My dear Joon...

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shireling
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Tue Apr 11, 2017 11:41 pm

I just realized that I never told you what happened to the ladybug. Gosh, that was a couple of months ago now. I told the cleaning ladies about it, pointed it out. I even remembered saying, "I'm showing this to you so that you don't accidently bump it. They hibernate." They said okay, and I left the bedroom.

I can't figure out what I did wrong, but Sandy comes out into the living room, not a minute later, and says,
"The ladybug is dead. Pat swept it off the bear, rolled it around in her hand, and it didn't move."
"I just got done saying they hibernate. I didn't want it touched."
"Oh! We thought you wanted us to remove it."
"Sandy, I put it there! Where is it now?"
"Pat, where's the ladybug?"
"It's in the commode!"


I should have known better. I shouldn't have shown it to them. They felt terrible; Sandy said, "Oh, I'm so sorry, we killed your pet!"
I couldn't help cracking up. I said it's not my pet! I didn't know it then, but that was the beginning of such a sucking month.

I'm hoping that Phil's affairs are in order by the end of the week. We can't finish up with the burial until we meet with the Trustee, and I'm shocked at how much that depressed me. Thursday; that's when we're supposed to meet. Linda is taking us, and I'm glad because I've had it with all the driving. I can't rest. I can't sleep. It seems sufficient in terms of hours, at least you'd think it would be. But I just want to barricade the door to my bedroom, and not come out until I'm ready.

Monday, my other Lynda came back from Rome for her dad's funeral. He died on the 1st. Her grandmother had died earlier, but it was this one that made her ask to come home from her studies. She flew into Florida, picked up her mom and drove up here. I went, gave her a hug, and, as I was leaving the service for her father, stopped at the cemetery to visit Duane's family. As I got out of the car, I saw that they were preparing for another burial, just a couple of rows down. The worker and I shared greetings, and I stopped by Phil's grave. It's covered by the two bouquet stands, crossed protectively over the earth like angel wings. On the other side of him is Lloyd, then Mom, then Dad - all in a row. Marlin would say, like ducks :) . When we met, he introduced himself as 'a big fish'...

Tomorrow we see the podiatrist. The appointment was changed from the 29th, and my nails were already so long that I cut them myself; I cannot wait to get in that chair! Then Thursday's Lester. Friday's The Epistle to the Son of the Wolf, and I promised to make mast o khiar (Persian salad with cucumbers, yogurt and dill, in this recipe) for the fundraiser/auction dinner on Saturday.

We're not attending the fundraiser. Lisa and Kathy asked me to keep that Saturday open (I think it's Kathy's son, Justin - I think it's his birthday.) When Mike and he were little, they were in Lisa's class together. I'll be so glad to see them! That's a terrific way to end the week as far as I'm concerned.

Well, I'm done for now.

:hug:
sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sat Apr 15, 2017 3:52 pm

Well, we saw the Trustee...

I still can't believe this. I am stunned. I had to ask Duane to spell out the figure. There's still things that need to be addressed, like Phil's medical and final bills, but the total of the inheritance as it stands currently is $300,000.00.

The trust is ended. It ended when Phil died. I just keep crying, not because it was hard for us - and it was - but that these brothers didn't have the kind of life they could have had. I had no idea, but this is the way my in-laws set this thing up. None of us could use it, and the language was such that the trustee couldn't make any changes (I asked two pro-bono attorneys to read the will years ago and that's what they told me.) Each brother had a certain amount allotted to him, but we had no idea there was so much there.

So now, things I never thought of, like we don't have to stay here if we don't want to. And because of the problems I've been having with my legs, I'm realizing that we need to sell the place. Next week, I'm going to be asking realtors for an honest appraisal of the condo (it was recommended that I get three.) Just straight up, no repairs, as is. And then I am to contact three contractors for bids on repairs - these I am to bring with us to the next meeting with Lester.

I had a dream last night - weird dream; a cheddar wurst at bedtime dream. I was in a house infested with mice, and plush rats. The mice were real, and they were everywhere. There were five cats - one intact tom and four females. I don't know if the females were spayed, but I was convinced that the intact male was the reason for all the mice. I was so insistent - I can hear myself still - and nobody argued with me how stupid that was. Not so much as a peep. The house was also full of people, but none of them were helping to rid the house of rodents. Every time I opened a drawer, an appliance, a door, there were mice. Mice eating, drinking, making love, giving birth, squabbling, playing shuffleboard - nonstop, everywhere I looked...

It was the cheese in the wurst. Had to have been. And it needed mustard.

