Being Thankful

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone.  Today I am posting random things that come into my head for which I am Thankful.  Here goes...

I am Thankful:

1. For the wonderful childhood I had.  I always felt secure and loved thanks to my mom, dad and big bully brother.

2.  That I grew up in a "hippie" house hold with parents who didn't judge too harshly.  They just wanted me to be kind and fair.   ALL of my friends were welcomed in my home no matter race or religion they were (and that wasn't too popular in the 60's and 70's) .  As long as we were kind and walked to the beat of our own drums is all that mattered to my mom and dad. My parents didn't fit in at all with the "perfect parent click" but they were by far the most loved and respected.

3.  My kids.  The hardest, unselfish, rewarding thing I worked for here on earth.  I love them immensely and my pride in them cannot be expressed in words.

4.  Having my mothers strength as a woman.  And stubbornness.

5. My Dad.  He is stronger than I ever knew and I will always be his little girl.  Every day I know he loves me.

6.  Mike. Without his love and loving him I couldn't be happy in this life.  He is perfect for me in every way.  I hope to grow very old with him.

7.  Wilbur.  I name him last because the little pup has given nothing but unconditional love and trust.  He has been this families "miracle" and even though he's just a dog....we love and are Thankful for him every single day.

Guilty

I feel guilty that I wasn't with my mom when she died. 

Mom has been my best friend as far back as I can remember.  I don't ever remember having a moment in my life where I didn't like her.  She was always on my side no matter how bad I fucked up or how wrong I was. 

When a girl picked on me in high school I was scared.  This girl cut up my clothes.  Mom brought me new clothes and told the gym teacher that I was going to kick this girls ass and if I got suspended for  it she'd be okay with that.  Then mom told me that I had to stand up to this bully and beat her ass.  So ,  I FINALLY stood up to the bully who backed away from my offered fight thanks to mom.  Mom thought I shouldn't have allowed her to back down and that I should have kicked her ass and got suspended.  Mom was a renegade and for that I love her even more.

When I got pregnant at 19 I holed myself into my bedroom until mom forced her way in and pulled it out of me.  Mom knew I was pregnant before I did.  I was so scared and anxious.

Mom asked me, "Do you love him?"  I said I didn't know but he was nice, had a great family and treated me well .  Then she asked, "Really, Chrissa, are you ready to be a mother and do a good job at it?  Are you committed to this child who will be dependent solely on you?  What do you want to do ?"   After lots of crying and soul-searching and knowing I had freedom of choice I said, "I want to keep this baby Ma. ."  She said,  "Jesus Christ!  If it's a girl you better name it after me!!" 

I had a girl and named her, Susan, after my mom.  My daughter is every single bit of her grandmother.  Smart, Independent, Hard-headed and Opinionated, Free Spirited, Kind and Loving in every aspect.  

Mom stood by me all through the twenty-two restless years of marriage, kicking me in the ass if I needed it.  When I got divorced she stood by and breathed a sigh of relief with me, cried like hell with me for hurting a man I didn't want to hurt.  He was a good man but not a man I was in love with. He wasn't in love with me either.   He loved other things and was much more committed to those. 

When I fell absolutely, hopelessly,  madly in love with my Mike, she loved him that much too and told me that he was O.K.  I felt like I was betraying my family.  She told me I wasn't betraying anyone and that I should follow my heart.  "You only live once and most people never really get to be ga-ga in love.  Go for it Chrissa and if it don't work out, I'll be here to pick up the pieces".

When she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, mom always told me "You can't go making wallets (end up in the nut house) Chrissa, you've got to be tough." So I was. I didn't think I had it in me to be so strong when I was so scared.  Mom was the half to my whole and I just could not imagine my life without her in it.  She was the strong one.  As she became weaker, it was very, very difficult for me to accept.

I had dinner with her one evening, laughing and chatting.  Two days later I was at her house calling an ambulance.  She couldn't walk and had double vision.  She realized that it was bad. The cancer had spread to her brain and three, long months later she was gone.  But, I wasn't with he when she died and that makes me feel so guilty  that I can barely stand it.  My daughter was with her last and that lends a little comfort to me but I WASN'T WITH HER.   I was there almost every single moment since she was in the hospital but one hour before she died we had talked about all kinds of stuff and I sang to her and shaved her hairy chin (which I have too).  I was home five minutes when I got the call telling me that she had passed away and I was absolutely devastated. I wanted to be with her but I wasn't ....the guilt set in.  I've cried so many times and still feel so much anger about it.  Three years later I still have to push that guilt out of my mind and heart or I'll go making wallets.  

