Memorial Day - May 31st

It seems inappropriate to wish anyone a "happy" Memorial Day. It does provide a time away from work, though, and that's what most people appreciate most. I'd be willing to bet that most don't think past the barbecue grill to remember the people who gave up their lives in service to our country. Whether one believes a war is just or not, the people who served made sacrifices that none of the rest of us can ever really understand.

That being said, both of my grandfathers and my dad saw service in wartime, and they were no more averse to hot dogs and hamburgers on a long weekend than anyone else.

There will be no barbecue for me today. After wandering zombie-like through yesterday, a solid night's sleep was welcome. If I allow it, the energy can be summoned to accomplish at least three chores, one of which has been hanging like the sword of Damocles for a long time. Time to cut the rope and get it over with, already.

More later when I can report any progress made...

Saturday, Saturday, Saturday night's all right...

Yes. Elton John. The only artist whose greatest hits were not sung at the karaoke bar(s) last night.

Went on a pub crawl last night for the first time in...well, enough years that I can't remember how long. My girl friend and I wanted to go someplace different for a change. We wind up in the same bar & grill every weekend because friends of ours do karaoke shows there several nights a week. As comfortable as we feel there, we needed a Pappy's-free Saturday.

So, off we went in search of a bar that had a band and dancing. You'd think that would be easy to find. Well, no. It isn't on the Saturday night your home town NBA team is playing a critical game in the Western Conference series. Or so I learned.

The first place was one I used to frequent with a different group of friends. There was indeed a band, but it was one of the worst I've heard that had the gall to request payment at the end of the night. They're called Going Nowhere Fast, and boy, they aren't kidding. Good luck fellas. Time to go back to the garage to practice.

We had dinner there because they have a decent kitchen for a B&G, and each nursed a drink through the first set before we lit out in search of happier climes. There was no Plan B, so we sat in the car in the parking lot wracking our brains to remember where there might be another place that would suit.

I remembered a place another group of friends and I used to go to. We didn't even go in after a quick cruise through the parking lot. My friend said, "Oh Honey. Look at all the little bitty cars, OH! and there's a Scion. I bet the place is full of skater kids." And by golly, she was right. All those boys in baggy shorts, black t-shirts with band logos on them, and dark ball caps standing in clumps out in front while smoking proved to me that my friend can read a bar parking lot better than anyone I've ever known. She is a bar parking lot savant. I will never doubt her ability again.

Third place was a dive she'd mentioned before in humorous context. The bar is tiny, so it doesn't take a lot of bikers to fill it to a condition of extreme coziness. Last night, I learned that a lot of biker dudes are cleaner, and smell better than you'd think. And these were not weekend warriors, either. These were men (and a few women!) who looked like they could be quite dangerous in the right (wrong?) circumstances. When they weren't ignoring us (there were a couple of off-duty strippers wiggling around) the people were quite nice to us. Okay, so, two or three drinks there.

Bar number four was a place I have visited occasionally for the past 15 years or so. A different friend hosts karaoke there on Sunday nights. We held hope that they might have a band. We were wrong. More karaoke. What the hell. The bartenders were eye candy and the other customers were friendly and funny. Our own karaoke Cheers.

We stayed there from around 10:30 to closing at 2 a.m. I got to sing two songs. Next stop: Waffle House. Yes. I ate a waffle at 2 a.m. Deja vu, Man. While we chatted and ate, there was a little voice in the back of my head whispering, "1978. It's 1978 again."

At some break in the conversation I looked up at the clock and said, "Oh crap! It's 3:30 in the morning!" She said, "Noooo." I said, "Yesssss." For some reason, she didn't believe me, so had to turn around in the booth and look a the clock herself. "Dayum! It is!" Why did she doubt me? She does parking lots; I do clocks. My clockage should never be doubted.

We hustled out to the car and headed for her home. It was "Talk Night" though, so we sat in the parking lot for another 45 minutes or so, pouring our hearts out to one another--more. When I looked at my watch, it was 4:30. See? Still good with telling time. Okay, Honey. Time to go home. You go in, I'll go home. I was dead sober after all the eating and talking, so no problem driving home except that it was FOUR THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Staying awake was the challenge. Good thing it's only ten minutes away.

