Throwback Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

   In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Ave Maria

To most folks, July 4, is a day for cookouts and fireworks. For my family, The Fourth is another Holy Day of Obligation, the Weebles' wedding anniversary. This year, their 64th.

The Eldest had to work the holiday, and Himself stayed home in case she called saying the boss let them out early. He also had to go in search of a large pot to cook the prize she won in a raffle. (If you have nothing better to do, you can read all about her prize ) That left the Youngest and I to head to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless for the afternoon service. As planned, we stopped at the nice, clean, modern supermarket, Stop and Shop, two miles from the Weebles'. There was a special on roses so we picked a dark coral bouquet. I asked the florist clerk if she could wrap the flowers while we finished the rest of the shopping. We picked up strawberries, angel food cake and fat free Redi-whip, two cards, and some other items I needed. The clerk surprised us by adding babies' breath and leather leaf fern to the roses making a really pretty bouquet.

There were a lot of people in the store. Most of them were picking up hotdog and hamburger buns, and the checkout lines were moving quickly. We had made good time down the Pike so I told the Young One we would visit one of the other stores to kill some time. We had 10 items in the cart. I debated whether or not to use the self-check out, but decided to use the 12 item express lane. I placed our items on the conveyor belt and waited, and waited and waited. The young woman ahead of me was having a debate with the check-out clerk over the price of a bag of chips. The clerk called a runner to go check the price. We waited some more. The Young One observed so much for an express lane, though it was helping us to kill time. Finally the chip dilemma was resolved, and our order was rung up.

Out in the car, I tucked a bit of cash into each card. The cash was really more for Dad than Ma. She controls the purse strings. She's so tight when it comes to an allowance for him. So tight, she squeaks when she walks. He doesn't always have ready cash to get a hair cut or buy himself a cup of coffee. So I slipped some cash into his card. Slipped an equal amount into hers. The Young One asked why I didn't just get them one anniversary card. Explained that if I put all the cash in the card, Grandma would take it all and Grandpa would get bupkis. With the nitty gritty taken care of, we went over the highway and by the woods to Grandma's house.

I rang the bell and then opened the door and announced "It's me!" so I wouldn't scare the Devil out of them. The Young One gave Grandma the flowers. Grandma was thrilled. She had been feeling down figuring we had forgotten all about them. She made much over the flowers. They were the same shade as her wedding colors.

I began getting things ready in the kitchen waiting for the arrival of the other pilgrims. When they arrived, Ma beamed. Almost all her chicks singing Aves to her. She was well pleased.

Ma has a small table in the living room that opens out to a dining table. The table is littered with Ma's business, all the you-have-won junk. She began issuing orders to clean the table off, but I quickly squelched that. It would have taken us days to relocate the items on her flat file.

She sat in her chair, arms folded across her chest. "Hmmm. In my own home I can't give orders."

I considered it tit for tat. I sent the Young One and The Boy downstairs with Grandpa for three extra chairs. We cozily sat around the kitchen table to have coffee and cake.

For the most part the Weebles were on their best behavior. Ma tried a few snipes. How her son in law does everything for her. She tried the chorus of The He's Stupid song. She hounded the Boy for the price of the cars at the dealership where he works. She wanted to know if he could get her a car.

"Got $40,000?" he asked.

"I will next week. I got a big check coming in. I was notified."

We all sang the Kyrie Eleison (Lord, have mercy)

Ma then asked where she could find a typewriter. The general consensus was at an antique store, but we weren't sure where one would find useable ribbons. Ma wants to type her checks because her handwriting is deteriorating. The scammers must be calling complaining they can't read her checks.

"What was that thing you used to play with?" she asked the Brother.

He looked at her blankly.

"The thing in your lap that you used to play with."

I tried not to lose composure, but I couldn't help it. I began to giggle and caught the Brother's attention with a hand signal which reduced us to gales of laughter. 🤣

All in all we had a fun time. After all, it was only a couple of hours out of our day to make an old lady very happy.

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Minutes from The Ladies' Sodality July 3rd Meeting

The younger parishioners of Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless got together at the North Parish Hall for a night of fellowship and fireworks.

The Brother cooked hamburgers, hotdogs, sausage, on the grill to perfection. Macaroni salad, baked beans, tossed salad, chips, salsa, fruit salad, cookies and soda. Supper was eaten al fresco. As always, the Sister-In-Law was the perfect hostess.

The evening’s entertainment was provided by the city, a spectacular fireworks display. The North Parish Hall is on a hill so we had the perfect spot for viewing, sheltered under the gazebo away from the bugs. 🎆

After the fireworks display, the Ladies’ Sodality met in the kitchen for an emergency meeting to discuss whether or not to make a pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless to pay obeisance to the Weebles and their long marriage on the Fourth of July, 64 years of marital bond…er bliss. The Knights of Kyrie Eleison joined the meeting. There was some discussion as to whether this was a Holy Day or a High Holy Day.

