Category: childhood

Fading Fast

Today’s title is an insanely accurate description of my memory; which has been fading faster and faster the older I get, which is endlessly annoying. I mean, it’s bad enough that my body has been endlessly betraying me more and more the older I get, but does my brain have to do it as well? Heavy heaving sigh. Granted, it’s not like I haven’t had reasons for my brain to stop functioning properly in the case of memory; we did have the trauma of a global pandemic on top of everything else that has been going on in the last few years, and of course, I’ve been stressed about Mom for the last three or four or five years or whenever all of her health issues began. I am slowly coming out of the funk, I think–I do think this every morning and then some time in the afternoon it hits me like a 2 x 4 between the eyes–and I need to reenter the world. I am going back to the office tomorrow for the first time in like well over a week, which has also been incredibly disorienting. I think getting back into my usual routine will make a huge and significant difference in my mental well-being; being off routine for someone as OCD as me is always an issue of sorts.

My toe is much better this morning, thanks for asking. It still hurts somewhat, but I spent most of yesterday elevating it or icing it, and I am not limping this morning. I think another day of icing and elevation may just do the trick…which makes me tend to think it’s not broken or bruised or sprained. Tomorrow morning I’ll take a picture of it and send it to my doctor through the app along with a note; I should have done this last week but…it’s been hard getting motivated lately. While I was icing and elevating yesterday I made some significant progress on Abby Collette’s marvelous Body and Soul Food, and I have to share something sort of funny with you at some point about that; I just realized yesterday that Abby Collette is a pseudonym of Abby L. Vandiver; and all along I kept wanting to say Body and Soul Food was written by Abby Vandiver; even correcting myself a couple of times here on the blog when I mentioned the author–and then would chastise myself for confusing two women of color (which happens a lot, sadly; I heard someone call Kellye Garrett Rachel once at a conference–Rachel Howzell Hall–and vowed I would never do that). Turns out the author is actually who I thought she was, just using a different name! This was kind of a relief, because the constant confusing Vandiver for Collette was making feel like I needed to work more on my own subconscious racism. But the book is engaging and entertaining–Abby and I were both in The Faking of the President anthology back in 2020–and I am looking forward to finishing it during this morning’s icing and elevating.

I didn’t leave the house yesterday other than taking out the recycling and a bag of garbage. Paul was gone most of the day–he came home from the office after I went to bed early–and I meant to get a lot more done yesterday than I eventually did get done. The kitchen looks much better than it did before all the stuff with Mom started, and while I still have some things that need to get done today before I return to the office tomorrow, but it’s progress and I will take it. As long as I can stay motivated today, I think I should be able to get a lot of things done today–things that need to be done. I need to make groceries today–I made the list yesterday when they canceled my pick-up order–and I need to get gas on the way home from that. Grocery shopping, lugging everything in from the car, and then putting it all away inevitably makes me tired and exhausted, so the key is to get everything set up before I head out so that I have no excuses and everything is out and ready for me with little to no effort.

I also decided to write something private, merely for me, about my mother. I think it’s necessary for me to sort out my complicated and complex feelings about my relationship with her and my family; there’s a lot of baggage and I am starting to see things now with the kind of clarity that wasn’t possible when she was still with us, if that makes any sense at all. It’s odd how that kind of clarity isn’t possible when they are still alive, you know? And the slow, subtle changes to my life that result from the loss of Mom I’m only now starting to realize. What does this mean about the holidays, going forward? I don’t feel guilty about anything–I thought I might when I lost a parent–but I really don’t. I didn’t write very much to begin with yesterday–a couple of hundred words, maybe, at best–but it was writing and it did help me somewhat…and let’s be honest, how do I deal with everything, really? By losing myself in my writing, that’s how.

My coffee tastes rather marvelous this morning, too. I slept in until eight thirty–I woke up at five thirty, as I do usually every morning–and feel very rested. If it weren’t for my toe, I’d say physically I feel about as good as I can for someone who hasn’t set foot in the gym for over a year. I can tell my muscles need to be worked and stretched and pushed to their limits again, and I think I am going to tell Paul to take my membership off-pause at the end of March; I’d say for March but I’m not sure that’s wise given the toe situation. I feel good this morning–probably best to say “at peace”, really–for the first time in a while. Acceptance has finally come–although I am sure the waves of grief will come back at some point, triggered by something–but I am not going to beat myself up for not getting a lot done this past week, or being pushed off track with everything by Mom dying. I am very behind on everything, and I need to start digging out from under.

And on that note, I am going to make another cup of coffee and start the elevating/icing process for today. Have a lovely Sunday, Constant Reader.

Messages

My God, my email inbox is completely out of control.

At one point in mid-January and before February I had it almost emptied; there was blank space at the bottom of the inbox for more emails to be viewed but there weren’t any. It was a glorious feeling, frankly, for the few weeks it lasted before everything went off the rails. I suspect now that I can get through it all even faster than I did back in mid-January, but it’s sooooooo daunting.