I think to myself that maybe, just maybe, mom didn't want me there when she died.  We had spent a great day together. Laughing.  Storytelling.  Memory-sharing. Singing.  Maybe that's the way she wanted our last mother/daughter moments to be.

Maybe.

Merry Christmas Mom

The Holidays are approaching and I just dragged boxes of Snowmen out from underneath my back porch stairs.  I've collected these snowmen for many years and cherish each and every one of them.  They sit pompously displayed on a shelf that once was in my hallway but is now in my new dining room since I knocked a wall out in the summer.

As the Holidays approach I remember my mom.  She loved Christmas with a passion, especially the decorating part of it.  During the last five years of her life, after Iris died, she didn't want to decorate alone so I would always be the designated decorator (worker).  Mom's house was very large and DRAFTY.  She kept her heat so low I had to keep my coat on most of the time.  Oh, I would pitch a fit sometimes and go to mom's house with a bad attitude (which I regret now).  I didn't want to have to pull her tree, ornaments, and thousand boxes of Christmas shit all the way up from the basement.   I didn't want to have to put up her tree and decorate it. I didn't want to decorate her fireplace mantle while she sat  in her chair with her two spoiled cats in her lap.  She had A LOT of Christmas stuff and a very, big house!! One year I went to her house with such a horrible attitude.  I was MAD that I was the one who had to do all of that work and boy, even though I was an adult, I acted like a child. How can a daughter be MAD when her mom has cancer, is bald, fighting for her life for 15 years, and weak?  I was just MAD.  I was MAD because my marriage of 24 years was in the shithole and I was going through divorce.  I wasn't thinking about her at this time.  I was wrapped up in ME.  Somehow mom understood this and never said a word about my attitude.  She just asked me " What's your fucking problem?  I have fucking cancer". After mom said that to me I got on past my own, selfish issues and moved on with decorating.  I have so many regrets about that now and I'm sure Mom is laughing at my guilt. 

Now I reflect on those memories.  Christmases spent with my mom.  She always lit the fireplace, had Christmas music filling the house and wine-o-plenty.  After I was mad I realized I was actually having a good time.  When I was a big grump, trudging boxes up from the basement, she laughed at me, took photos and said, "Oh Chrissa, someday you'll miss these days."  And, that I do.  We laughed, shared juicy gossip, reminisced about Christmases long ago.  Boy, it's amazing the gossip the two of us juiced about.   It was so much fun, so much laughter and so much ease. 

I would do anything to have mom back, sitting in her chair, watching me decorate her big old, drafty house.   I would do anything to see her lighting a fireplace, pouring me a glass of wine and selecting Dean Martin Christmas music just for me. 

All I have is a wooden box, that I talk to all of the time, with her ashes in it.  I decorate her box for all of the holidays but I especially decorate it at Christmas Time.  She'd like that and is most likely laughing at me for decorating a box of ashes.  Mom had that kind of humor. 

How much I took for granted is a sin.  How much I had I think I knew.  How much I miss I never expected. 

Merry Christmas Mom.  I love you.

Fire in the Hole!

Since my dad moved into the apartment above my house I can honestly say that I've been entertained and every day is an adventure. 

Before I head off to work, I always go upstairs to tell dad that I'm leaving.  Usually he's sitting in his Archie Bunker chair watching an old time classic movie on AMC puffing away on a Pall Mall Red 100, Wilbur sprawled out on the floor at his feet.

The other day, I went up to bid dad farewell and as I entered his apartment I could see it was filled with smoke.  Not a thick smoke, but a "something ain't right" smoke.  Something was burning. At first I thought maybe dad had something in the the oven or toaster.  Nope.

"Dad! What's burning?", I called out.  Dad appears from his bedroom totally unaware that anything is wrong.   "What are you talking about?  Is something burning?" he asks.

"Dad!  You entire apartment is filled with smoke and I SMELL something burning!!  Don't you see or smell it?"   I'm now looking for the source of smoke  frantically searching from room to room and dad has his head in the fridge searching for a piece of ham.

"Oh, yea.  Now I smell something", dad replies as he slowly saunders onto his back porch and picks up a black garbage bag.  "It's probably something in here", then he puts the bag back down and starts walking back into the kitchen.