Well, I'd best get going. Amy's been cared for, I've got lunch on the stove, one of the beds has been made, and I made a call to the pharmacy for refills. Justin's birthday's today - can't wait to see him! Have a lovely Easter, joons.

love,
sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Apr 16, 2017 2:33 pm

Had a great time at Justin's party :) .

They're still getting squared away in the new house - well, new to them. It's a hundred years old, and while you might think it's a duplex or a triplex from the outside, it's all one. It's had businesses in it in the past - an electrician is the only one I remember for sure, and that must really have paid off in terms of my friend's love and hobby.

Her husband is goth, and she's into horror. A museum built as a tribute to both, would really have a run for its money. The living room is decked out in swords and mace. A mirror is framed in a skeleton. On the floor is the watchdog, Cerberus. Get too close, and all three heads, red-eyes blazing, come to life. Right inside the front door, is the headless Hessian, and three cages. One holding a very annoyed cat, another full of beeping zebra finches, and the third housing a rabbit. Thank God for the ears, because you'd be hard put to know which end was what.

Everywhere you look - once you leave the medieval living-room - there's gore. Now it's not my taste, but I couldn't help but be thrilled by her enthusiasm (infectious, that's the word I couldn't think of earlier.) Life-size animatronic figures are everywhere, and they all work. There's posters and paintings on every wall with eyes that follow you; some were just made that way without planning to be so, and others have been built to scare the bejesus out of anyone that comes to the door uninvited. Her parlor is complete with a knife-wielding greeter - keys held firmly in other hand. Jason is there, Freddie, Frankenstein (he is glorious! Just like he stepped off the screen.) There's a Fortune Teller, who will spin her head and give you the zombie side. Audrey Jr. sits licking her lips between two Medusas; there's a huge cookie jar made in homage to Beetlejuice. Oh, I just remembered the guy from "Texas Chainsaw Massacre", and Pinhead.

One entire room is devoted to dolls. Each and every one bloodied, but unbowed. There's a half-girl, who giggles while trying to grab your ankles. There's lots of giggles in this room, when they aren't screaming with laughter. The scary girl from The Ring looks like she's parkouring from a metal bar set into the wall. I'm not that good as describing this, I know. You can't get into the room, beyond a couple of feet. The figures were set up from the outer walls to the hallway exit, and it is literally packed with grinning, blood-dripping faces. Some with eyes that glow, heads that turn - you'd have to be there. Right next door is a similar room, dedicated to clowns.

Same thing. They move, they cackle, they reach out to grab you - in fact, I haven't been so touched in years. She's got a tv with a ghost trying to crawl out of the screen. The goal is to eventually open a bed & breakfast; they did have one guest, who couldn't sleep because the clowns kept him up and he moved to the floor of the living room. It's actually - except for the three-headed dog - the quietest room in the house; well, the bathrooms are too, if you don't mind the gargoyles.

I'm not doing this justice. This is simply amazing, and I don't have sufficient words. But this couple loves horror conventions, bad scary movie nights (that's when everybody starts screaming at the teenagers not to go in the basement), and to collect all kinds of memorabilia having to do with the genre. While we were having dinner (which was an absolutely yummy ham with trimmings, and Justin's "Despicable Me" birthday cake and ice cream), there's was the delivery of a crash-test dummy, all done up like a construction worker and chained to a nine-foot board. The thing weighs close to three hundred pounds, and is currently in storage until they finish the basement. Oh, my God, storage!

There was Regan from The Exorcist; that was so life-like I was expecting it to move. It looked just like it was molded from Linda Blair herself. There were Christmas decorations, including a Nativity scene, living right next to Chuckie. And btw, her mother had crucifixes and statues of the Virgin and Christ (she seemed partial to The Infant of Prague) all over the house when she was alive, and I never saw so much as a single black cat or cute little witch set out for Halloween. All of this had been collected and in storage for decades; every time Kathy got something, she stowed it. It's taken a year to set this up, and she's not finished yet - not with arranging or collecting. It's interesting that the religious people who go door to door, are so freaked out by this house. The only ones who weren't were from the Spanish Catholic Church - they got such charge out of it.

After this, I will never ever think that my LOTR stuff is too much. Lisa helped me carry some of the food I said I'd take (especially that ham. Bob basted it with a glaze of cloves, honey, pepper and salt, but it went deep into the meat - not just jazzing up the rind. If I were a swine, this is the way I'd want to go. If you're going to be eaten, you should be in hands of someone who appreciates you.) Where was I? Oh...

My stuff is so humble by comparison. I have a couple of big posters, one's a movie one. No standees or anything like that; in fact, Lisa asked me if this was all I wanted, and I said yeah. There are bigger pieces - like the Balrog, a Fell-Beast, and a large Treebeard - but this is enough. I do have a big Sauron, and he's gets the most adoration from folks who've seen him.