Yesterday I swung by Home Depot to buy the fuse I need for the dryer, which they don’t keep in stock. The helpful man in the Appliance Accessories aisle told me of one place I may be able to find it in stock, and so I called them (and Lowe’s) from the parking lot and found that neither do, so I went ahead and ordered it on-line and it should be here Tuesday. The suspense, right? Will we need a new dryer, or will Greg somehow be able to repair the one they already have? There will undoubtedly be an update on this fascinating case on Wednesday; in which we either have a working dryer or have gone ahead and ordered a new one. Sigh. I also swung by the mail and the Fresh Market; I am going to have to actually venture into the grocery store at some point this weekend (Sunday morning most likely) because I also woke up to an email that my grocery order was canceled due to the system at the store being down this morning; it was originally postponed from yesterday to today, so I think the system has been having problems for a hot moment already; although I do suppose I could order them from the store on the West Bank, which means I could stop at Sonic on the way home and…it really takes so little to make me happy.

I finally booked my flights for San Diego Bouchercon! So my two trips for the year–Malice Domestic and Bouchercon–are all booked and ready for me to travel. I also need to do some more organizing and filing this morning, too–I also have to put the dishes away and do another load of laundry, and I really should work on cleaning up around here. My toe was worse yesterday than it’s been in a while, but this morning the swelling seems to have gone back down and while it’s still painful, it’s not throbbing the way it was last night, which was very painful. Adding message doctor tomorrow on medical app to the to-do list. We also watched two more episodes of Class last night, which differs from Elité enough to make it something new, but it’s funny how the personalities of the actors affect the characters. While many of the storylines are the same, the season of this Indian version is a few episodes shorter, so some of the emphasis on secondary storylines isn’t there as much as in the Spanish. But I want to finish it because Outer Banks’ third season dropped last night, and it looks completely insane and over-the-top, which is wild because the entire run of the show has been insane and over-the-top; I’m really glad it hasn’t been one of those Netflix shows that get orphaned after an amazing first season (so many I couldn’t even begin to name them all). So, today I think I am going to spend some time in my easy chair with my toe elevated and an icepack on it. I want to finish reading Body and Soul Food so I can move on to another book in the TBR pile–there are so damned many, Jesus Lord God–and I do want to keep my reading habit satisfied. I’m been struggling not to buy more books–it’s so damned tempting, especially when you have books out there by favorite authors just begging to be bought–and I also need to start writing thank you cards to everyone for their kindnesses these last few weeks.

And of course, there’s that horrible inbox. But if I start answering and saving my answers as drafts this weekend, I can maybe have the entire thing cleaned and cleared out by Monday afternoon? Perchance to dream….

And then of course I am very behind on writing everything I should be writing, but have had little to no desire to even look at anything these last few weeks. I’ve always felt writer’s block had more to do with depression than anything else; an endlessly revolving cycle in which you get depressed about not writing and then can’t and that renews the depression. I do think I need to start writing something for myself about Mom–if for no other reason than to keep the memories fresh–and I do think that could break the logjam in my brain and get me writing again.

And on that note, I am going to make some more coffee and repair to the chair with the icepack and the book. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you again later.

Where Have You Been

I spent a lot of time in beach resort towns when I was younger. My grandmother and her second husband retired to the panhandle of Florida when I was ten and about to start the seventh grade, and when they moved down there I actually rode along with them because it was summer. My aunt and uncle had a beach house that they would rent out for weeks and weekends to make money in a small beach town along the Emerald Coast (they called it the Miracle Strip back then; Panama City Beach) and until we moved away to California, we used to go down to visit my grandparents and time it around a visit to the beach house as well. In the years since, I’ve often thought about writing about the panhandle and those sleepy little beach towns (believe me, Panama City Beach has changed dramatically since the 1970s); my short story “Cold Beer No Flies” is one of those stories, and I have another one–book-length–that I am considering writing at some point in the near future.

But beach resorts and the townies have always been interesting to me; the difference between those who live there year round and those who simply vacation there; the drifters who come in for jobs during those summer months and then disappear–what do they leave in their wake?–and it just seemed rife with possibilities.

So, after greatly enjoyed her sophomore novel The Mother Next Door, I was really looking forward to her reading her debut novel, One Night Gone.

Constant Reader, it did not disappoint.

The girl tried not to look up into the hazy summer night, the seagulls circling overheard like giant paper airplanes. They made her dizzy. She focused on the horizon, the dark ocean churning, its vastness broken up by milky froths.

Thomas, the guy from the party, was pressed up against her, his thighs tight against hers. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, but at least it was cooler here at the end of the pier, away from the lights and sounds, from the constant pop pop pop bling bling of the arcade games and the deafening roar of the Zipper, a ride she’d thrown up on last year and then swore her friends to secrecy.

Thomas dipped her back over the railing–not too far, but enough that she felt the danger, felt that if he just shifted his large hand an inch or so off her back she’d fall, tumble like a tragic mistake. He laughed, pulling her back, his dewy breath catching in her hair.

“Stop it,” she said, batting at him, though she wasn’t sure she meant it.

