5 things to start the weekend

1. The weather. Yes, I know. I gripe when it is cold and now I'm griping when it is hot. Too damn bad, this is my blog and I'll gripe when I want, and right now I want to whine about the hot weather. One of the issues with living in Florida is the up and down weird weather. While this year we did get a "spring" of sorts before we got the hot weather it feels like the hot weather in June is the hot weather we usually get in July. Or maybe I've just forgotten. Either way the weather is hot, clammy, and stifling. I've been trying to get into the pool daily and even at 9:00 in the morning the weather is all of the above. The pool water is hot and not refreshing. Still...I love Florida, and the weather, and my pool.
2. College visits. When planning our summer I left the last week of June free for college visits. Tom decided that North Carolina would be a good place to go, specifically Raleigh since he spent ten years in college there as there are many colleges within that area. I had a vision of college visits for three of the days and then maybe a trip into the mountains. Our visions were not on the same page apparently as I wanted to drive and he did not. By the time the back and forth had ended Tom and Madison were flying for four days to Raleigh to visit Duke University, North Carolina University, and Tom's alma mater North Carolina State. Darcy and I were left behind, much to her great happiness and joy. I have yet to recover from the snub, although I do enjoy not making my bed and leaving dirty dishes in the sink.
3. First night at home. A year or so ago I would not have slept while Tom was away. I just couldn't. I worried about everything that went bump in the night and about every evil person and thing in the world. Then after years of that I got over it. So when Darcy and I came home after a night of partying with friends I didn't hesitate to walk the dog in the dark. I did check both of the cars that Tom drives that sit out in our driveway, and upon finding them both unlocked, I locked them and only briefly muttered about his inability to listen to me when it comes to locking the cars. Then I went inside and promptly went to bed. It was after midnight by this time. I went right out due to alcohol tiredness. At one o'clock my dog began barking and then howling at the door leading to the garage. When I saw the time I got up, trudged out into the dark kitchen, opened the door, turned on the light and showed him that his daddy was not home and in the garage. I assumed that was why he was crying because Tom is this dog's whole world and I knew he was confused as to why the man had not come home. I shut the door and locked it and started back to bed. That is when I realized that the helicopter that I had heard upon exiting my bedroom was back again. I hadn't paid it much mind the first time as we get a lot of planes and helicopters flying over us during the day, but when I heard this copter the second time I knew what that meant. Sheriff. The department my husband works for has a helicopter that they use when hunting down bad, bad, bad people. The helicopter was flying in circles over my neighborhood, shining a big, bright light down into my backyard and those yards of my neighbor's. My dog would sit on the couch while I moved from window to window, door to door, and suddenly the hair would stand on the back of his neck and he would jump up and begin barking, "Intruder! Intruder!" at the various doors I have that lead to the outside. This went on until three o'clock in the morning at which point the helicopter either caught his man or gave up. I then promptly went to bed and got four hours of sleep before the dog woke me for his breakfast and daily walk. 
4. Teen Driving. I still can't deal with it. I have apologized to my children for my lack of ability to allow them to drive, but I have made other arrangements for them. My good friend, SueG, has been taking Darcy driving each week. She offered the same to Madison, but SueG frightens Madison and so she opted out. SueG frightens Darcy too, but driving outweighed that and so she has been learning with her. SueG had her drive us the night we went out partying. Darcy drove SueG's car and her children to the restaurant and then to KMart where we partied. SueG made me a nice cocktail to relax me before we went and then gave me a sippy cup for the ride. Darcy did very well and SueG's twelve year old son did well by keeping me occupied with conversation in the back seat, but occasionally I did have to close my eyes and pray. It is so weird that I can't handle this driving stuff. SueG is so good at it, talking her through situations and explaining what is needed. She has been through it once already with her older son, but she just has a knack for it I think. I told her I would hire her when I open my driving school.
5. Estate Management. My mother told me that the job of the Personal Representative (the term executor is obsolete now) was a difficult one and time consuming, but I have to say that I haven't found it to be so difficult. I have had a few glitches and problems like the credit card and bank and it is time consuming, but for the most part it has been, well, quiet. The Internet is helpful. The lawyer is helpful. There are weird things that pop up that take time to deal with and make me a bit nuts, but I'm dealing with them. I am amazed at how willing people are to accept it when I say my mother died. I was told to order tons of death certificates because everyone requires one, but so far I've only given out two. The other day Darcy and I went to collect on a loan she had given and the accountant handed over the check without incident and without asking for any identification or death certificate. I had the paperwork and that was good enough for him. I'm thinking I'll write a book of what people should do before they die to make it easier on their loved ones though because the information that is out there is misleading and confusing. I keep waiting for something major to happen that will make me go, "OH, here is what everyone was talking about when they said this job sucked", but fingers crossed I'll be the one person who just sails smoothly through.