Gosh, it's 10:30 AM and I need to start lunch. Hope your Easter is everything you want it to be.

love
sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Apr 19, 2017 8:25 pm

Well, I've embarked on my appraisal/bids search.

It's overwhelming. A dear couple I know sent me four emails, which I can't bring myself to open, because it's too much information. Not having a full partner in these things has been difficult. When I look back, I managed all of the meetings and efforts for Michael, but it took a handful of friends to help me find him housing; thank God they did. It's been like that for buying cars, buying our home, any banking we've done, though I bring him along at the end to sign the papers. When I was pregnant with Michael, I remember stepping into a "Babies R Us", only to turn on my heel and go back to the car. Too much stuff. I was only there to look, but it just terrified me.

It's the same with any of these huge box stores - forget Coscos. So, what I did was call Angie's List, and tell them what I needed. They gave me half a dozen of one, seven of the other, and all with the years they've been members of A.L. I haven't done anything with them yet, but they're all printed out and ready to go. In addition, my hall bathroom may actually be getting repaired. Liz recommended that I tell my insurance what the guy told me (it was that his insurance said that it wasn't his responsibility), and let them handle it. It never occurred to me do that, but this morning I called, and a claim has been filed. Now, I don't know what will come of this, but it's something - better than nothing.

Sometimes, like especially now, I feel I'm too dumb to live. I just wanted to be made whole, that's all. Just have the room made serviceable, like it used to be. Well, it is, it still is, but these little white tiles keep coming off the floor and sticking to your feet, and there's a huge damp spot on the ceiling above the toilet - which may or not be in a reliable state of repair.

I was told that a patch was applied to the pipe; it's one of these commercial things that you spray on and, once it's cured, it's supposedly water-tight. I don't think so. We haven't had any more trouble but, like I said, it's a patch. He says the leak is not his problem; the Condo Association says it's absolutely not theirs (the pipe is not the main player in this, but a branch off of it to his unit, which permits the C.A. to deny lots of these issues.) In any case, that left me with damage I didn't do.

A few months ago I told Duane that we might be able to repair this (saw an ad on TV which was offering financing for just such a thing), and as I did, he broke two teeth (I remember telling you.) Well, since then, he's had major surgery, besides getting three teeth pulled. The dental alone is $3,000.00, but we have months to pay, same as cash, and since then, he's come into his inheritance, which even though we don't have it, is a comfort to know it exists.

Already the Baha'is in C/WT are looking around for a home for us :) . Pretty much the same bunch that helped us settle Mike; they're so cute. But that's the fun part, and there's all this other to do first. I really don't want to move, crazy as that sounds. I'm looking around at my LOTR collection and I can't imagine them not being here. All of my favorite pets grew up and died in these rooms. Our son was diagnosed just a couple of months into our move here. Seven close family members have died over the twenty-six years we've been here; an upstairs neighbor blew his brains out, and another on the other side of the dining room wall, quietly died from cancer while his wife as at the store. I can remember the screams when they were found, and not being able to figure out where they were coming from (this place is no concert hall.) I rushed home with groceries from three stores on 9/11, not waking Duane so that he could have a little bit more ignorance. I came home to Waco and Oklahoma City, leaving the cold stuffs to warm on the table, waiting for Michael to come home. They sent the kids home early all those times.

Oh, we've laughed a lot, too - especially at the cats.

I've never lived anywhere as long as I've lived here. It's home. But there's more days I can't make it up the stairs then I can, and something's gotta give. It's just as well; it needs to be done. There's history here, but it's time.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri Apr 21, 2017 1:21 pm

Nothing's going to come from contacting our insurance. It was recommended that we sue J.H. instead.

I went back to the journaling in here, and learned that the first time I have mentioning it, was March 29th, 2012. So, we've had this much longer than I remember. It's not that it didn't matter, it's just that I had hopes that he would take care of it - or the Association would say they were mistaken. Fat chance. I'm much given to magical thinking.

So, Duane thinks it's worth pursuing, but that means me on the chase. I can't do it. I'm so exhausted, mentally, spiritually, emotionally, I've had it. I don't want to do this anymore.

sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Apr 23, 2017 3:49 am

So...

Starting Monday, I absolutely have to get going with the phone calls to the realtors and contractors. I don't know why I've waited. They're coming here to see the place. On Friday, we meet with the CPA to see what happens with our taxes.