She liked him. She liked the way he made her feel–important. Funny. Sexy. At the party, he’d said he was from the cornfields of Indiana, a state–she would never tell him–that she wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. He was tall like a cornstalk, she thought, and let that bubble up into a giggle on her lips as he swayed into her again and kissed it away.

One thing I absolutely love in crime novels is different timelines–one in the past and one in the present. I myself have never done this; and perhaps it’s about time I try (one of the ideas I have, ironically set in a Florida panhandle beach town, is a dual timeline novel); I’ve always admired writers who can do this and pull it off with aplomb because it looks really hard to me. Laura Lippman did this beautifully in After I’m Gone; Alison Gaylin in What Remains of Me; and Carol Goodman is a master of this. Add Tara Laskowski to this list–she also managed to pull it off with The Mother Next Door, her marvelous follow-up.

The story focuses on two women thirty years apart who come to Opal Beach for their own reasons. Allison, our modern heroine, is a former meteorologist who was fired for unprofessional conduct when going off on her cheating (now) ex-husband on air; she went viral and left her cheating husband, and her sister finds her this great housesitting gig in a mansion on the beach in the off-season and so Allison comes to a beautiful house on the Jersey shore in a resort full of secrets–going back to the disappearance of our 1980’s heroine, Maureen. Maureen comes from a bad background and she works for the carnival that comes to Opal Beach every summer; she finds herself becoming friends with locals and even getting romantically involved with one. Maureen is also desperate the way Allison is; desperate to escape a terrible past and start a new life with the cons and crimes of her past behind her. Maureen disappears that summer, never to be found again–and somehow Allison’s arrival at Opal Beach starts dredging up secrets and lies from that past so long ago…and Allison’s own life is put in jeopardy because there are any number of people who have their own reasons for wanting Maureen to stay buried in the past…

Laskowski is a terrific writer, with a knack for being highly efficient and proficient in her sentence and paragraph construction; she creates characters that are rounded and complete and multi-dimensional; and her ability to explore how little slights and personality clashes can grow into festering wounds is exceptional. Opal Beach felt very real to me–the bonfire parties on the beach, the gift shops and restaurants catering to the summer people, the climate and weather and the house itself. I really enjoyed this, and got caught up in the story quite easily.

Can’t wait for her next one.

Electricity

Ash Wednesday and the party is over for another year. It feels a bit weird to have not gone to a single parade and have missed out on all the festivities, but I will always remember 2023 as the Carnival when Mom died.

I allowed myself to sleep in this morning. I’m still out of the office on leave, which is nice. I am getting better but am still a bit shaky, if truth be told, and so these extra days to kind of get my act together before going back to work are going to be a bit nice. I did manage to get some things done yesterday. I had a Facebook page takeover promo thing to do, which turned out to be a lot of fun–it was a very nice group, and I have to say, the cozy audience (writers and readers both) are amazing. They are welcoming and friendly and inclusive and supportive and I have to say, this entire experience has been really marvelous. While I was doing that I was cleaning out my inbox and working on filing and organizing. This morning the kitchen/office looks much better than it has since this whole business with Mom started; today I plan to do some more. I also need to make a minor grocery run (probably will go to Fresh Market today) and will order for pick-up on Friday to do the bigger stuff (mainly because they’ll have restocked after the Carnival madness by then). I also need to start working on the books again, and I still have that short story to write, and there’s of course all those emails in my inbox (yesterday I was just basically deleting the junk). I was still exhausted for the most part yesterday still, so focusing wasn’t easy, so I spent most of the day watching documentaries about history on Youtube and making Scooter happy by giving him a lap to sleep in. We also started watching Class last night on Netflix, which is basically an Indian remake of Elité, which makes it kind of fun. The actors are all young, pretty and talented; the show seems a bit less glossy and a lot grittier in this version–can an American version be far behind? (I suppose Gossip Girl would qualify, but it’s not in the same league and the reboot is terrible to the point of being embarrassing.) Class also moves faster than Elité; we discover the identity of the first season’s murder victim at the end of episode 2, whereas in Elité we didn’t know it was Marina until halfway through the season–I also think this version’s seasons are shorter. But it’s fun to watch, even though we know what’s going to happen, just seeing how they did the adaptation and how they had to change things because it’s now set in Delhi, India rather than Spain.

My toe is less swollen, less red, and less painful this morning as well. I am beginning to suspect it’s psoriatic arthritis, but I am going to send a message to my doctor about it through the phone app. I also need to buy more wrap for it; I don’t know where the wrap I bought before the trip disappeared to; I may have left it in the hotel room (note to self: never buy black tape again) since I can’t seem to put my hands on it around here. I can swing by CVS on the way to get the mail to buy more, but it’s not cheap and it’s very irritating to have lost the rest of the roll. Now, the toe is just annoying and irritating, but I need to get to the bottom of what happened to it in the first place.