Go Windows 8.1!

My computer died, the innards I mean. Whatever that means. I don't understand any of this technical geeky computer talk, and honestly, I have too many other things in my brain to add this to it. Especially when I have the tech computer guru living in my house. Why worry? I depend on him for these matters. And he delivered. He decided for me, after giving me two options, that I needed a new desktop computer, and by that he meant new innards, hard drive, or what not. Again, I don't clutter the brain with stuff like that, which annoyed my mother, but she isn't here now to worry herself about stuff like that either.

Tom suggested I decide between a docking laptop and a new desktop. I researched it, something he has taught me to do, but then he called me from the computer store and told me he thought a desktop was the way to go, and I didn't argue. I like having a computer on my desk because then I have to sit up straight in a chair and it makes me feel like I have a job. Bottom line.

He came home with the new system unit (I used Google) and installed it that very night. Usually when Tom installs or works on a computer it takes days hours. And I mean days hours. I have spent many an days hour sleeping sitting nearby while he works to finish installing or fixing a computer. I didn't expect this installation to go any faster, and so instead of heading to bed that night at a decent hour, I felt the need to stay awake as he was doing me a favor. I would venture into the Steelers room/office and inquire to how things were going. He would grunt and I would head back into the other room to pass the time with television or tidying up the kitchen. At midnight I went in to check up on him and found him cleaning up. He was done. I was shocked. He was shocked.

Tom: "I even put your hard drive into this computer with no problem. I moved some programs, but the rest...well, I don't know anything about Windows 8 so you are on your own. Good luck."

He put the old innards into the new innards' box, and he went to bed. I sat down at the new computer (it is easy to call it that despite having only new innards) and stared at the Windows 8 screen, which looked like the picture below only with strange squares on it that meant nothing to me. (This picture has my new tiles on it now that I've learned all about tiles)

Both the girls and Tom had told me that "everyone" hated the new Windows 8. I found that the Start screen reminded me of my Apple devices only without the touching capability. I began Googling (a bit difficult in the beginning because Microsoft wants you to use Bing as your search engine) how to work this new system and pretty soon I was pinning and unpinning tiles to my start screen which then led to deleting and adding apps. I ended up playing on the computer until 2:00 a.m., and when I went to bed I absolutely LOVED the new system.

I've read a few of the comments on why "everyone" hates the new operating 8.1 system, but I have to say that I find it not that difficult once you play around with it. I've had more problems with going from all the other operating systems in the past then I did with this one. I enjoy the tiles. I like that I can change their size and move them around in position. I like that if I get confused in finding a tile I can click the arrow at the bottom and it takes me to an alphabetized version for easy searching. I like the taskbar and the split screening, even though I have two monitors. I really haven't found much to dislike, and I am pleasantly surprised that I have adapted so well. Usually I am whining and whining about new fangled changes and having to relearn things. I wonder if this means I'm actually becoming techy?

A tweet that just might keep me going

I am working hard at trying to put this fat, old body into some kind of shape. I started going back to my wellness center and have slowly started adding in the weights along with the cardio training. Madison had to join the YMCA to work on the active portion of her CAS project for school, and since I have to drive her there I signed up too. She and I take yoga once a week, and while I enjoyed the first class, last night's class wasn't my favorite. But that is another story. The Y also has an indoor pool, and since my mom died I have decided that I need to get back into the water.

I've spent my life swimming. My mother was a swimming teacher who put me in the pool at an early age. I grew up swimming on teams and then went on to coach those teams, lifeguard, teach swimming and water aerobics, and run a pool. Somewhere along the lane lines, after having kids, swimming laps ended for me. I would swim and the next day have neck pain. Every time we would go to a pool I would swim 200 yards or so just to see, and while that was fine, swimming farther seemed to bother me so I just gave it up.

Lately though, I've been looking at pictures on Instagram of a retired athlete who swims daily. I follow Charlie Batch, retired back up quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers, who I've written about in this blog back when he played. I've always loved and believed in Charlie when he played and so I followed him on social media. He swims every day and always posts his time and a picture. I decided that if Charlie could do it, then so could I, and so I got back into the pool.