The thing about the trust is that it's not mine - the ACA insurance is but that money belongs to the Honey. It wasn't considered household income, I think, at least that's what the fiduciary assumed and frankly, so did we. But we could all probably be wrong, and I hope we're not. I mentioned all the times I was told to get a divorce in order to receive help; Lester had a story of his own where an elderly couple got married. They were both widows, and they had determined to keep their property separate, so his would go to his kids and hers to hers. Well, the husband ended up needing nursing home care, and the wife was told to divorce him or the government would take all of her money. It's ridiculous.

I understand the original idea was to support widows and orphans. But it doesn't look as though anybody has revisited this, and treated each case on its own merit. You find yourself wishing your life away, because your age is against you. God only knows what this current regime will do; right now I'll receive Medicare at 65, and be considered at full retirement age at 66 - that's not that far away. The years have been just speeding by as it is.

Oh, and this month, when I got a statement for my insurance premium, I was told no payment was due. I don't know why, they don't explain. I was better off without this nonsense, but I didn't realize it. Before the ACA, I called the clinic when I needed an appointment, and paid on a sliding scale. Nobody took any money from me, with the expectation that they'd need to give it back in doctoring. And truth be told, I have been denied an MRI because somebody, other than my doctor, has decided that it wasn't necessary. She wanted to have a look-see, to find out if anything is obvious now, in regards to my tremors (the last one I had was negative.)

But, if this congress manages to strip this away, I and millions like me, will be well and truly screwed. I have never in my life been so worried. These guys make Nixon look positively righteous, and if I can say anything good about it, some of us are learning more about the Constitution, and what is and is not in it, than ever before. Yesterday, a man - a little skinny old man - didn't like my bumper sticker (I saw him reading it; it says the time is now for both Isaiah & the Constitution 25:4.) He pulled around me and hit the brakes. I was going to Barnes & Noble, and, apparently, so was he - hitting his brakes every few yards. Well, I didn't want to upset Duane, so I didn't comment. I parked and went into the store, and didn't see him until I was leaving. He was standing in the window, staring at me, right in the eyes. So I pull over, get out, go back in, and he tries to duck me. I step right in front of him, and say, "Sir, have I offended you in some way?"

"Me? Oh, no. No."
"Are you sure? Because I want to apologize if I have."
"No, not at all. Not at all."
"Okay, then. You have a nice day." And I left.

That's it. I'm confronting people from now on. I'm 62-years-old. If I don't do it now, I'm never going to. My mother used to say, "Just ignore it." But I can't. The original idea was that ignoring such behavior made it stop. It doesn't. And what if he had done this to somebody who would have hurt him? This - I hope - will make him think twice about this sort of behavior. I'm sure there are people who love him (I've loved some idiots in my time; I'm not above that), and they don't deserve to lose him because he's temporarily lost his mind. Or has been making a habit of such. Actually, he could have been my dad, he was that old...

Anyway, my Mikey is visiting tomorrow :D ! I'm so happy! Love my boy so much! We don't have any plans - it's the end of the month and money's a bit tight, so we're off to the cemetery to say prayers for everybody. They're all there now. It's so hard to believe. I can still remember walking into my in-laws' house for the first time, and they were all standing there. They were standing in the exact order they're buried in, come to think of it. Dad, Mom, Lloyd and Phil. Where has the time gone?


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon Apr 24, 2017 11:20 pm

I've gotten one realtor in here, one coming Wednesday, another contacting me Wednesday (we spent about an hour or more on the phone), and one more who has tried to call me back, but we kept missing each other. I left her a message, after hours, but at least she'll know I want to hear from her.

There are a handful of properties that I've seen (today the trustee said we should have have an idea of what we want), and there are two that are on the first floor. Nothing about condo fees, but if we can buy the property outright, then that'll be like another utility.
Duane wants to live in WT, and I'm all for that. There's no city income tax, a big plus, but there's mostly houses and a smattering of senior centers - which I don't feel ready for. Confidentially, I really hate the idea of moving. I would so much rather fix up the place, repair the couch and the dining room chairs, and just not leave. But my legs aren't trustworthy, and there's no religious life here - not with things the way they are.

Yesterday I went to the Mercy Sunday Mass, and it was an eye opener. Row upon row of people went to confession, to the seven priests who were waiting. A round of Glorious Mysteries, and then a chaplet recitation at the end, and communion. The confession netted one a plenary indulgence, as well as communion. If I'm remembering this right, time is trimmed off Purgatory and this is for sins already forgiven. It was difficult for me to sit there, and be handed books and be expected to recite right along. So, I've come to the conclusion that from now on, I'll go to the Franciscan Masses. People know me, I won't get looks, there won't be expectations of words and acts that I simply can't embrace.

