much.  I get a stationary bike on Sunday, so I got a great book out of the library to read while I cycle, The War History of Afghanistan.  I should fall asleep after about 2 rotations.  Maybe I will take the oxycodone beforehand and I can really enjoy the whole experience! 

 

Tags: PT, physical therapy, pain, hairy legs, Anthony, oxycodone

PT

Physical Therapy sucks. 

That is all I have to say about that.