Darcy and I went on Tuesday night to the Y. We shared a lane with two small girls, no more then ten years of age. They were good swimmers. Darcy was there to work her shoulder per her physical therapist's advice, and I was there to start my Charlie Batch swimming routine. It went really well, although I was tired. I pushed myself, but when I woke up the next day I felt pretty good. I had some soreness in my arms, but that was about it. Feeling thrilled with that, I tweeted:

I wanted to let him know that his daily picture and tweet of his swim motivated me. I think it is important to give credit where credit is do so I tweeted. Then I promptly forgot about it and went about my day. Around three o'clock, Darcy and I were in an accounting office at a country club dealing with some estate stuff when my phone alerted me to the fact that someone had tweeted. I only have family tweets that go to my phone so I waited a bit before I calmly pulled out my phone to find this:

OMG! Charlie Batch tweeted me! He didn't just retweet me. He tweeted me some encouragement! I had to control myself not to jump up out of my my chair and jump up and down. I once read a tweet from a celebrity who was talking about how sad it was that people got so excited about retweeting from celebrities, and I had to agree with the man. But I have to say, that getting a tweet from Charlie Batch changed that because the feeling I got from his encouragement made me want to go swimming right away. Despite the fact that my neck had gone into spasms early that morning. Thanks Charlie! I will slug through it somehow because I know you have faith in me!

Pictures I have found

My mother had tons of pictures for a woman that never owned a camera in the 49 years I knew her. Of course, most of the photos were ones that my dad took and that I have copies of since he insisted on sharing his photos with all of the subjects in them. But she also had pictures of her life before a husband and children, school pictures of us, and pictures she obviously treasured. What I'm going to do with all of these pictures is the next question, but for now I'm just enjoying going through them.

          

The first picture is my grandfather, my mother's father. He died after I was married and living in Florida, but I remember him as the man who always gave us $20 for our birthday, let us have a soda at his store's soda fountain, and let us fill a bag of candy from the candy counter when we visited him at his five and dime store. As I got older, I knew him as the man who caused uncertainty and nervousness in my mother. I can't remember having any meaningful conversations with him, anymore then I did with any of my grandparents, but I'm fascinated with him now that I'm looking at his pictures and going through what little belongings my mother had of his. In this picture I am totally amazed at how much my brother and my nephew look like him.

My mother had a box of pictures of herself that I don't think I've ever seen. Once when I was cleaning out our utility room in Indiana, thinking to making it into an escape room for myself, I discovered a box of her keepsakes and went through a few of the pictures. I remembering finding one of my aunt and taking it to my mom to ask who it was. She wasn't thrilled I was going through her things, but she came downstairs and we looked at some of the photos. Those are here too, but I really don't remember seeing all of these. Of course, as a kid you are fascinated at first, but not really because you can't relate that child or young girl with the woman who is your mother.

There are no dates on most of the pictures nor names. A few of them she wrote on the backs, but most of them are blank so I'm left to guess or to recognize them. The next picture blew me away because at first I thought it was my cousin, and I wondered who the heck the kid was in the picture, and then I realized she was the kid and that the woman was my Aunt Helen. My cousin looked exactly like that at her age!

Then there are the school pictures of my brother and me through the years. She has gobs of those just like I do of my girls. It feels wrong to throw them away, but seriously, how many copies of the same picture does one really need? It isn't like anyone is going to want these pictures for identification purposes. Again there are no dates, but I have my class pictures so I can definitely search those for my age.

Madison had to have her senior pictures taken already for next year. She thought it was silly and didn't understand what the point was of having more pictures, especially since she just finished her junior year. Lucky for her I found our senior pictures and I showed her mine and said, "The point of these pictures is to look back at how hideous you looked at this age and make fun of them."

I hate having my picture taken, and obviously I have always been like this as witnessed in the next pictures. I rarely take a good picture. I'm just happy that my college senior picture was better. I like that one so much I might just start using it for identification. I haven't changed a bit!

Mushrooms and the hunt for them

My mother loved mushroom hunting. For those not sure what that is, it is what it says... hunting for mushrooms. Morel mushrooms to be exact. This is a morel:

Mushroom hunting for morels involves getting out in the woods during the first signs of spring in the Midwest, hunched over at the waist, eyes to the ground in search of the spongy edibles. In Indiana it is another rite of passage along with attending your first basketball game. There was no choice on whether you wanted to go or not in my family, and so I can add mushroom hunting to the list of things I have accomplished.

I vividly remember my hunts; traipsing through the woods near our family farm, one eye on the lookout for snakes and other crawling things, the other eye on the lookout for the fungi. I could have cared less about the whole experience except once involved my competitive nature, as well as my desire to please and fit in with the rest of my family, would kick in, and I would try to get just as many mushrooms as everyone else. I can still remember thinking I was the only one who knew that the mushrooms loved to hide under a may apple plant that had these giant leaves just perfect as a hiding place, and so I would try to spot those leaves first, and the thrill when I would lift that leaf and see a morel. Oh, pure joy.