It is going to be interesting, becoming more accepting of Islam by the Catholic Church, and I don't see it happening among average Catholics. In order to learn, you have to start picking from The Index (apparently that's where all Baha'i stuff resides), and the laity are not encouraged to go there. Anyway, back to the home hunting, I told Mike we were were moving, and he looked so scared, that I had to reassure him that he would still come visit us at the new place. It was just like when he left the Center for his house - we found him, right? So that calmed him down. He matters so much to us, so very much. But, if this whole thing were up to me, I'd just stay here, and if I couldn't get downstairs, then I'd just stay put.

That's all for now. I'm off to find supper.


sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Wed Apr 26, 2017 12:33 pm

I'm bummed...

Last week, I ordered two CDs from a local bookstore, and the parcel arrived Monday. But we never saw it, and now it seems that the thing was delivered and plucked from the doorway. The whole thing was so unnecessary. Why don't people ring doorbells? I have a doorbell. Everywhere I've ever lived since I moved from my parents house, I've had doorbells. I love them. I can hear them no matter where I am. But people keep insisting on knocking - very faint, ineffective knocking.

My upstairs neighbor said she put it in the crack in the door and knocked. I've seen Rosemary knock (see previous paragraph.) In fact, our door also sports a knocker, which virtually nobody has used. So, I'm out 50 bucks and three Beatle albums.

I called USPS, and got the word from them about the delivery. And then I called Barnes & Noble, because I had protested to the seller that I would like to pick up the albums at the store. But since I had already paid for them (I hadn't yet. We were at the kiosk in the middle of the place, and then we went to the register.) I just had a bad feeling about this, I mean bad, that I wasn't going to get these. So I was paying attention...

But the thing I'm most upset about is being told by neighbors that I've been friends with for years, that they didn't want to bother me.

I kept asking, why? All I can gather is that they're afraid of Duane - and that I don't get either. A handful of years ago, I got a sty. Never had one ever, and I can still remember the sting of the sleet when it hit me. The whole left side of my face was swollen, and these sisters drove me to the doctor. They asked if Duane had hit me; I said no, I got hit by sleet. The doctor knew immediately what it was. Retrolly, I know now I should have had her explain it to them. But, after ten days of antibiotics and warm compresses, including Persian tea bags, it was gone, and I never gave it another thought. Anyway, maybe I'll get a store credit out of this, and I'll try to buy them again.

That's one thing that's driving me crazy about people I know. Things that they said or did when we were younger, might have made me a bit verklempt back then. But now they absolutely double down on all that, and some are absolutely ferocious if you push back and want a reason.

Well, against everything Lester said, I've picked a realtor and haven't bothered with a contractor at all. And I told her that we do have money - we don't have it in hand, but we've been told it's there. So, we're looking for a new home as of yesterday - now the fun begins. Lester may have a fit, but so be it. If we can move, then we can clear out, and either fix up or not. The realtor is of a mind to do repairs, and so am I. But trying to live around it just isn't doable. I'd rather be out.

Have a good day, joons, and I'll try to do the same.

sara
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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Thu Apr 27, 2017 2:05 pm

First the good news, better than I could have hoped...

Barnes & Noble have re-ordered my CDs, and will hold them at the store for me to pick up! :D I didn't expect that at all; all I said was you might want to reconsider that policy when the next person comes along. Well, they can't - it's the manufacturer's policy, not theirs. So, they can do this for me this time, and I am making a note to myself to not go this route again. I'm so happy :D!

Now for the other.

The Trustee is going to be in control of our home buy. And it's because it's Duane's, ultimately. So that's that. He's on vacation until the 22cd of May. He wants to do a title search, see the place, look over the contract and then, I guess. We bought this home without him. My parents gave us 2,000 bucks for a down payment - sometimes I really do miss the '80s. The day we closed was the last day of Gulf War I, and the stock market was all over the place. The broker had a heck of a time nailing down the interest rate that day; we were there for hours watching it bounce like a ball.

I sat here crying last night. I really don't, if I'm honest, want to move from here. All of the senior living places are rentals, including St. Leonard's (though they call it something else.) Anyway, I'm getting an information packet from them, in lieu of the open house they're having this weekend. I know Duane is worried about being trapped in here by my not being able to travel the stairs; how is he going to get anywhere if I'm not driving? But then, my own washer and dryer - how sweet the sound. Nobody above me (just now, my neighbor's three-year-old came crashing off the bed above me, and is screaming her head off), and nobody below to complain that we've been jumping off our beds.

I did tell Duane that we aren't leaving here until the new place is move-in ready. Because some of these listings are, well, something else. Some look like they were holding pens for livestock, namely goats with a taste for garish green wallpaper, and dark purple decor. There's a stain on the one of the garage floors that's right out of Fargo, and another couple that I'd want to consult an exorcist about before walking through the door.