It does feel weird and somewhat disrespectful to pick up the reins of my life again and start moving forward. What is an appropriate period for mourning in modern times? I don’t think I’ll ever stop mourning, to be honest; it’s just something else you have to learn to live with and never get over completely. I remind myself regularly that this isn’t unique to me–I am hardly the first person to lose their mother, nor am I the last–and that really, I was pretty lucky that I had my mom for sixty-two years and I still have my father. I am still processing this, and probably will for a while. It’s very weird that it takes something like this to give you clarity on a lot of things, or insights that should have been fairly obvious all along but never crossed my mind because there wasn’t a reason to even think about it; they just were, you know, and why question these things or think about them? It also forced me to look back at my life (which I don’t like to do, but have been doing more and more since I turned sixty and the realization that the sands in my hourglass are almost finished running through), and realize that sometimes it’s not necessarily a bad thing to look back. The interest in the past that I’ve always had but never extended to my own has now been triggered, and I suspect more and more of my future work is going to be somehow tied to the past–either being set there or things in the past are affecting things in the present. I also need to assess where I am with regards to my plans for the year; I didn’t really have plans–more of an amorphous this is what I’d like to write for this year thing than anything else–especially since I never really make writing plans because they inevitably are changed or have to change and I am very resistant to change (not sure why that is, my entire life has always been about changing), but I do have a vague idea of how I want the rest of the year to play out writing-wise. I also have to start being more restrictive of my traveling because I am going to start needing to go to Kentucky more often every year (yay for audiobooks!) or at least meeting my dad in Alabama to visit Mom (Alabama is much easier than Kentucky for me, obviously).

So, today is catch-up day; finishing laundry and dishes and chores, running errands, organizing and filing, maybe doing some reading (I am really enjoying One Night Gone by Tara Laskowski), and I also need to start trying to figure out how to fix the dryer, or if I even can. Paul was kind of adamant about not buying a new one at first, but as this has gone on for weeks (I’ve been gone the last three weekends) he is getting more and more resigning to buying a new one. So on the to-do list I am going to update after I post this will go figure out if I can fix the dryer myself. I don’t have to work in the office on Friday, but I do need to swing by there to pick up some more work, and there’s a Lowe’s out by the office I can swing by the see if they have the fuse I may need (I may just need to unplug it and vacuum out the lint thing; it’s the simplest solution and definitely worth a try). I also need to order a Bluetooth keyboard for the laptop; the one I am using now is battery operated and of course, the batteries are always dead when I need to use it, so I need to get one that is rechargeable.

But I feel good and rested and at peace this morning, so I am going to focus on that and get moving. Have a lovely rest of your day, Constant Reader, and I will check in which you again later.

Our Lips Are Sealed

Back in the Lost Apartment on Orpheus Monday/Lundi Gras, and I am very tired and drained and exhausted. I’ve lost all sense of time and dates, and I am sure there are things I should have been doing that need to get done but I don’t know what any of them are and at this point, I don’t think I really care all that much. It’s depression, I know; I’ve dealt with it before and know how it feels and manifests, both emotionally and physically, in my life.

Interestingly enough, my toe seems to be getting better. The shoes I brought for the funeral were new and had never been worn before. I wrapped up the toe yesterday morning, put on the socks, and then the I was barely able to get the shoe on. It was so tight that it was almost painful, but as the day progressed it hurt less and less. This morning when I got up it was still red but the swelling had gone down a lot. I think if I wrap it up again, elevate it. and ice it a bit it may go back to normal entirely. I should probably talk to my doctor about it (I am very uneasy about the possibility of gout–how eighteenth century!–or psoriatic arthritis. That toe always has psoriasis on it, and my psoriasis causing arthritis is something my doctor has been concerned about. Yay) But it’s an enormous relief to not have to go to the emergency room or try to get into the doctor’s office; I’ll just message him on my medical app.

It’s funny, because as I was finishing listening to The Other Mother (by Carol Goodman, do yourself a favor and get a copy) on my way home today I was thinking about my mom and the fact that I’m listening to a book about mothers and that revisiting the places I based Bury Me in Shadows on and around also gave me a bit of pause because I realized that one of the major themes of the book was ,well, mothers and sons. I don’t know if I’d planned on writing it that way or if it just happened organically; I guess I would have to find my journals and notes for the book and reread them to see if it was a conscious choice or something that simply happened, or maybe I just have mothers and sons on my mind these last few weeks and it’s a coping mechanism my oh-so-clever-and-sly brain developed to help shield me. I don’t know. I don’t know much, honestly. I am very tired.

The drive was quick and easy. I had no idea of how to get out of where we’re from in Alabama, but I knew when the Google Maps app started giving me directions that they were different from how I got there–since I’d gotten off a highway to get the motel and the app didn’t tell me to get back on the highway to come back. It took me all through the backroads and countryside of Alabama, and then before I knew it I was crossing over into Mississippi and I still wasn’t on an interstate highway. I kept checking the phone to make sure I hadn’t missed something or had put the wrong address into it or something, but after a little while and some lovely scenery, I came into Meridian from the north and hopped on I-59 South and BOOM. Here I am. I made it in just barely over five hours, including one stop for the bathroom and gas. Why is it always faster for me to come back to New Orleans every time I drive north? Unexplained mysteries, for sure.