I didn't go very often once I was a teenager, too much hiking, but my mother went every spring. One of her greatest memories was going to the farm and hunting with my cousin and his two boys. They had secret places that they would hunt and my mother was one of the few they would allow to accompany them. They would be gone all day, just hunting. Once she and the two boys went, just the three of them, and she use to tell us afterwards that she never thought to ask the boys, who were young at the time, if they needed to eat, or drink, or use the bathroom. She said they never complained and never said a word. They just kept hunting for mushrooms.

Once collected the mushrooms are washed and cleaned in the sink to ride them of dirt and small bugs. Then they are soaked in salt water for awhile. From there they are drudged through a mixture of salt, pepper, and flour and fried up in a pan of oil. I can honestly say that while I hate mushrooms of any other kind, I will eat a morel prepared this way. I don't crave them the way my mother did, her mouth would salivate just talking about them, but I enjoyed a few of them as an appetizer or with a meal. Of course as kids we weren't given a choice when it came to food; we just ate it.

When my aunt died a month or so before my mom did and I went back to the farm for the funeral, my cousin talked about the time he took my mom and her friend Jill mushroom hunting. When I told him that it was her wish to hunt mushrooms just one more time he told me that he was determined to get down south to visit her. Unfortunately she died before he could do that so he got into his truck and drove straight from Indiana so that he could be there for her memorial service. He pulled me aside and told me that when he got the news about mom he went out into the woods to mushroom hunt. The first place he walked into there was a large squared area full of large, plump mushrooms, enough to fill a huge bag. Which he brought with him to Florida.

He and my other cousin, who also drove down, fried them up in my kitchen after mom's service and we all ate morels, telling stories of our own hunting trips and stories of mom. My husband and the girls finally got to experience the mushrooms grandma talked about for so long, and we all agreed it was the greatest tribute to a woman who belonged to the Indiana Mycological Society.

Complicated relationships

I always wanted a relationship with my brother when I became an adult. As kids we were siblings, and in my memories, we fought all the time, coming together only when we needed to form a united front against our parents. We played together, but as we moved into our teens we went separate ways in activities. Golf for him. Swimming for me. The two only met when he came up on the tee that sat down the hill from the pool I ran. He was always busy with work, golf, and his girlfriend. He had no interest in being more than what he was with me, but I always craved more.

Him: "Like what? Holding hands and skipping down the street?"

He was smarter than I. He got away. He left home for college and formed his own life away from parental guidance and drama. I didn't. I stayed because I knew my parents needed me. Without a mediator they were likely to kill each other and then what? I went to the local college and lived at home. I regret that decision now, but at the time it was what was expected, although not truly spoken aloud. Once he left any hope of a relationship went with him as he began gathering a new persona and making a new family.

We've always had moments. After his daughter died he use to send me emails in the early morning pouring out his feelings. We never talked about it aloud, just the emails. Once when he was visiting we went off together in a car, and in a conversation we had he told me he would always take care of me if I needed him. Dealing with our mother's illness through the years, there were moments he would send a text encouraging me and he was always there when I called for help. But that relationship I so wanted? Not there.

When my Aunt died earlier this year I got up and spoke at her funeral reading something I had written. When we got into the car to drive to the cemetery he told me he knew I could write, but that he had no idea I could speak. I was stunned and hurt. At least my sister, who I had not grown up with and who really doesn't know me all that well, had looked at him during my speech and said, "Well we know where that comes from." I could not believe that he had never heard me make speeches before. My dad taught me how to speak to a group of people long before he educated my brother. He started out by teaching me how to sell anything and it evolved from there. I was the one who sold the geraniums my brother had to sell for his baseball team every year. How could he not remember that? It haunted me for weeks. I've always been able to stand up and speak. I hosted our swim team banquet every year. I made so many speeches in front of civic organizations after being awarded Employee of the Year for the city I worked for that I can still recite the speech I wrote. I hosted a retirement party and roast for the girls' preschool and kindergarten teacher. But as I went through all of that I realized that he was never at any of those events. How would he ever know what I was capable of? It made me sad.

Several weeks later we were together again sitting at our mother's bedside for four days. It was an experience that will always bind us together whether we want it to or not. During one of those days my brother started speaking, pouring out all sorts of things about his life and his feelings, aloud to our aunt who is very good at getting you to do things like that. I sat in a corner and just listened. He spoke of a person that I had never seen, never knew existed. I hadn't know of the things he had accomplished in his life, of the things he was capable of, of the man he had become, and I realized that I didn't really know my brother any more than he knew me. We were that disconnected. It made me even more sad, but I had some hope that maybe this shared experience would change that. Because we have the ability to make changes.