Anyway, the Honey's eating breakfast and we'll be off to the mall before long. Be good.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sun Apr 30, 2017 8:25 am

We've made a lot of decisions. I've picked a realtor; I didn't consult the Honey, but then this is one of those duties that fell to me in the past, anything where a lot of talking is required. And we're moving close to Michael.

It's been heartening to see how many homes are available, in our price range - though many of them aren't on the first floor and we've got to watch for that. Right now, I'm worried about this month's bills. I've never done this before, but I'm thinking about putting the medical on credit cards, otherwise they'll devour the checking account. Our complex has gone to a property management company, and they want the fees paid monthly (they've even provided envelopes for this.) We met with our tax-preparer, and we owe federal 192 dollars and change. It won't be until Wednesday morning that we'll get paid, but I can write out everything beforehand and have them ready to go as soon as I'm up.

We decided not to stay here after last Thursday. We love our friends, but...

Well, some of them - like me, I'll admit - aren't aging well. I don't mean that they're having more physical problems; it's the mental and intellectual sides of them that's taking it's toll. We all have idiosyncrasies, and why most of them aren't endearing in the first place is something I really want to talk to God about. Like this one who, like Duane, is the last survivor of her immediate family. She's always been a bit odd - can't handle children "misbehaving" (kids playing, in other words), has brutally frank opinions based on zero knowledge of the subjects, and will get hysterical at the merest hint of animals being abused (though there's a very flat affect when it comes to people.) Her dog died last year. Her home is covered with photos of the animal, including a couple of the pup in dresses. After death, molds were made of the front and back paws - they're on display; she wears a locket with a bit of it's hair, and when we came in the door, there was a replica of it sitting on the couch. I'm not kidding. There is a company attached to the animal cemetery that will make you a plush version of your departed pet. I don't know how much this has set her back, but the funeral alone was $1,000.00, which included grooming, a casket and a service.

So, now that you've got the background, we were talking about after death experiences we've all had with departed loved ones. I forgot, I just forgot, and started to tell the story of my dad - which I felt wouldn't make as much sense unless you knew the tragedies that he endured as a kid, and how violent his step-father could be. His step-father killed my dad's dog because the animal wouldn't obey him, and my friend screamed at me. She gets up, and locks herself in her bedroom (yes, we're in her home.) Barb stayed behind to make sure she was okay (she was.)

I can't do this anymore. The egg shells I've been walking on these past decades, are now landmines. I really thought that with the passing of Phil, things might settle down. But what happens is that every time there's a void, something rushes to fill it. It means that all of the relationships I've made all of these years, will be over. We'll be an hour away, at least. I'll miss the Kroger people the most; I see them three, four times a week, and there's a bunch of customers that I really like too. Most of the doctors are Duane's; we see them maybe three, four times a year - we probably won't get new ones out where we'll be living.

I don't know. I just feel like I've done my time in purgatory, and finished my parole. It's after 4AM here, and I can't sleep, and I'll probably regret writing all this, but - to put it in that pathetic way we've come to in our time - it is what it is. Have a good Sunday, joons of mine, and I'll try to do the same.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon May 01, 2017 2:48 pm

I'm realizing that I can't do the big move...

When we talked, we discussed how we could see Mike every week. How we could go places that we don't get to now. But, after that, I got to thinking about the past thirty-five years.

His family was like gypsies. Every time my father-in-law annoyed the church board of directors, they moved. And they always had a home waiting for them - a parsonage. Some were better than others, but there was no mortgage, and under a certain amount, the congregation covered their utilities. It wasn't until late in life, when Marlin retired, that they bought their first home.

The day after my 28th birthday, I got married and moved to Texas. Once I left my parents' home, I was a renter, and we lived that way for nine years. I lost everything. My name, my friends, my family, favorite places, arguably the best damn job I ever had, and this is back when long distance was expensive; for most of us, satellite phones were science fiction. But, we managed. I wanted to be a good wife, and support my husband. So, for the past 35 years, I did that. I got used to the new name, I made new friends, created a family, got jobs that absolutely sucked - mainly because of the male co-workers who couldn't keep their fucking hands to themselves, and bosses who were like them - but I did the best I could. I did what most women did, I put up and shut up, and lived in a first floor apartment with my husband and baby boy.

