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.

Monday, October 15, 2007

The Will

While chatting on the phone with Ma, I played Scrabble Blast on the computer with the sound turned off. I made sure to un huh, and yeah in the right places. Ma was riding the gravy train again, how she was going to win $2 million this week. It's always this week. Un huh.

I used to try to reason with her, to tell her people didn't gift you with huge sums of money. Her little trolley wouldn't slip the track, and I ended up with that familiar, pulsing pain behind my left eye. The Brother, ever the brilliant tactician, gave me a way to cope and to save me a pain blinding run to the Excedrin bottle. He said when she starts in on something (no one does anything for me, no one helps, I'm winning $2 million) just say "Oh, wow." Simply elegant.

She was saying Nostradumbass (she consulted with a psychic) told her she was born under a lucky star. Oh, wow. Didn't PT Barnum of circus fame say there was a sucker born every minute? The conversation took a turn onto the no one does anything for me spur. I tuned Ma out concentrating instead on how to make a word with 4 eeees.

"You do things for your father, but you won't do them for me." She was still sore that I wouldn't take her pile of sweepstakes entries to the post office.

"You know that's not true. You didn't push your walker to the emergency room when you fell and broke your wrist. In fact, I was a God send that day because I almost decided not to visit, but I got a feeling something was wrong so I showed up." She likes the supernatural and it's a handy hole card so I played it.

There was some grumbling. "When I get my $2 million, I'm going to go to a lawyer. I'm gonna have a will made. All I'm leaving your father is $1, so you better make up your mind."

"About what?"

"Whether it's him or me. You jump when your father asks you to do something, but you never do anything for me. So you better make up your mind!"

"I'll take the dollar."

Disclaimer: This blog is not a legally binding written document. 😘

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, October 03, 2007

The Amazing Carnac

Tea. A calming ritual. No matter how hectic or frazzled a day, the fragrance and heat of tea drains the tension. I don’t know how many cups of tea I’ve shared with Ma around the kitchen table. We’ve sipped tea since I was a teen. Himself’s mother used to be a part of the klatsch. We would laugh, gossip, share recipes, and the older women would impart bits of wisdom to me. Thou shalt do it this way.

With cups of tea in front of us, Ma always seems to be more like her old self. Opinionated, but good natured. We were having a cup of tea after the visit to the orthopedist. I took a sip from my favorite blue cup.

“Oh, we could have used you yesterday,” she said.

“What was yesterday?”

“Roche Brothers had Pastene tomatoes on sale for 77 cents.”

I could hear the good nature of the statement. Seventy seven cents must be a good price for a can of tomatoes. And behind the statement, the opinion that I had neglected my filial duty. I tried not to roll my eyes and looked in the bottom of my tea cup. Sadly, we use tea bags, there were no tea leaves to read. “Kreskin might be able to bend spoons with his mind, but I haven’t perfected mind reading just like you haven’t perfected mind control. Thank, God,” I thought and I bit back the sarcasm. So I pictured the Amazing Carnac holding the envelope to his forehead.

“Oh, wow,” I said.

And the question is, what do you say when you hear you should have called your mother the day before?

Heigh-oh!

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.

This episode is out of order because of the Christmas Holiday

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Happy Holidays

Christmas Eve day with the Weebles was a nice affair. They were excited about a recent visit from The Brother, and the fact he was going to drop by on Christmas Day.

I’m sure it was a not so subtle hint that we could drop by too and then the Weebles would have the whole family together on Christmas. Himself and I began a tradition when the Eldest came along. We stayed home for Christmas. The door is open to those that want to drop by, but we don’t move from the house.

“Oh wow, that will be nice for you,” I said and smiled at Ma.

A while ago, Dad had given me his old movie projector, screen, and some reels of film he had shot. The film had lived for five or more decades under the eaves of their house alternately sweating and freezing. I thought it would be fun to drag out the projector to watch the old home movies. Dad had told me the bulb on the projector was burned out and Himself and I wondered where we would even begin to look for a bulb. Fortunately, we had a fallback. Himself had his dad’s old movie projector, and it worked as we had watched Himself’s home movies several years ago.

So, after dinner Himself lugged up the movie screen and set it up. We shifted the sofa and the Weebles around so they could see the screen. Their faces glowed as they watched the flickering images of their siblings (gone now) and themselves as young parents. We watched the antics of The Brother with cousins, waved at my Grandma (Ma’s mother) and admired how cute I was as a baby butterball.

As the Young One turned on the lights, Ma turned to me.

“Well, you certainly took everything you could get your hands on (film, projector, screen), didn’t you?” she sniped.

I felt my blood boil at her remark which was the only thing that had marred an otherwise pleasant visit. I had a very hard time controlling my tongue.

“Excuse me?” I croaked. “I didn’t take. I was given!”

She must have realized she was about to cross a dangerous line because she backpedaled the remark.

I served tea and pie, talk turned to very neutral subjects and soon it was time for the Weebles to go home.

After Himself got home from shuttling the Weebles to their home, I groused about the remark.

“Don’t let it upset you. It’s just your mother’s way,” he said.

I’m always amazed at his equanimity. His feathers rarely get ruffled, and he is easily able to give others the benefit of the doubt while I run around yelling eff off and muttering in tongues.

“Still, it hurts to be accused of stealing from your mother.”

“I know. There’s a faculty member at school who’s the same way. The focus always has to be about him. Your mother is the same way. Let it go.”

Christmas Morning

We had spent a leisurely time as we opened gifts one at a time to be admired, oohed, aahed and savored. (Himself thought this organized method was weird as his family Christmas gift opening tradition was a feeding frenzy). The girls had gone to their rooms with new items while Himself and I were still in the living room.

Himself had given me a digital picture frame, and I was searching the packaging for instructions written in English. I had the Spanish pamphlet in my hand.

“Y’ know,” he began. “That would make a great gift for your folks.”

I looked up and gave him the look that goes with a politically incorrect Boston expression. “No way.”

“It’d be great!” he insisted.

“Yeah, I can just hear Dad now. THEY don’t give him his email and now THEY won’t give him his pictures. No electronic gifts for the Weebles.

Himself chuckled.

An hour later he was sitting at the kitchen table using the laptop.

“Hey? I just had a thought about the burnt out bulb in Dad’s projector. Do you think the bulb from your dad’s projector would fit?” I asked.

“I’d hate to touch the bulb as it’s really sensitive. Just moving it, could shake the filament.”

“It was just a thought. I didn’t try out Dad’s projector. Just took his word that the bulb was blown out.”

“Yeah, like they don’t give him his email.”

"Point taken."