"Dad! If you think it's in THERE then why the hell don't you get it out of here" I grab the bag tear it open and  realize that nothing is burning in it.

As dad opens the fridge to grab another piece of ham, I slam the door shut on him.  I'm panicked.  I run into his living room and there, next to his Archie Bunker chair is a plastic garbage can on fire.  Of course dad is still in the kitchen.  "Dad!  Your fricking garbage can is on fire!  Did you dump your ashtray in here?!"

Dad's eyeballs nearly popped out of his head when he saw me enter the kitchen with the garbage can in flames.  "Holy Shit!  The garbage can is on fire!"  I could see the panic in his face now.   Dad turned on the kitchen faucet and I doused the flames.

 "Geez Chrissa, I'm so sorry.  I'll never dump an ashtray like that again.  I'm so sorry" dad kept saying over and over again.  I could tell he was scared now, realizing the seriousness of what had happened, he was embarrassed and ashamed.  I just shook my head and laughed, "What a Polak!" I said as I leaned in to give him a big hug.  That's what everyone who loves him calls my dad...The Polak... and he loves it because he's proud to be Polish.

The story has a happy ending.  My house is still standing, dad's not dumping ashtrays in garbage cans anymore and now when I enter his apartment I announce, "Fire in the Hole!" and he responds "Fuck you!"

Never a dull moment with dad around.

Desperate Dishwasher

About three weeks ago my dishwasher door broke. Well, the handle broke. No,no... the little thingy-dingy inside the handle that clicks the door shut broke. Whatever! The point is that I haven't been able to use my dishwasher and have been slaving over a soapy sink. Being the diligent dishwasher that I am, dishes have been piling up, up, up and fruit flies have been a-swarming. I'm cooking less (and I do love to cook) because I don't wanna do no friggin' dishes.

This morning I tumbled out of bed and went directly to the coffee pot to make a fresh pot of brew. Well, guess what? Due to a pile of dirty dishes in my sink I could not fit the coffee pot under the faucet to fill it. No way in hell was I going to do the mother-fuc*&^ing dishes first thing in the morning, BEFORE my first cup of coffee. I jiggled the dishwasher door handle - no luck. I squeeeezed, pulled and kicked the door - no luck. I pried the handle with a dirty butter knife - LUCK!!! The door popped open - never to lock shut again.

I piled every last dirty dish into that dishwasher. Piled them in so full that the top shelf was bowing down. Then, I shut the door. It flopped open. I shut the door again. It flopped open again. "Oh no, you monster...you will NOT win this fight!". I shut the door, held it shut and turned that sucker on. I could hear it filling with water and then start to swish those dishes clean. The only thing was, I was stuck there holding the door shut watching water leak onto my floor when my arm got tired. Then I got an idea. I propped the door shut with two chairs and stuck a towel under the dishwasher just in case.

Michael came into the kitchen, took one look, shook his head and said, "You've GOT to take a picture of that." I did. Then we went dishwasher shopping on the web. I found one but haven't ordered it yet. The chairs will do for a little longer!

My dishes are clean!

It's a Dog's Life

Wilbur a.k.a Sir Spoiled-A-Lot spent a very relaxing morning napping in the remains of my garden. That translates to "Wilbur was napping in dirt and rotten tomatoes".

A few days ago he had a bath.

I enjoy just letting him be a dog no matter how dirty he gets right after a bath.

It's a dog's life, isn't it?

It's Been a Long Time...

It's been a long time.

A long time since I've written in this blog.

A long time since I've worked.

A long time since my mom has died.

It's been a looooooooooooong time.

Even though it's been a long time I feel like I'm just starting to get back into the swing of things.

I was numb for awhile. Sitting, thinking, analyzing and wondering. A lot of just staring to be honest.

Have you ever just stared? Mind blank, body numb, eyes dull, ears ringing and hearing the t.v. somewhere off in the distance? I did. I was in a dazed and confused sort of state. I'm coming out of it now and it feels good to jump back into reality or ....jump into life.

So my jump back into life is like standing on a hot rock, holding onto a rope, swinging myself into the air towards a very cold creek and letting go. As my body sinks deep into the cold water I feel scared but invigorated. I feel the fight rippling through my body. I know I'll fight my way up from the bottom of the creek and soon suck in fresh air, look up to the clouds and know there is hope for a new beginning.

I had my first interview today.

It was good.

Peace and love to all.

Life is good.