Just Sprinkle Me Into Lake Erie

I’ve found a few interesting things that I apparently still own while going through my crap, like this little retro gem, my high school ID card, from my senior year.

87270599_193761438536604_4595566744172494848_n

She’s only 17…

What the hell was up with my bangs? And don’t even get me started on those glasses…

Packing 10 years’ worth of accumulated stuff is hard work. I have more trash than I anticipated and all of it is going onto the tree lawn tomorrow evening for bulk pick-up. We got a couple of strong guys to help us out. The one kid from B’s work said that he wouldn’t take any money from us, which is awfully darn sweet of him.

We’ll have about $400 dollars left when all is said and done. As much as I was hoping for more, what’s really important is that we were able to find a decent place that we both love and somehow, we’ll figure out the finances. My 23-year old daughter has better credit than me, so if we need to use her credit card to pay the movers, then that’s what we’ll have to do. I’ve tried everything, all in vain. I cannot get a loan or a credit card because of what they call a “thin file.”

Once I get settled, I’ll look into obtaining a secured credit card and attempt to start all over again.

I’m rather adept at that, figuring that I’ve had to do it so many times that I’ve lost count.

So, it’s been utter chaos around here. My poor dogs are freaking. I keep telling them that it’ll all be okay and soon, God willing and hopefully, they’ll finally have their own yard to poo and piddle in.

I just wish that they could understand.


Back when I was still working, I tried one of the only 3 medications approved to treat fibro, a medicine called Lyrica. Since I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn (4:30 am) I had to quit taking it because it was difficult to get myself up so early. (Lyrica has some hang time.)

But my pain has been ridiculous lately, so bad that I’ve considered buying a saw so I could cut off my legs.

stanley-hand-saws-20-045-64_1000

Fat Max to the rescue!

So last week, I asked my doc if I could try this med again but at the lowest dose.

You guys…my pain levels have decreased by at least 40%. I am overjoyed, thrilled, shocked…you name it. The way B and I busted ass yesterday packing, I’d normally be a waste of space today and at a level 8 on that stupid, useless pain scale but instead, I’m hovering around a 4!

No nasty side effects either. It’s a freaking miracle. I just hope that it keeps working. It’s no cure but shit, I’ll take it.

Cutting off my legs could get pretty fucking messy, eh?


I was sitting in the car last Saturday morning waiting for my realtor so he could show my brother the new house. We had gotten there early and the realtor dude was running behind, so my bro and I got to talking. It’s rare that we have one on one time.

I mentioned that I wanted to write a will and he agreed that it was a good idea.

Me: I’m leaving all of my earthly possessions to the kid. Also, I don’t want a funeral, I want one of those celebrations of life things. Play a few songs, eat, get drunk, you know, share stories about how awesome I was.

Brother: Ah, okay. Cheaper, for sure.

Me: Yes. Also, I want to be cremated and my ashes spread at Lakewood Park, I got lots of good childhood memories there.

Brother: That’s illegal.

Me: So? People do it all of the time, just keep it on the down-low.

Brother: Where do you want your ashes spread? In the sandbox?

Me: Oh shit, can you imagine? Some little kid comes and says mommy, I found a piece of bone in the sand!

sandbox

Mommy, Timmy found a femur!

Brother: Ha! Traumatize the kid for life.

Me: Eh, just sprinkle me into Lake Erie or behind some bushes.

Brother: Okay, you got it.

We both laughed. He has the same twisted sense of humor as I do, which makes me happy.

I failed to mention to him the songs that I want to be played at my celebration of life thingy.

The other two are Amazing Grace and Bridge Over Troubled Water.

A little bit rock and roll, a little bit religious and a little bit sad.

Both My Privilege and Heartache

IMG_0573


As excited as I am about moving, I find myself missing my mom now more than I ever dreamed was possible.

Since my mom’s death, my relationship with my daughter has strengthened. Also, my brother and I are closer than we’ve been in many years.

Since we were mere kids, really.

(Sometimes shared grief pulls people together; sometimes, it pulls them apart.)

I am thankful but they both work long hours and are busy with their own lives. My brother has a family of his own, so I can’t be constantly messaging him with every little fart that happens in my world.

I scramble to find somebody to tell the highs and lows to, besides my boyfriend. Nobody is able to fill in the empty hole in my heart. Like everyone else, he’s often distracted by his own issues (and smartphone.)

I sit for long periods of time and contemplate who I should try to reach out to.

Who will give me their uninterrupted attention?

Those last few months of her life, when she became so ill that she couldn’t even leave the couch, she was often grumpy (shit, if I had suffered as she had, I’d have been grumpy as fuck too) but she was thereĀ with her unconditional love.

I have yearned for a father figure ever since my sweet, hilarious Uncle Jerry moved farther from me and then sadly passed away back in the early 2000’s. He stepped up to the plate after my dad died in 1986.

It’s occurred to me recently that I’ll never be able to replace her, although nobody could ever come close anyway.

But despite that knowledge, am I now yearning for a mother figure?

For fuck’s sake, I AM a mother. I’m an old lady now, not some young woman, like my daughter.

It’s both my privilege and heartache to want both of my parents back with their beams of love to light up my life again.

Gifts From Heaven

A few weeks ago, my family ended up gathered in my mother’s now sparse bedroom. She had boxes of trinkets, mementos, and photographs, so we all began the emotional visit to the land of nostalgia, almost 8 months after her passing.

Within my father’s wallet, which she obviously kept after his death in 1986, were three photos of the two of us, tucked inside. I had never before seen these pictures of my father and me and I’ll be 46 later this year.

Here are two of them.

82452200_175261567053258_4745191348791934976_n

Top Photo: Looking happy and handsome! Bottom Photo: There’s an enraptured me listening intently as my dad reads The Night Before Christmas.

The top one is my favorite and made me start to cry! Look at how happy I was and my dear daddy looking so handsome. How I loved him so and still do. The death of my mother last May has brought many old emotions to the top and I find myself missing the other people that I’ve lost even more so.

The idea that my dad had these pictures of the two of us with him in his wallet just amazes me. Maybe they were his favorite?

Whatever the reason they’ve been hidden away for so long, seeing them for the first time was like receiving a gift from heaven.

My daughter is going to get the top one enlarged for me because it makes me so happy.