Then my brother left after the memorial service. We have spoken twice by telephone, both times to discuss the estate I'm in charge of settling. I sit alone to go through the mass amount of "goodies" my mother left behind. I feel a responsibility to be the protector, the caregiver. I felt that during her dying, a need to protect my baby brother from what was coming, to make sure he was okay and getting enough to eat. I feel that now as I read journals left behind, sift through emails, and read letters that she kept. And then as I delved further into things I realized that she too had that kind of a relationship with her own sibling. That need to have more, but not knowing how or not having the willingness to not be judgmental. I'm not for sure, but I think her mother had the same issue with her sister and brother. And so I sit and think about that. A family that could not be more to one another then what was. Each sibling feeling a responsibility; one to stay and one to go. Each time the eldest being the one left behind feeling a sense of abandonment and resentment, but secretly proud of the youngest who got away to make his life his own. But then how sad that neither really knew or knows the other.

I still hope for a chance. I'm lucky I still have that chance; to have a relationship beyond the superficial. But I also know that it won't be easy or be reciprocated. Perhaps it can't be. Family dynamics are hard things to break down, but having this experience has made me look at my own children's relationship and my nephew and niece's. Even now I can see that my oldest daughter is the caregiver, wanting to make everything right within the family while the youngest one, although she cares, doesn't think it her responsibility unless asked. Perhaps it age thing, but I'm hoping that they can all break the cycle; to go on with their lives, but also remain close enough to share in each other's lives, to have a relationship. Then maybe I won't be so sad.

Happy Father's Day

I have been remiss, I believe, in writing about my father on father's day and ignoring the father who is still here today...well...fathering.

I could not do it without him. Best Dad around!

Two teen drivers in the house

Darcy turned fifteen last week and immediately began studying for her driver's permit. In Florida teens have to take a four hour drug and alcohol online course and pass the test that accompanies it. Once that is completed teens study the handbook and then take an online test, twenty questions on road signs and twenty question on road rules. When all of that is complete teens receive their learner's permit, and as far as the state is concerned, can drive home with an adult over the age of twenty-one. Never been behind the wheel of a car before? Florida doesn't care.

Driver's education classes are offered each semester in the school system, but unfortunately cannot be worked into the accelerated program my girls are enrolled in. This leaves them with the option of taking the class during the summer; however, to register for that class one must already have a learner's permit in hand. Classes fill up and close in the first two days. This leaves kids like Darcy to wait an entire year after earning a permit before they can take a driver's education class. But Florida doesn't even care if you take that class. It isn't required. Just drive!

Madison had no interest in driving. She turned fifteen and shrugged. She took the drug and alcohol course and test after turning sixteen because we nagged her. She failed the first driver's online test because her father made her take it without studying, something this kid insists she must do. After turning seventeen, she decided she would just wait until eighteen because according to Florida she can then just go and get her license without needing a permit. Florida doesn't care about practicing driving as long as you are a legal adult.

Darcy passed the drug and alcohol course and test and spent the next day studying for the road tests. She interviewed other teens who had already taken the test and instead of reading the entire handbook, studied those chapters that she was told made the cut for the test. She aced the test and the next day I took her to the DMV and Florida handed her a learner's permit.

She wanted to drive immediately, and since Florida allows that, I took her to a church parking lot, where I hoped for divine intervention if necessary, and I began teaching her about driving. It took longer to go through mirror checks and becoming familiar with the pedals since she had only been behind the wheel of a car when horsing around.

She did well. That doesn't mean I wasn't a nervous wreck. I wish I had the brake on the opposite side, the one my driver's education had to use when I took my hands off the wheel to duck down under the steering wheel to search for the turn signal during my first roadway excursion in a snowfall. She is more confident then I ever was and all she wants to do is DRIVE.

Two days later I was back at the DMV with Madison. It is amazing what sibling pressure can do apparently. As soon as Darcy passed her online test Madison was studying to take hers. Three hours later she had a perfect score. Unfortunately for her, she also had two days of planned activities that kept her from getting her permit the day Darcy got hers.

I drove with Madison around the neighborhood. She was more like me; cautious and slow. I felt more comfortable with her in the speed department, but definitely see that Darcy is more confident. Madison is going to think this whole driving thing through and approach it like she does her studies. Darcy is more like her Aunt Sharon and she is going to just go out and get it done and get it done correctly.

I am not going to make it through this phase. I dread the, "Can I drive?" because no, no I don't want them to drive. I have spent way too many years knocking obstacles out of their way to protect them and now I'm just suppose to sit next to them hopeless while they navigate a two ton piece of machine on the roads with the elderly and crazy non driver's educated teens and adults?