Then, one Easter Sunday, while we were visiting Duane's parents, we were burglarized and I said that's it. My parents gave us the down payment, and we bought this place, here, where we're living, on the second floor. I added to my list of friends, I got us doctors, and dentists. Mike was found to be autistic, and I ran around trying to find help for him. I located plumbers and electricians, and when things broke, got them fixed or replaced. He worked as a programmer/analyst and I worked as a domestic engineer. He earned a salary, but because women's work is largely gratis, I did not. And because nobody I trusted would watch my son (and there was something decidedly creepy about those that would), I didn't work - in that Wall Street/gossipy sense. In fact, until he saw me at Phil's funeral, the Trustee asked me if I simply "didn't want to work..." He has no idea how much I wanted to deck him.

From 1991 until 2017, this has been home. It hasn't always been fun. Some of the neighbors I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies (in fact, some of them have been), but there have been all sorts of lovely folks, too. Bill, who planted tomatoes next to the front door and invited everybody to help themselves. Trudy, who got boxes of decorations from a department store that went out of business, and held Christmas parties in the halls while we decorated the stair rails. Jeannie, and Linda. Rosemary - Bob & Adelaide...

And I'm finding that I just can't start all over again. And that's that. So in the meantime, I looked up St. Leonard's. They do have a low income place (there's no openings), but at least there is such a place. I feel a bit more hopeful.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Mon May 01, 2017 10:38 pm

The Realtor called me today.

I'd called her early this morning and she got back. Actually, she said, she didn't take the whole move south all that seriously - she figured I would swing back to my 'comfort zone.' I brought my thoughts up to Duane, and after a bit, he reminded me of how I'd have to give up my Franciscans, and my position as Infirmarian (which is a three-year obligation.) So, we're staying here, waiting for Lester to get home. God bless this lady - she's been looking around here, just as if I'd never said a word otherwise.

I sat down this morning and wrote out all the bills. They can go in the mail tomorrow morning; I doubt they'll get to their destination before the money gets in the bank - at least I hope that's the case. I didn't use the card, but I can't do these minimum payments forever. Here we are again - medical and dental. They take a hatchet to my budget every single time. That's why Amy hasn't seen a vet, I haven't been to a doctor or dentist, and Girlfriend hasn't had her routine maintenance. If I had to, Girlfriend would get hers, because if she doesn't work, neither do I.

I'm okay. Physically, my legs did this scissors thing this morning as I was trying to walk down the hall, but I can't complain. It went away almost as soon as it happened. This is just a little update. Have a safe evening, joons.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri May 05, 2017 2:23 am

Obamacare has been repealed. Or has it?

It's just the House. That doesn't mean the Senate will rubber-stamp it, but that remains to be seen. Do these people have any idea what they're doing? Have any of them given any consideration at all for the citizens they were elected to serve? "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happyness", just a few words from the Declaration of Independence; and call me crazy, but it seems to me that in order to enjoy any of the three to a satisfactory measure, Health is definitely in order.

Now, does this mean I don't have to pay my premiums - if this passes? And if I don't, and I decide not to, does that mean when I get Medicare, I have pre-existing conditions?

Jimmy Kimmel gave an amazing, deeply stirring monologue, about his newborn baby, Billy, and Billy's defective heart. And while one comment that he made, that his son could have died without living long enough to be rejected for having a pre-existing condition, hit home with me almost more than anything else, there was the list.

Forgive me for jumping around, but if you've spent any time reading my posts, you're well aware of how my talent for digression knows no bounds. Kimmel pulled a list from his pocket and thanked every single person on it for the work they do - saving the life of his child and countless others over the years. And I listened to the names. If you'd spent the past 45 years reading works written by scholars whose first language was not English, as I have, than quite a few of those names would be as familiar to you as they are to me. Were these nurses, doctors, radiologists, surgeons, aides and techs born here? Who cares, and why should anybody? The thing is they're here. And the worst day of your life, like little William John Kimmel's birthday, is only going to be as good as the best people who show up. And thank God they're here. Thank God.

Wake the fuck up, America.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Sat May 06, 2017 12:25 pm

I've decided to switch to a pod detergent. I've missed using what Mom always used, but got into the habit of buying lighter jugs of clothes soap. So, this past week, when I'd tumbled backwards several times and not hit the floor, I thought I'd make life a bit easier.

What's nice is that you can grab a few and toss them atop the basket for that load. You don't have to worry about anybody helping themselves to your stuff because they go right into the washer, and *poof*! I've tried getting lighter litter, too, (try saying that five times fast), and it's awful. Yeah, it doesn't dislocate my shoulder carrying it in, but the sand tends to stick to the cat's paws and when she cleans it off, it's concrete in her tummy. I know because I've seen bits of it embedded in the poo when it's too hard for her to pass and she goes on the floor. This is probably so much more information than you need...