Well, Scooter wants some attention and I am hungry, so I am going to bring this to a close. Sorry to be brief, but I am also really tired. I’ll check in with you again later, Constant Reader. And happy Lundi Gras.

Sad Day

So, it’s today.

It feels slightly unreal to be writing this from a lower end chain motel in a very small town in northwest/central Alabama, something I would have said a month ago would probably never happen. And yet here I am, in the lower reaches of the Appalachian Mountains to say my final goodbye to my mother. I make no promises or guarantees that I won’t cry, or break down, or anything like that. It was hard driving up here yesterday emotionally; I kept hoping that the drive would never end because I don’t want to accept that she’s gone, and I don’t want to cry in front of my father. I think that would be too hard on him.

The actual drive itself was easy and I was listening to Carol Goodman’s marvelous The Other Mother and literally had just gotten to the big twist when I pulled into the motel parking lot. I’m looking forward to finishing it on the way home tomorrow morning.

Once I was here, Dad and I went for a drive through the county and it was surreal. Things of course I remember from my childhood are long gone–with a few exceptions–and there were several times I’d remember something and Dad would confirm it, surprised at the little detail I was remembering–and there were big details I was completely wrong about; like where my uncle was killed in a car accident, for one. But some of the things I remembered and put into Bury Me in Shadows were still as I remembered them from my childhood, but really? For the most part it was like I’d never been here before; my memories had reordered the geography and so forth for ease of memory–or perhaps it happened when I was fictionalizing the place and thus put things where I needed them to be, and my brain turned my fictionalization into the memory. But we did eventually end up at the cemetery where Mom will be laid to rest today, and walked through the small graveyard visiting relatives and friends of my parents, some of whom I remembered and some I did not.

It’s very weird seeing your parents’ headstone for the first time. The headstone made it all real.

I also remembered something a little sweet and a little sad at the same time; I guess I should have said poignant and left it at that. It was triggered by something my father was saying about my mother as we rode along the backroads of a back county: I always thought of wherever my mother lived as “home.” I wouldn’t say I was visiting my parents, I always said I was going home. “Oh, I’m going home for Thanksgiving.” “Oh, I’m going home this weekend.” In my fifties I began consciously making the effort to not say that, because it inevitably confused people or led to a longer explanation…I’d say visiting my parents or going to Kentucky but for me, to me, internally and in my head and heart and soul, I meant I’m going home because home is where my mom is. It’s true; everywhere my mother lived, somehow she managed to turn that house into a place that felt like home to me, even if I had never lived there. It was dumplings waiting for me warming on the stove when I pulled into the driveway in the dark after driving for twelve hours, exhausted and tired and wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed but instead staying up for another hour, eating two bowls of the most amazing dumplings ever cooked (oh how I wish I knew how to make them the way she could), and then a piece of the homemade blueberry cheesecake she’d made for me because they were both my favorites. She always made my favorites while I was there, and always looked so sad when I hugged her goodbye when it was time for me to make the long drive home. She’d always wash and fold the clothes I took with me and wore, so they’d be clean and I could just put them away when I got home.

Yes, I was spoiled. I always was, really. I was the baby, of course, and also a boy. I was a very strange child, and certainly nothing either of my parents could have possibly dreamed of/feared when I was born (we drove past the hospital where both my sister and I were born; my sister took nine hours, I took less than three, if that long) on the day of that family reunion back in 1961. That family reunion was just up the county road from where my mom will be buried tomorrow. I never really got the point of cemeteries until today, either. I always thought they were kind of morbid and creepy, and I never understood the need to go visit graves and tend them and bring flowers and all of that. Yesterday walking around the cemetery and seeing the graves of people I remember from my childhood also brought back memories of the person–which was kind of sweet and lovely and poignant all at the same time, and I thought Dad knows almost everyone here which made me think about all the losses he’s suffered through in his life. I didn’t grow up down there in the midst of the entire family on both sides the way my dad did, so these were his aunts and uncles and the cousins and friends he grew up with–and he also remembered some choice gossip about some of those people resting there, which just made me smile a little bit inside, too–ah yes, I always forget my parents basically grew up in Peyton Place.

And it was nice hearing the stories, too; double dates with friends, or the time my uncle was late picking them up and my dad was furious and yelled at him all the way to my mother’s because she was waiting for him and he was late and he worried she’d think he stood her up, then laughing as he remembered how his older brother didn’t say anything but basically was driving 100 miles per hour on those then-unpaved back roads to shut him up. (My uncle died in October.) “Did it work?” I asked, and Dad grinned and said “no, I yelled at him until we pulled up at her house.” They were going to a football game in Tuscaloosa, somehow having gotten their hands on Alabama football tickets (I chose not to bring up the fact that Dad’s side of the family were all Auburn fans) and my mother was excited because she’d never been to a game.

Okay, time to put on my game face and get ready to face this. Thank you all for your kindness, by the way, if I haven’t thanked you all before.

