In which we discuss death, among other things

My son Twitch called me. Twitch, who has chronic depression. He called to tell me, among other things, that he hates tourists (he now lives in Charleston, SC, a popular tourist destination) but has told me previously that he loves living in Charleston. He told me he's sure he was born on the wrong planet. The universe made a mistake in placing him here. He hates his life. He wonders if there is a way to remove all the nose hairs from his nose without pain. Why? I ask him. Because they are bugging me, he says. Increase your pain tolerance. I recommend that he not use Nair™ in that sensitive mucous membrane. He wants to live in a place with a low cost of living and excellent public transportation and cultural opportunities. But not on this planet, evidently. It was a whine fest conversation. I said "I gave birth to you on this planet." I wanted to say more, something like STFU!, but all I could do was sigh. Then I hung up on him. I don't have the energy for that shit today.

Warning: I'm about to write about death and suicide. 
Before he called I read an article in The New Yorker by David Sedaris, written about his sister Tiffany's recent suicide. It's a very good article, but then we are talking about David Sedaris who is an excellent writer. Back to Twitch, who is dissatisfied with his life and has been for much of it. And David Sedaris' sister Tiffany who evidently was dissatisfied with her life. I have long feared that Twitch will take that exit ramp from life. Today my brain says to me "What if he does? How will that affect you?" Of course I would be ... what word describes an extreme form of upset? On the other hand, I'd know he was out of the misery of this life. Who was it said something like death is the greatest adventure? Some famous philosopher or something. I have often considered suicide myself, a few times seriously. It's something I think about, abstractly, often. Right now I have decided not to kill myself because I wonder what will happen in my life as I get older. What kind of old lady will I be? I have to live long enough to be an old lady to find out. How old is "old?" Well into my 70s, at least, and probably to my mid to late 80s. 90s? Maybe. Depends on how healthy I am.

While we're speaking of death, I'd like to discuss my father's death. I might have gone through this before in this venue, but I need to rehash it. He died on March 25th of this year. Too early, I thought. But now I think it was right on time. I believe that things happen for a reason most of the time. Also, there isn't anything I can do about it anyway. He's dead and nothing will change that. I miss him. I've been thinking of him more frequently of late. Daddy did not want to "linger" incapacitated and be a burden to his family. After he died I learned that he had begun to lose his mental faculties. He'd become increasingly forgetful in a senile dementia sort of way. His compromised heart and consequent decreased oxygen to the brain might have been a factor there. But it frustrated and frightened him, I know. No, he didn't tell me this, but I know him well enough. I just know. And now he's free of this world's limitations. I am happy for him, I guess. No one knows for sure what if anything comes after this life, but we like to think it's pleasant. If he's in a "better place" then good for him. As for the rest of us, we'll deal. What else is there to do?

I followed a link from a link in a link in an email to this site called Tunein. It's online radio, or something like it. I am currently listening to French programming. Programming in French, though I think not from France itself. If I remember correctly, it originates in Brussels, Belgium. It's talk radio, and I have no idea what they're talking about but it sounds really cool. I know a few French words, and catch some meaning here and there. In the last program the voices said "et cetera" a lot. A few programs ago some ladies were talking about Pre-zee-'dent O-ba-'ma. Right now they're playing some kind of new age-y music featuring lots of bells. Related quote: "New Agers might be whack, but they do make some nice music." - Superman. I'd like to learn French some day. Maybe when I am an old lady.

And speaking of whack, Diva. Let's entertain ourselves with another Diva story. Just today the child was telling us that we need to meet her boyfriend, get the embarrassment over with. Yeah, whatever. She was using Superman's phone to text the guy. Superman took his phone with him to run errands and the alleged boyfriend texted back. Superman asks who this is, and the guy got defensive saying something like wha' chu mean who am I? So Superman said it was his phone, his daughter had been texting. Yada yada, the point is that Diva was communicating with a much older guy (don't know how old) and had told him she was 20 years old (she'll be 16 in about six weeks) and in college, living by herself in her own house. Superman corrected the misinformation. The poor ersatz boyfriend was freaked out about being "played" like that, and assured Superman that he has absolutely no desire to be involved with anyone that young.