The gist of the discussion was that if a celebration wasn’t held, there’d be Hell to pay, and if a celebration was held, there’d be Hell to pay. It was rather like a pork roast, the one who was not going to have any fun was the pork. 🐷

The Ladies’ Sodality bent under the pressure and decided a pilgrimage with coffee and cake would be the best way to save the bacon. The pilgrimage would begin from the North and South parish halls. Parishioners would arrive at 2pm at the Cathedral. The North parishioners would supply the coffee, and the South parishioners would supply the cake. The Weebles could be counted on to provide the fireworks.

The meeting was adjourned.

Respectfully submitted,

Herself

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

One Ping, Only

June 21, 2007

Sunday. A Holy Day of Obligation. Pater Venite Adoremus, otherwise known as Father’s Day. Himself went to pick up the Weebles while I finished the cleaning frenzy, and meal preparations. Everything was moving on my schedule until I glanced at the clock. Himself and the Weebles should have arrived. Himself was supposed to sacrifice chicken breasts on the grill. The fire wasn’t started. The rolls were almost done and no sign of Himself and the Weebles. I was just about to go out and fire up the grill when they pulled up.

“Everything ok?” I asked Himself.

He looked to the Heavens in that familiar gesture that said, ‘Help me, Lord!’ “You can blog later,” he added with a wink.

All the parishioners of Our Lady for the Perpetually Clueless arrived. We gathered around the table and spent a pleasant, relaxed time eating and talking.

Ma has a habit of nodding off, more like zoning out, or so we thought. She sat at the head of the table, seemingly under the surface, her sonar silently pinging away until the talk turned to cars. The Boy mentioned he had two cars, and like the submarine, Seaview, breaching the waves, Ma came alert and she fired the number one torpedo.

“You have two cars, and you can’t come to take me shopping?”

[Some will recall that a year ago the Weebles were in a fender bender. Fortunately, they were shaken, not stirred, but their little green car was totaled, and I became the Elderbus driver.

True, it’s a pain in the ( ! ) sometimes, but there’s always a silver lining, besides blog fodder. See, it ain’t a bad thing that Dad can’t drive anymore. He had two accidents within four years, and both were his fault. He shouldn’t be on the road. Dad has his own OPD symptoms. He feels senior citizens are discriminated against. He hates that term, by the way. He feels it’s derogatory. He wants to be called an Elder. Dad is convinced the insurance company discriminated against him for both accidents simply because of his age. He’s convinced the accidents were not his fault.

The last accident was a blessing in disguise. Dad wouldn’t be one to realize he shouldn’t be driving anymore, and calmly hand over his car keys. Hell, I can remember as a teen asking to borrow the damn car keys and what a fight I had then! So, the Brother and I are spared that brouhaha. Dad has his car keys. No one has taken them from him. He doesn’t have a car, and no money to buy a new one. It’s not our fault. As I said, a pain in the ( ! ) from time to time, but in reality a blessing.]

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Ma subsided into teary sighs. “No one does anything for me.” She ladled out heaping helpings of guilt or tried to. The same old song and dance routine.

When Himself returned after taking the Weebles home, I asked him to tell me why they were so late in arriving.

I thought perhaps, Ma was in her I’m not going mood. Dad had called me earlier in the morning to say she didn’t want to come. Dad speculated he had done something wrong, but didn’t know what, and Ma was trying to punish him. More likely, she was jealous it was Father’s Day. We had already celebrated Mother’s Day so she didn’t care whether Dad got his due or not.

Himself and I discussed our options. Himself could go pick Dad up and leave Ma home. Not good. There’d be hell to pay all around. We could cancel the Weebles and enjoy the day with just the Brother and his family. While enjoyable for us, not good in the long run as there’d be hell to pay. I called back, spoke to Ma and dropped the hole card. “Everything’s nearly ready. The TEN chicken breasts are marinating, the dough for the rolls are nearly done. I’ve made a salad. Himself made a bean salad. He’ll be leaving in a half an hour. Will you be ready when he arrives?” I can play the game too. Nothing like a hot dish of guilt.

“We were late because your mother had to stop at the bank to deposit a check.”

“Stop at the bank? Why? She doesn’t have any money until the next social security check arrives.”

“Remember I told you she had that prize check from the Zenith Corporation?”