Winning Ugly

Well, once I’ve swilled enough coffee I’ll be loading up the car and driving north yet again. And while my trip last weekend involved only driving through Alabama, this is my third consecutive weekend of travel that somehow involves my birth state. I’ve been gone the last three weekends; I am not sure I am going to know how to act next weekend when I actually get to stay home for a change. I’ll drive back first thing Monday morning, so I can get home before the Orpheus parade, and then I’ll be on bereavement leave for the rest of next week. I could have taken it this past week but I also didn’t know when the funeral was going to be so I just went into the office every day this week and muddled through. I know this next week isn’t going to end with everything healed and me past it all–you never get over it, you just learn to live with it–but I need the time to actually recalibrate and settle back into my normal life, which I’ve not really had much opportunity to do these last few weeks. After the trip to the library events then came Mom’s issues and here we are. Throw parade season into the mix for added discombobulation, the whatever-it-is-I-did-to-my-toe–and let’s also not forget my dryer stopped working before the library events weekend, which hasn’t helped either. I’m going to try to fix it–if its just the fuse–after Fat Tuesday is over and I can head over to Lowe’s while looking at repair videos on Youtube; if that doesn’t work then we need to get a new one, which sucks–we also need a new refrigerator, which has been even more of a challenge, because all refrigerators now are too tall to fit into the cubby hole made for it by the kitchen cabinets, which may mean the cabinets over the refrigerator need to be taken out, which is an even bigger pain in the ass than just getting a new refrigerator. I really want one with the freezer on the bottom to alleviate stooping and bending (I’m getting really old, y’all), but those are all too big to fit but even the traditional freezer on top ones are too tall for the space, which is strange and weird and who knows what all.

I slept really well last night. I kept my toe elevated most of the day and was occasionally alternating between hot and cold on it, so it’s not quite so swollen and painful this morning. I think the smartest thing for me to actually do is just wear my house shoes to drive in the car–they will keep the toe cushioned better than my regular shoes–and while it may very well be gout (Paul and another friend have suggested it as a possibility, which I wouldn’t have considered, I’m thinking it might not be. I do have psoriasis and that too can cause an arthritis attack–if that is what this is; gout is a form of arthritis), there are all kinds of other options. The primary concern that I have is that my only option may be going to the emergency room, and how long will something as low-priority as having gout or pain in my big toe keep me in the waiting room there? But I do think it’s something I need to do Monday when I get back here–if it doesn’t clear up. If it does…I don’t know. Like I said, it still hurting this morning but not nearly as bad as it did yesterday so maybe keeping it elevated and alternating heat and cold is the right way to go with it more tonight? I honestly don’t know, but I do know this couldn’t have happened at a less opportune time. But at least it isn’t throbbing today, which it did yesterday. Progress? Improvement? I’ll take either one. I don’t think the driving will help, but who knows? And at least the Hampton Inn should have an ice machine, which should make it much easier to ice it.

And I suppose once I am home on Monday, then I can start the moving on with my life. Before I leave this morning there are some chores around the house I’d like to do (mainly so I don’t have to come home to them after the funeral) and of course I have to swing by a gas station (I don’t really want to even think about my gas credit card bill) on the way out. According to Google Maps, it’s a five and a half hour drive of 349 miles, approximately. Since the first of the month I think, by the time I get home, I will have driven about five or so thousand miles? I hadn’t even hit thirty thousand miles on the odometer since buying the car back in 2017 yet before all this started–and if you take drives to Kentucky and/or Alabama for the library events, I don’t think I would even have twenty thousand miles on it, frankly. This past week has been a weird one. As it progressed I found myself getting less overwhelmed and sad and breaking down as much later in the week than I had earlier in the week, so I guess that’s all a part of the process, and the funeral itself will be the final curtain on all of this. It’s still hard for my mind to entirely grasp yet–oh yeah Mom’s gone–but it’s going to be much easier on me than it is on the rest of the family; they saw her all the time while I only saw her once or twice a year. I’ve not gone down the I could have been a better son route–mainly because I dealt with all that guilt a long time ago and have moved past it all; it is what it was and I’ve never wasted energy on regret, nor am I about to now…although I’ve come close a couple of times since Mom’s death. I also have to pack, but I’m not terribly worried about that. I am going to wear sweats in the car (and my house shoes) and so all I really need to pack is socks and underwear and my shaving kit. I also need to try on my black slacks to see if they fit, else I’ll have to go to Walmart at some point and buy a new pair that will fit my fat ass.

Heavy sigh. Seriously.

And on that note, I am going to make something to eat, get some more coffee, and start getting organized for yet another weekend drive. Sorry, Ladies of Iris–I am going to miss your parade for only the second time since 1996. Talk to you later, Constant Reader.