Yes. Yes that is what I am suppose to do, and I'm trying. I really am, but it ain't easy. Tom has taken up the slack, coming home earlier than normal to drive them around the neighborhood. Last night they went out and stayed out after dark to get that experience. Madison actually got to drive on the "road" as Darcy calls anything outside of a neighborhood or parking lot.

I have tried to find other driving courses, but the costs are astronomical, which is why Tom is arriving home earlier. I'm all for throwing money at someone else who has a brake on the passenger side, but he thinks that silly. "They just need experience," he says. My friend has offered to teach them so they don't end up driving "like an old lady like your mother", and she and Darcy were scheduled for a lesson yesterday, but it fell through after Darcy's mouth appliance broke and warranted an unplanned trip to the orthodontist. It has been rescheduled for Monday.

In the meantime I drive with them through the neighborhood, trying to stay calm, trying to be pleasant. I tried to opt out, naming all of the other things I taught them. "Like what?" Darcy asked. "Like how not to poop in your pants!" I replied. But since I'm with them 24/7 now that school is out I have to bite the bullet and help with this life lesson too. Lord help me.

5 things to start the week

1. I bought bagels last week as an "end of school-welcome to summer" treat for the family. We have a Panera Bread within, as Tom would tell us all, walking distance, but I stopped there on my way back from the gym. Which meant that it was after the breakfast rush and the choices in bagels were limited. I ended up getting half a dozen bagels, four of them in a cinnamon crunch, which was the kind I always bought my mother who loved them. My family, not so much. The problem is that the top of the bagel is full of a sugary, cinnamon crunchy goodness that, while delicious, is a pain in the toaster. It burns or it falls off in the toaster making a mess. To counteract that I only toasted the bottom half of the bagel, but when I went to take it out of the toaster with my fingers (something I rarely do because my fingers are heat sensitive) a piece of the sugary goodness was on the back of the bagel and it ended up on the end of my pointer finger. Where it burned the shit out of my finger. I dropped the bagel and when the pain did not stop I realized the sugar substance was attached to my finger, and I admit it, but I was so taken by surprise at the fact that this small piece of sugary goodness could hurt this much that I just stood there. By the time my brain registered, GET THIS OFF AND GET UNDER WATER, I had a second degree burn and a nice white blister. This has turned into a brownish, black, hardened piece of skin like a callous, and because it is on the end of my right index finger makes my life a bit difficult. My phone does not register the hardened thing on my finger thus no touch id and no texting. Typing on a keyboard feels strange since I have little sensation. Trying to peel off sticky substances such as tape is impossible. And to top if off the thing scares me when my eyes land on it because it is small like a spider. It is almost to the point where I can pull it off. I figure about two more days. I can  hardly wait.
2. My computer has started acting up when idle. For some strange reason that my electronic guru husband can't figure out, it does a restart and stalls at the point where it registers the mouse. Only it can't register the mouse. It can't even find the mouse. I put new batteries in the mouse and I put new batteries in the keyboard and still it shuts off after about 15 minutes. I have to restart it manually at which point it does read the mouse and turns my computer back on with no problem. It is driving me nuts. This morning my husband informed me that the computer is old and outdated and, as soon as he begins a sentence with those words, I cringe because I know what this means. This means he is going to do something with my computer that is going to lose vital information and he is going to install a new system on my computer that will infuriate me because I won't know how to use the damn thing. He has parts of computers and the innards of computers hidden in various spaces throughout the inside and outside of our house. He is a whiz when it comes to rebuilding computers, but it takes FOREVER and frankly the man does not have that kind of time for computer work that doesn't pay a monetary value. So I suppose I should start looking at some other options.
3. My picture organizing is still ongoing. I have the stack of pictures that everyone pulled randomly from my organized boxes for the memorial service. I have photos from The Condo. I have photos that I found inside boxes of my mother's belongings that I hauled home. I have the realization in going through said photos that my children will one day have to do the same and will they be like I am, interested, yet overwhelmed? This led me to a re-organization project which has not gone the way I was hoping. I bought a large file box/container hoping all of my pictures would work in there instead of in the seven boxes I have them in now. It didn't work with a filing system. It didn't work with two boxes side by side. Currently I have them stacked in rows on the bottom and then cardboard on top of that so that I can stack more pictures on top of those. Not ideal if I need to get to the pictures on the bottom. The worst thing about the whole project is the mess in my Steelers room, the dining room, and the closet. It is all frustrating and the more frustrated I get the less I want to work at it. Which doesn't help in getting anything tidy or clean. I wish I were creative enough to design an answer to my problem that would then make me rich.
4. Since the girls have been out of school I have been more of a chauffeur then I was before school let out. I did not think that was possible. The worst thing is how they just expect it. Demand it. "Oh, hey, mom, Boyfriend and I are going to meet for lunch. Is that okay? I have to be there in half an hour." or "So and so can't come now to the baking day and she was our ride to the grocery so can you take us? And we want to get Thai food before we go to the grocery." or "I signed up for Boot Camp and need to be there by 8:00 am." I was getting annoyed at all of this running hither and yon, some of which requires me to sit in the car and wait, until both girls went off to work this morning and I was left in the quiet house to finish eating alone. I didn't much care for that scenario either.
5. After researching a Facebook friend's Jamberry Nails site I bought some cheap brand at Walmart to try. Holy this could be the answer to my nail biting! I actually have nails now. Quite exciting.