I felt the familiar throbbing behind my left eye. The damn scammer checks from the phony contests she receives. The bank finally got fed up with her pestering them to cash the checks. They opened a “special” account for her to deposit her prize winnings in. This way, what little they have in savings and checking won’t be wiped out by scammers gaining access to their real account. So far, only one check cleared. That was the one where I had called the postal inspector. That scammer knew he was being investigated so after 3 weeks, he made good on that check for $250.00

I feel I should be lighting candles. I’m not sure whether I should pray she hits millions. She can thumb her nose at all of us who didn’t believe in her. She can buy her own car. She can buy her own chauffeur. I can pray Ma is picked up by the Feds for trying to pass phony checks. They’ll put her in the slammer, and then she’ll be their problem. I can pray. Help me, Lord!

TBT: Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Sunday, May 13, 2007

The Ductless Wonder

The Saturday before Mother’s Day began early with a dash to take my car to the shop for a brake check and oil change. I followed Himself in his car. We made the drop and I drove back and took him to the dojo where he taught budding grasshoppers. Home for a shower and breakfast. I made a mental note for the rest of the day’s schedule:

Drop The Eldest at work.

Get The Youngest Up.

The Youngest to help with the pre-holy day of obligation cleaning.

Wait for call from dealer re: auto

Pick Himself up from dojo after the beginner belt test

Pick car up from dealer with minimal damage to check book.

Stop at party store for table cloth, napkins for holy day table setting.

As the Eldest and I were getting into the car for her commute, Prissy called from across the street. Wanted me to go over when I got back.

I sighed deeply as this coffee klatch would cut a chunk out of the schedule. It’s far easier to go visit Prissy than to try to explain why I’m busy.

When I got to Prissy’s, she was crying hysterically into a dish towel. Crying is to mild a word. She was keening and couldn’t speak. The crying was reaching banshee levels, and I thought one of her children or grandchildren had died.

I kept asking what was wrong. She finally handed me a flashlight, pushed me towards the cellar door. I went downstairs with her following me still with her face buried in the dish towel.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from!” she blubbered.

In the dark recesses of the basement where the spiders lurk, I could see a large puddle of water on the floor. I bit my tongue. Yeah, the water on the floor was a pain in the butt, but nothing to cry hysterically over. Certainly, it deserved speaking in tongues, but not blubbering into a dish towel.

She pushed me toward the well pump. The foundation was soaked. I put my hand up to touch the wall. The light was so dim I couldn’t tell whether the wall was really wet or just discolored from age. Over the pump tank, I felt a fine spray of water on my hand and soon found a pinhole leak in the pipe that leads to the tank.

In between sniffles she tells me she called her children, but all they did was yell at her. They yelled at her to call a plumber. I had the same thought, but tried to keep my voice level and reassuring. What solves all sorts of problems? Duct tape.

I followed her upstairs to get the duct tape. She handed me a roll of electrical tape. I told her I’d go home to get the duct tape and for her to call the plumber.

When I got back, her daughter had arrived and was screaming and yelling at Prissy. Prissy had a small leak last year in one of the pipes over the washer. She had a few of the pipes replaced, but not all the pipes as her daughter told her she should. Prissy can be pennywise and pound foolish, a common OPD trait.

The daughter turned on me. “Duct tape isn’t going to work.”

I almost told her how well it would work if I took a piece and patched her mouth and then shoved the rest of the roll up….nevermind. I went downstairs with The Daughter hot on my heels. I patched the pipe. I went back upstairs and spoke to Prissy. Told her the patch would hold for a little while, but she needed to call a plumber and have him come over in the afternoon. I left as quickly as I could to the wails of Prissy and The Daughter’s yelling.

I tried to recapture lost time and got back to the pre-holy day chores. Not more than an hour went by when the phone rang. It was Prissy, and she wanted me to go over. I looked out the front window, saw the daughter had gone. I had just made a cup of tea so I told the Youngest I would be back on Tuesday and took my cup of tea across the street.

My first question was whether she had got hold of a plumber. When she nodded, I sat down, sipped my tea, and listened to how rotten kids can be. How she asks very little of them and how do they repay her? I nod sympathetically into my cup. Daughter screamed at her because of the leak and son gave her a hard time about coming to spread two yards of loam. After Prissy vented, I made my escape back to the pre-holy day obligations.

The Young One and I cleaned, dusted and vacuumed while watching “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” Just as we were leaving to pick up Sensei Himself. The phone rang. Prissy wanted to borrow a bicycle pump. Himself had some sort of foot operated pump, but this would be buried in the deepest, darkest recesses of the garage where the spiders lurk. I had already braved spiders for one day so told her didn’t have a pump. Not to mention the dealer was close to closing and I had to go pick up the car.

Himself had to listen to me vent on the ride up to the dealer. I’m amazed at the difference in the female generations. The need for someone else to solve the problem of the older generation. I’m glad I put the roll of duct tape on top of my black tool box, my purchased early by me Mother’s Day gift from Himself.