Rock and a Hard Place

Thursday and the morning of the Muses parade. There are three parades tonight–first Babylon, then Chaos, and capped off by super-krewe Muses and their shoes–and while I am not in a great parade mood, I will probably go out there for a little while at the very least. Tomorrow and Monday are work-at-home days for me because of the parades, and also the days I have to get any errands or anything done that requires using the car because from about five o’clock on Friday till about one in the morning after Bacchus my car cannot be moved–I mean, I can move it, but won’t get very far because I have to stay inside the box. So I will probably try to make groceries on Friday morning, and then on Monday I will try to get the mail and pick up a prescription. It’s going to be an odd weekend. I have lots of stuff to do and I don’t really want to miss the Iris parade Saturday morning; I’ll probably also do Orpheus on Monday; I may go out there a bit on Friday night–those Friday night parades are fun–but for the most part I think I am going to skip the festivities as a general rule. I am already exhausted, but we’ll see how it all goes.

I’m adjusting. My friend Victoria, who lost her wife just before Christmas, compares grief to an undertow: “one moment you’re perfectly fine the next you’re being sucked under.” She’s not wrong, and it’s a pretty good analogy, to be honest (she’s always been an intelligent writer). I find myself getting dragged under at the most unexpected times, and triggered by the most unexpected things; I was going to wash dishes on Tuesday night, so I filled the sink with soapy water and had just put the last dirty dish in the water when I heard my mom saying you always wash the dishes first because the dishwasher is really just good for sterilizing and so I’ve always washed the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. It made me smile a bit wistfully when I heard her, and then came the waves and I was sucked under, and I never did get back to the dishes Tuesday night (I finished them last night). I wash and fold my clothes the way she did–there’s all these little things I do every day that I do because that’s the way my mom did them.

Sigh. Even though I lived over seven hundred miles away from my parents for the last twenty-four or five years, my mother’s influence on me and how I do things will last until I’m in my own grave. I did manage to get a load of laundry done last night, put the dishes away, and managed another load in the dishwasher as well. I’m not motivated this week, which I suppose isn’t really the surprise that I think it is, really. What makes it worse is I was already in the malaise after finishing two manuscripts back to back. I had hoped to get one of them edited and revised this month, and here we are on the 16th with only twelve days left in the month and I haven’t revised a fucking thing. When I got home from work yesterday I discovered a very sweet voicemail from my father on my phone which kind of sent me into a tailspin of sorts–he was worried about me being down here alone with my grief; at least he “has (my) sister and her kids” around him to lessen the grief and keep him occupied. I was so incredibly touched–even writing the words just now filled my eyes with tears again–that in the middle of what has to be all-consuming grief, living alone in the house they shared for the last twenty-five years and where everywhere you look is a reminder of her, he was able to put all that aside to worry about me?

Well, I just found out the service in Alabama is this weekend, so I’ll be leaving New Orleans Saturday morning before they close St. Charles and staying through Monday–so I can get home before they close the streets for Orpheus. I guess that will be the official closure for me–but I am fairly certain the grief is going to be with me for awhile yet. So no Iris or Tucks or Bacchus for me this year, which is kind of fine, really; I am not feeling parade season this year, honestly. I had been thinking that I’d be able to forget everything and enjoy myself for a bit at the parades, but…last night when I heard Druids passing at the corner the last thing in the world I wanted to do was head to the corner. I also did something to my big toe–sprained it maybe–I don’t know what or remember how I did it or when it happened, but at some point yesterday my big toe started throbbing and it hurts still this morning; whenever I put weight or pressure on it, it hurts. It’s so lovely having your body break down all around you, one of the great joys of becoming older.

I slept pretty decently last night, too, which was nice. I hate the lethargy of malaise mixed with grief; this is a witch’s brew I could have easily gone the rest of my life not knowing about. It’s also going to be weird being back in Alabama, too—I’ve not been back to where we’re from since my grandfather’s funeral, in either 2003 or 2004? Maybe it was earlier, because I think I had a car and there was a year or so at the beginning of the century when I didn’t have one. I should take advantage of this to drive around and take pictures of things for my memories and for future writing…and on THAT note, I think I’m going to head into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I will be back later.

Waiting on a Friend

I took the post I wrote about my parents private yesterday afternoon. After I got home from work and thought about it some more, I realized that even though it was a eulogy of sorts, I talked about private family things and the rest of the family might not appreciate the invasion of their privacy, especially not at this time. I did want to write it down, though, and wasn’t terribly sure how to let everyone know. I made an announcement last week that the end was near; did that mean I owed everyone a follow-up? How is the best way to let people know? This is all new to me, after all. So I wrote something in the raw moment shortly after I found out–and thought better of it later. My parents’ story isn’t mine to tell–even if it is part of my own story–but while Mom is gone, Dad is still with us, and I owe him the courtesy and respect to protect his privacy, particularly in a moment of horrifying loss and grief. It will not be my story to tell as long as he is still here.

I did leave work early yesterday–I just didn’t really want to be around people much–because I was in that immediacy moment where I couldn’t control the overwhelming sadness that kept going and coming. I was okay until I had to talk about it, you know? And then that would be a trigger for a moment of uncontrollable sadness, where my breath would catch in my throat and my eyes would fill so I would have to stop whatever I was doing until I could get it together. Grief is a funny thing–I know it’s not completely past, and maybe going into the office today may not be the smartest thing to do, but until I know when everything is going to be, I can’t just burn off my paid time off–which is kind of a fucked position to be in, really. But I also know that my job would work with me, too–my boss is actually very kind, and that was also kind of triggering yesterday while I was there still. I was also overwhelmed a bit by how kind so many people have been–from readers to acquaintances to friends–in the wake of it all.