Cleaning or cleansing?

Finding and going through my mother's pictures has motivated me to better organize my own photos. Well, especially now that I have to add all of mom's pictures into the midst. The thing that I think when I sift through these pictures is that while they are interesting, what the hell am I going to do with them? Most of the people are relatives I never met or really don't know and after I'm dead what the hell are my girls going to do with these pictures?

Mom and I talked a lot about her stuff and what would happen to all of it. She went through this with her own mother and with our Indiana house after my dad died. She knew the feeling of WTH? I would point out objects that meant something special to me and she would discuss belongings that were special to her. The rest of the stuff we would just sit and stare at, both of us at a loss as to what to do with it. One accumulates tons of nonsense in one's life which is important at that time, but which one realizes is not important later down the road.

I was left with The Condo and the contents when everyone returned to their lives. I suppose I could have just changed the locks and left it all sitting there, but I didn't. First of all, the place was cluttered. It drove me crazy when mom was alive and I finally felt like I could fix that. Secondly, my brother insisted I take everything of value when the pineapple theft happened and I was so crazed by then that I did a quick sweep through the place dumping contents into bags that sat on the floor in my dining room until recently. Once I did those things it just felt natural to keep going. I also think I was searching for something, unsure of what that was, but knowing I would know when I found it.

I emptied the refrigerator and freezer, leaving items I thought people would use if they stayed there such as ketchup and mustard and jelly. I think I thought that the people would be my brother, and now every time I open that refrigerator and stare at those items I think how silly it is that I left those inside. I cleaned out the cabinets and tossed expired items of which she had bags full. I left coffee, spices, and canned goods for the "people" in case they wanted to whip up a pot of spaghetti or black beans and rice. I folded her clothes and donated them to Hospice, wanting to thank them for what they did for all of us. I kept sports T'shirts and a few items because I just did. I cleaned out the books she had bought in the last few years that I had read and had no interest in owning and donated them to the city library. I took a piece of furniture and a few things I wanted. I cleaned out the medicines and turned them over the local police department who dispose of them in mysterious ways so as not to harm the water supply, or the wildlife, or the drug addicts who rummage through garbage. I donated an old printer and an old red lamp that I didn't remember ever seeing before until this week when discussing it with someone and suddenly remembered we used it for putting together the Christmas puzzle. I got rid of various back and neck massagers and shoes that I didn't want or didn't fit me or my girls. The rest of the donated items consisted of small items like wallets my dad always insisted on giving her for Christmas that she never used, picture frames with broken glass, and bags and purses and odds and ends. By the time I got to the outside closet and dug into those boxes I was pretty much over it all. She had one Rubbermaid container, a large one mind you, full of nothing but seashells she had collected over her lifetime. Seashells. Another box had driftwood. Driftwood. What am I suppose to do with that? I closed up the boxes and put them back into the closet to deal with six months from now or whenever I feel the need to purge. How cool would it be to take the seashells one night or early morning to the beach and walk up and down the shore dropping them for others to find?

I quit last week. I called her friend, the cleaning lady who had also been her evening caregiver for the last three and a half years, and asked her to do a final cleaning. She knew the place as well as I did, if not better, and she was highly impressed and complimentary with all the work I had done.  Which was the exact opposite of my older daughter who promptly burst into tears when she saw The Condo because "It doesn't look like Grandma lives here anymore." I had a heavy heart for a day after that because I knew that feeling, have experienced it myself after the death of my aunt and my father. But one thing I have also learned from these experiences with my mother these last five years is that no one should judge one's ways until one has gone through it for oneself. 