Why does she tell lies like that, string innocent people along, legally endangering them? She's whack, obviously, but really. Superman had a talk with her when he got home from running his errands. Then I fussed at her for a while. Don't know if it will make any difference. I asked her if she understands how she could have ruined his life if she'd followed through with her story and gotten physically involved with him. He'd be labeled a sex offender FOR LIFE and wouldn't be able to get much of a job, get housing in very many places, etc. Ruin his life, basically. She stared at me like I was yammering to the wind. Whack, I tell you. (OK, so obviously my word for the day is "whack.") Oh, she also gave him our address. This isn't the first time she'd done shit like this. A couple of years ago I answered a phone call from another guy in his 30s, if I recall correctly, who she was stringing along with lies of this nature. She'd given him our address, too. She has no sense.

Another Diva story, this one not so ... whack. She wanted to have a combination birthday/Halloween party, celebrate her b'day early because it's too cold in early December to have a party outside. The kids had a day off school Friday (teacher workday, end of grading period) so we did the party thing in the pavillion at the local Parks and Rec center. I made a cake. It looked awesome, and tasted so-so. I used box mixes of her desired flavors. I took pictures. (Long side note: I have a new-ish camera because my old one that I knew how to use got dunked with me in the river when I was canoeing with my brothers after my dad's non-funeral party. The new camera has a big square battery reminiscent of a cell phone battery. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to recharge it or replace it. Probably it's rechargeable, but I don't know how to do that. I took a few pictures on Friday before the camera lost power.) Due to the otherwise dark theme of this post, I won't add the pictures now. Also, I haven't downloaded them from the camera yet.

Game 4 of the (small, only North America) World Series is about to start, so I'm outa here. Cards ahead 2 games to 1 over the Red Sox. Boo-yah!

Happy snippets

Remember the grief I had with The Boy last Wednesday? We discussed whether or not I should go up to visit him Sunday (yesterday). I did not go, though Superman and Twitch did. (Then they drove up to Charlotte to return Twitch to his college abode.) According to Superman, Sproing was a thing of beauty and a joy until the next breakdown. He was pleasant, respectful, and all-around fun to be with. I sent one of his little toy cars (he loves vehicles) for Superman to give him, and he was glad to get it.

It gets even better. Sunday evening Sproing called me. And still he was pleasant, friendly, interesting. Then he apologized for the way he treated me last Wednesday!! 'Bout knocked my socks off. I told him I appreciated his apology, I forgive him, and mentioned that I did not like that last visit. He seemed relieved to be forgiven. I will be there this Wednesday, too. We have a family therapy session right before visiting hours, so I need to go anyway. But now I want to go. That makes a significant difference.

I took another one of those little tests today. (He calls it a quiz, but it seems more like a small test to me. In my head there is a difference.) I did some studying on Saturday, then crammed some more this morning. I feel confident about my performance on this one. And I got the score from last week's test. I made another 100%! That makes me happy.

It's time to register for next semester's courses. I want to get it done soon so I can get into the classes I need. Thing is, I'm not sure what I need. That's what I should be doing right now, really. I printed out my transcript this afternoon, and I need to work out what I've got, what's required, what I need, and how and when to get those classes.

In looking over my transcript I observed that so far, for the two semesters I've already been here in school, I am carrying a 4.0 GPA. I really like that, and want to continue that trend, but I need to work on being OK with myself if I don't make a 4.0 this semester. There is some question now as to whether I can pull an A out of Research Methods. I got a sorry start, and am not working as hard as I should. I made a low A on the latest test.

I had a good weekend. I watched a few movies, some from Netflix and one DVD. I picked up "Waitress" from the $5 bin at K-Mart Sunday morning, and Diva and I watched it together in the afternoon while Superman was driving all over this corner of the state. It was a good movie, but even better, it was a good time of sitting together with my youngest daughter.