I was glad that I was able to leave work early yesterday–that’s right, parades start again tonight so I have to leave early today and tomorrow as well–and I also realized last night I’ve kind of been walking around in a daze for quite some time. I wasn’t aware how much Mom’s declining health situation had been weighing on me. I was able to sleep again last night, for one thing–as opposed to the weirdness of the previous two evenings–and so this morning I feel better than I have any morning this week thus far.

And it’s Pay-the-Bills Day. I imagine the mundanity of the task of paying the bills will pull me back into reality more quickly than anything else would or could; the necessary reminder that the world continues to move on. Because it does; the world doesn’t stop because you’re going through something, no matter how painful it is, no matter how leveling it may feel at the time. I still have a lot of things to do–I made a to-do list before hearing from my sister yesterday morning about Mom–and I think keeping busy is a good way to handle my grief and mourning. When I decided to leave work early yesterday, I actually thought oh I can come home and as long as I keep busy–but the best laid plans and all that. I did get started on some things, like laundry and the dishes, but unfortunately I lost the thread of what I was doing and had to sit down for a moment, then Scooter jumped into my lap and that was the end of it. I’m not sorry I didn’t really do much of anything yesterday–I think I may have also been experiencing a little bit of shock, too–because I think I just needed to be by myself for a little while. There are no rules on how to deal with this kind of grief, or how you’re supposed to act or feel, so we all kind of just have to muddle through it and do the best we can. I think tonight when I get home from work–or rather, this afternoon–I will be better equipped to get things done. And I do have a to-do list now.

And losing myself in my work–cleaning, writing. editing–has always been the best way for me to deal with things.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you later.

Hang Fire

Well, I’m pretty tired this morning. I got home last night and St. Charles Avenue was still closed from the King Arthur parade, so I got back on Highway 90 and got off at Tchoupitoulas and circled back home the back way, up Annunciation to Melpomene to Coliseum and then home. I listened to Carol Goodman’s The Stranger Behind You on the way home (it’s superb) but had to finish the last seventy pages or so in the hard copy once I was actually home. I am sipping coffee and thinking that it’s going to take me a hot minute to figure out where I was at with everything and what I was actually doing; the faulty memory is not particularly helpful in that regard. To make matters worse, I never did get around to making that to-do list before I got the text from my sister last week–so I don’t have anything to fall back on, either. I know I had started working on the edits for the manuscript andI know I have a short story to write, but other than that I am completely blanking on everything. I need to make a grocery list for sure today, and I also need to figure out what I am going to take for lunch today. I have to swing by the mail as well as the grocery store, too.

Heavy heaving sigh.

I didn’t sleep all that great last night, either. I would have thought that exhaustion, if nothing else, would have helped me go into an incredibly deep sleep, but alas it was not to be. I feel rested and my brain doesn’t feel tired, but I do feel worn out. I think I am functional–and functioning–but things are probably going to be weird for me for the rest of this week, at the very least. I should sleep incredibly well tonight, though–that’s certainly something for me to look forward to enjoying this evening. I think I got microwave Jimmy Dean sausage egg and cheese croissants at Costco before I left town, and I think there’ s something in the freezer I can have for lunch as well. I was going to make something this morning but am too worn out and too worn down to bother with that. Sleep shouldn’t be an issue for me tonight, but I will probably be groggy as fuck tomorrow morning. I sure need to clean out my email inbox, that’s for certain, and I never did finish the filing apparently, based on the condition of the kitchen/office. It’s also weird that it’s parade season as well; we have two nights off but Wednesday night it all kicks into gear again and I have to start planning my life around the parade schedule–which also means not using the car from Friday afternoon through Monday morning, and then again from Monday night to Wednesday morning. It can be challenging, and I’m already tired. Yay!

So I need to make a to-do list; I need to refresh my memory to know where I am at with everything; I need to empty the email inbox; and of course clean and run errands and get a handle on my life again. But I think the most important thing for me to do is get rested and recovered from the exhaustion of the trip, which means being motivated and getting everything under control again because I won’t rest most likely until I know everything I’ve agreed to do and everything that I have to do. I feel very disoriented this morning and adrift–not a pleasant feeling–and, now that I think about it, is undoubtedly because of the suddenness of the disruption; usually when I travel it’s planned in advance and at least I can prepare for it; this was obviously last minute so I wasn’t really able to get things planned the way I usually do. I don’t always have things under control when I travel, but I am always on top of having a to-do list when I do travel so I know where I am when I get back home. That was the one thing I should have taken care of before I left Thursday (it seems like a lifetime ago), and had I done so, I wouldn’t be at sea this morning as much as I am.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines, get cleaned up, and head into the office so I can get back into my routine. Have a great Monday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again tomorrow.