My husband has said for years that we have too much stuff. He use to tell me that he only kept enough stuff to put in a box that he could carry with him. He has been surprisingly quiet about the stuff that has been slowly added to our house and the stuff piled high in our dining room and Steelers room. Some days I get overwhelmed by all of it and just wish I had my own closet to stuff it all in. Sometimes I wonder why I brought it home, but then I think what if The Condo had a fire? I ignore the fact that could happen at my own house too.

My brother hasn't been back since our mom died. He hasn't checked in with me on what I'm doing, and now that I'm done and have witnessed my daughter's reactions I worry about him. He didn't want much after my dad died; no pictures, no movies, no slides. I suppose I figured he would feel the same this time too, but now I worry he might have wanted that red desk lamp. My aunt I think is just waiting for us to grieve through it all before she speaks up on what she may want. .

It would have been nice to have spent the time going through everything with family, but realistically that wasn't possible.  I am responsible for settling her estate and there is much involved with that and I had to search for paperwork and documents and doing that led me to my OCD of cleaning. So I trudge on, digging through the boxes and files I brought home and every once in awhile I come across a little gem. And that little gem cleanses me and motivates me to find more. Because I still think I'm searching...

Out of the mouths of my babes

Today is officially our first day of summer. School is out. Of course, for my kids, school was done last week despite the extra three days tacked on by the school board. I told my girls they had to go because I was told by the administration that missing those three days would be unexcused. WHAT? My Connie-ism kicked in. Darcy arranged to have her friends and boyfriend throw a party for her on Monday, and although they grumbled about going to school, they all went. Maddy managed to avoid going by wearing me down with her "lawyer" arguments and points, much to Darcy's dismay.

Darcy: "You couldn't have started the trial earlier, Maddy, before I arranged a party? Jeez, thanks."

On Tuesday both kids went in later with me. I had a booster organization board meeting. Darcy had to meet with one of her teachers regarding a paper and the grading scale. (See? Turns out mom was right about going to school as she went from a B to an A on her paper and thus in the class) Madison had labs she had to complete and a CAS meeting. Wednesday Darcy skipped and Madison went only to drop off a paper. Today we are done.

I celebrated by waking up the girls at 10:00. I told them that they needed to be up by this time during the week and that their beds needed to be made, teeth brushed, and breakfast eaten. I also informed them that if they wanted me to drive them to various fun activities that I would require some housework in exchange. I clapped my hands for emphasis and said, "Chop! Chop! Summer is here."

Darcy: (hiding under the covers) "I don't like this summer mom!"

The wedding

It has been fun to look at the old pictures my mother had in a bin inside one of her closets. I found a huge stack of old black and white photos of family, most of them unknown to me, and several of them of my grandparents at a young age. The best find was a small stack of slides in an envelope that turned out to be my parents' wedding photos. I have never seen my parents' wedding photos. There was no book of pictures like our neighbor had that we would look at and laugh at, and when I would ask my mother if she had a book she would always say that there was one somewhere. It wasn't until I was in my late twenties that I realized she was lying about that. She and my dad married almost two years after I was born because he was married to someone else. Oops. When I was told this information it was done as if it were some huge secret that had long been hidden and could cause dire consequences once spoken. I just remember feeling relieved because I was worried they were going to tell me I had another father. I remember looking at them and saying, "Uh, yeah, so?" But then things I had felt and seen began to make sense and I realized that back in the 60's this would have been scandalous and a big deal, and I'm sure it was a huge deal to my two sisters who lived through what had to be a horror for them.

I asked once about the wedding pictures after learning the truth and I was told there were pictures, but I never saw them. Until now. For some reason I never pushed the issue of seeing the pictures with my mother. It felt, well, it felt strange as if I had no right to see them or that it was something my mother didn't want to share. Now I wish I had pushed it because I have questions. Why did they get married in a church? Who were the two people that stood up for them? Why is my mother wearing two different outfits? Which one did she wear to get married? Where are the 5X7 pictures that my dad ordered off of these slides?

Of course they are on slides and I no longer have the slide scanner. I have a slide viewer and I look at the pictures and wonder. Since discovering all of these old photos I have decided that an easier way of converting pictures to my computer is by photographing them on my phone and transferring them. Madison things the quality isn't as good, but I think they are just as good especially since my husband doesn't want me to scan pictures at a high resolution because it takes up too much space on the computer. I'm not sure how much space this new way is taking up, but it is certainly easier than scanning them one at a time. But this won't work for the slide pictures despite my trying really hard. I took a picture of it through the slide viewer and then tried to crop and enlarge, and while that worked the quality did not transfer.

I suppose I can ask my mother-in-law for her slide scanner again or perhaps take them somewhere to have prints made, but right now I just keep them on my desk and peer at my parents, strangers in a way to me in these slides.