When the movie was over we went into the kitchen to figure out what to do for supper. She was in the mood for scrambled eggs, and decided she would fix eggs for me. She followed her daddy's recipe, but in her inimitable style. (translation: she got most of the ingredients right, but got the proportions and the cooking time and temperature wrong) Bless her heart. Even though I had to warm my plate in the microwave so the eggs would be warm enough to eat, and they were slightly rubbery, I was touched by her desire and attempt, and I ate the eggs without complaint. Good mommy points? The two of us got along well, which doesn't always happen. I'm not sure if that means anything to her, if it was of any significance in her strange little world, but I'm not worried about that today. I'm enjoying my experience of getting along with the girl.

Superman and I went out together Sunday morning to pick up a few things for the house. I finally got a wall clock for my office. Been meaning to pick one up for months. I figured I'd get a cheap plain round plastic run-of-the-mill clock, but when we were looking over the selection I saw one I like much better. I'll tell you now that I will take a picture of it once we get it on the wall and post it here so you can see it. I say that, but I haven't used my camera in a few months, and the only pictures I've posted have been from the internet, not ones I took myself. Why? I dunno. I've got some kind of resistance thing going with my camera right now. There may be some deep unconscious psychological significance to it, but I don't care. I see it. It's sitting there on the corner of my little desk, taunting me. We'll work it out eventually. Hey, maybe I should name it. Patrick recently wrote about his camera Camille, who has gone missing. An anthropomorphic camera somehow seems more friendly than that little box of [magic digital computerized camera parts] sitting over there.

*sigh* I tried to write about my new wall clock (it's a cat with a clock in its belly, but it looks much better than that sounds) but ended up philosophizing about my relationship with my camera. That's probably a sign that I'm tired. I ramble when I get tired. Have you ever noticed? Wrapping up here; I had a good weekend and have a few pleasant things to report. See above for more detail than you ever wanted.

warm wishes to all and sundry

Wait! I remember what I came here to tell you about in the first place. Today, November 2nd, is the 27th anniversary of my engagement to Superman. He proposed to me on this date back in 1982. It was Tuesday, election day, though I have no clue who was running. It was not a presidential election year. Other than that, I got no clue. Doesn't matter. What does matter is that Superman asked me if I'd marry him. I said yes. It was evening, and I was sitting in his lap telling him a story (probably long, boring, and rambling) about something that had happened to me that day, and in the middle of the story the topic of my future and my relationship with him came up. He asked if I'd marry him, I said yes, and then continued with my story. We did not discuss it at all that night, but the next day I thought about it all day long. We discussed it for hours Wednesday night. Eventually we got married, had a few kids, and I started blogging. What else is there? :)

What the truck?

It is a good day. No matter what other kinds of shit hit the fan today, it is all good now. I got my truck back!

I really need to get my camera out, figure out how to use it, and take pictures of my lovely darling. The truck.

I should give some background on the truck. First, let me introduce you. My truck's name is Manny (short for Manuel). He is a 1991 F-150 Ford pick-up, extended cab 6 cylinder 4.9 liter, manual transmission (from whence cometh his name). I bought him almost 2 years ago. He was a piece of junk then, and after $2k+ of repairs over his life with me, he's still a piece of junk. But he does drive better. He's not pretty, but he's beautiful. I'm the only one who thinks so, but I'm the only one who counts. I'll take pictures and post them soon. (soon being a relative term)

Manny's most recent trip to the mechanic (Ron is my mechanic. He's my hero!) resulted in lots of new parts. He got a new clutch, flywheel, starter, V-belt, front wheel bearings, and I forget what all else. The cost was frightening. And less than a month before Christmas! I think I'll give rides in my truck as gifts this year. The children weren't happy with that suggestion. Picky little parasites. Superman pointed out that the repair bill this time was slightly more than half what we paid for him in the first place. Shut up.

Manny is my refuge. The cab is my office. I go sit behind the wheel sometimes just to get away from the chaos. I invite people into my office for conferences. I've had some great conversations with various members of my family while sitting in the cab of the truck. Really, the recent unpleasantness with Twitch is the perfect example of the kinds of important conversations that occur in my office.

And in the morning (which is looming all too close at this late hour) I will drive my truck to work. Hehehehehehehe.