I'm worried about moving. Here, we have people around us who have seen us - especially me - deteriorate over the years, and they are quick to help. I worry about anything happening to me, and Duane being left on his own. As it is now, we have a cleaning agency who comes once a month to dust, vacuum, and clean the kitchen and baths. Otherwise, I make all appointments, get us to them, maintain Girlfriend and Amy, buy the groceries, pay the bills (he balances the checkbook), do the laundry, make the beds and keep the place presentable/functioning, and handle any phone calls or knocks at the door (he will come and get me if I haven't heard.) But I can stop at just about any point and rest whenever there's a need. When it comes to me, I am the most compassionate of employers.

I've been checking senior housing, too. I've been watching the folks around me, and there's much to be said for having a family of your own. There's people who never married, have had an unbroken stream of work that has provided them with a comfortable retirement, but I wouldn't be happy alone like that. And while I do have family, I hadn't counted on members who were going to be so high-maintenance - or autistic. I worry about falling and Duane being oblivious to me calling him (I've had to call neighbors to come to the door and tell him I'm in the bedroom, shouting for him.) He's gotten more and more distant, since Phil died, and it could just be grief. He doesn't talk about things like that - he never has. Didn't cry when his parents died, or Lloyd - and hasn't with Phil. I was so sure he would that day.

We were right at the bedside, and I had put my hand over Phil's heart. I felt it stop, and I was sure Duane would react but he didn't. I'm not going to push him. After all it took years for him to finally get the sorrow out over Michael's diagnosis (it's the one thing we really disagree about, since I see Mike has come to terms with it and has made the best of things; Duane's just the opposite.) Anyway, it would be really nice to not have to worry about anything other than our petty ills, and not what the hell's going on out in DC...

And speaking of that, Washington: there's something very wrong with this man. I finally heard the word dementia brought up, and I'm wondering if that's what's happening. I don't hate him, no matter how angry and upset I've been. I've just never ever believed he was qualified; he can't do the job - as President, husband or father. He was in New York the other day, and didn't go home to see his wife and youngest. What man worth his salt doesn't do that? I can understand Melania - she's doing what she thinks is best for Barron. But what's with him? I couldn't stand not seeing Duane or Michael. The longest I'd ever been separated from either or both, was a long weekend, and as much as I enjoyed my time away, I couldn't wait to get back. It's not just the words he speaks, it's the detachment that I see in him. I get the anger at him - I've felt it myself - but, now there's more pity for him, and loads of genuine outrage at everybody who put him in the White House in first place. Not to mention those who insist that he stay there (cough *congress* cough.)

I can't go to the Book Club any more. It's not only that I can't concentrate to read the books - that's comes and goes, depending on my stresses. I used to go just for the discussion, and I was encouraged to, even given rides when it was too cold, icy or dark for me to drive. But now I can't sit in the same room with that one individual who voted for him, just so that she could have the Supreme Court nominee that she fancies will end Roe v Wade...

Might be nice to live in disinteresting times for a while. Orwell must be laughing his ass off.


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Re: My dear Joon...

Postby shireling » Fri May 12, 2017 1:10 am

I've bookmarked Realtor.com, and have a particular type of housing I'm looking at.

There aren't many of these and they get scooped up pretty quick. Lester's still out of town, and our next time with him in two weeks. Ms. G and I have talked many times since the day I decided to go with her, and I feel very comfortable with the choice. So, the plan is to find a one floor condo with two bedrooms and two baths. There's lots with the 2 bees, but not many without stairs. We'd really like to not have anybody above us any more. What is nice is that all of them have their own laundry rooms, not necessarily their own machines, but for the first time in my life, I can have my own washer/dryer :D .

No more carrying heavy baskets out the door, and leaning against the wall as I go up - or down when I'm done; no more having the light bulbs removed or loosened so that they don't work and I have to carry the step ladder upstairs so that I can fix it; no more destroyed latches on communal doors; no more space heaters that can melt plastic jugs that the pyro/vandals put too close to them because some other residents think they can just leave their stuff and nobody will bother it. Yeah, I'll have to maintain them, but oh! Warm clothes in the day, and sheets on cold nights, fresh from the Maytag. My days made musical by the swish of the washer and the gentle hum of the dryer drum just off the kitchen; my coffee mug in hand, a dollop of Irish Creamer misting in its depths. Ah. Who needs sex?

Anyway, I troll the pages - $40k-$60k - 2 bedrooms - 2 baths - condo.

The goal is to find a place and make it lovely. Then we move in, and make the old homestead what it never was. I'm attached, I'll admit. I want it to be nice for the new owners, because I love it and I'm grateful to it. I'm grateful it was affordable, and easy to make comfy. If it weren't for the upstairs creep who wouldn't fix his damage, it would be so nice. Well, it will be again, if not for us.


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