By the time I crawled into bed, it was five, and then it took just a little while to fall asleep with the TV on. Why my right eye cracked open at 9:30 is still a mystery, but there I was. I'm a middle-aged woman. Once I'm up, I'm up.

So here I sit writing more than an hour later, wondering if an afternoon nap is a possibility. My body knows how long it's been since I last did this, and it isn't 1978 anymore.

Memorial Day Weekend

If my Nana was still alive, she'd be 104 years old tomorrow. That doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but just occurred to me when I looked at the calendar.

Mom would have been 75 today, if she'd lived. I'm almost the age she was when she died.

Which reminds me...Aunt Phyllis will be 79 on the 9th of June. Better get a card ready to mail...she never checks her email.

Old Ladies

Grandma Lee has fallen on her backside twice in the last two days. The nursing home calls me each time to notify me officially, and to let me know "there's no injury--she's okay." Well, yes and no.

She's bruised her tailbone badly, and is clearly in pain from that. The nurse said if it was broken she'd be in a lot more pain. Okay, that's good news, anyway.

This comes because she is so cussed ornery that she won't believe she is impaired enough to need help to get to the bathroom or dress herself. They've tried putting an alarm on the seat of her wheelchair to alert them if she gets up. She figured out how to remove it without setting it off, and finds new hiding places every time it is found and reattached.

Orneriness comes to her naturally; she probably hatched that way. I believe she is having more mini strokes. When she started "taking a seat" at the last place, it eventually proved to be because of TIAs. The last one was big enough to cause serious and unmistakable deficit. That's what landed her in the hospital, and then in this place for skilled nursing care.

I've known her so long I can tell she's slipping mentally again. She called twice on Friday to tell me what had happened, and used the exact same wording each time. The only reason I knew for sure they were two separate calls, aside from the noted time of each, was a bit of additional information at the end of the second one. Clearly, she didn't recall that she'd made the first only an hour before.

Repetition is nothing new. That's been going on for a long time. That's what happens when you live in a shared room, seeing the same people every day, with nothing new happening from one day to the next. I'd repeat myself, too. There's only so much fodder for conversation there.

This is different, though. She's less "there", more confused. It's gone from forgetting names to forgetting where she is and how long she's been there. She moved in the first week of March, and told someone the other day that "it's been just over a year." Maybe it feels that way, but this a very different place from the last one. I have to keep reeling her back into the now.

There's gentle sweetness; like staying with her roommate when the other ladies invited her to join them in the activities room. She said, "You know, she's not well at all. She wakes up in pain in the middle of the night. Someone has to stay here to make sure she gets help if she needs it."

Then, there is anger and agitation. She chafes at what she calls "confinement". Some people irritate her beyond all reason. I suggest she just stay away from them, but even the sound of their voices makes her angry. I hope she doesn't use a fork to poke at the guy who rolls up and down the hallway like she did to the fellow who looked in the door of her room on the other ward.

She becomes aggressive through fear. Life has taught her the best defense is a good offense. That's one lesson she'll take to her grave.

Never Can Say Goodbye

I actually passed on  going to a retirement send-off for a man I used to work for at my company. He's a nice guy, and it's sad to see him go...but...It was more about timing than anything else.

When something begins in the downtown area around four, and goes until six, you either have to pop in and pop out again really quickly, or hunker down with a drink and some food until rush hour is over. Given that it was held at a Mexican restaurant, and I'm trying to take off the 15 lbs gained over the past year, it seemed best to extend my regrets. Two hours drinking margaritas and chowing down on mini chimichangas would undo all the efforts (and SELF DENIAL!) of the past weeks.

Apologies will be extended. If it had been held under a ramada in a park with some beer, a bucket of chicken and some salad, it would have worked out better for me. And it's all about me, right?

Always, and don't you forget it.