Father & Son

I forgot to mention this little blurb yesterday when at getting my eyes checked. No, not the part about waiting for my eyes to dilate and being forced to sit there listening to Dexy’s Midnight Runners. No one should have to endure that torture! No one!!!

As I was at the front desk turning in my paperwork, the lady behind the desk asked me if I was named after my grandfather. I looked a bit perplexed and answered ‘no’, and for some reason I offered that I was named after my father.

She goes on to tell me (not ask me), ‘but he’s 87 years old’. I kind of just stared at her. Clearly my father goes to this same eye doctor (what are the chances? apparently, pretty good) and she has his name up in the computer.  Mind you – she didn’t ask if that was my father, but how many 87 year old’s with the same name could there possibly be?

Yes, my father is almost 88.  I always say, I was a possible accident and my younger sister was a probable one.  Or as Morty’s parents would call us:  a pleasant surprise!

All of this was going on while I was completing my HIPAA form. The irony was not lost on me – though it was on her.

This wasn’t the first time my father’s and my medical records have been mixed up. Years ago, I requested them from my hometown doctor and got back some of my pediatric records mixed in with a lot of my fathers medical issues.

No, my oldest sister was named for my grandfather – not me.!  And thank g-d.  Like middle and high school weren’t bad enough.  Can you imagine me going around with this name?

Sure, it works well for my sister – but they feminized it (shut up, all of you!) for her.  But it would have just made me more of a target.  No offense to my sister, but being named after this man is not a plus.  He was kind of a prick – at first I thought to just his grandkids, but it really extended throughout his life.

I snapped this and the other pics in this post a week or so ago. On a whim I drove into a cemetery I pass a few times a month.  It is all of two miles from our house, but I never drive in.  Namely because weekend time is precious and of course, it is closed on Saturdays.

So, Denton and I went in – and finding the family plots was easy.  They are all over the place.  Names from all over my family tree buried in one place……well in a few places.  This wasn’t a Kosovo grave site.   I haven’t been here since a year after Adrian died.  I went with my father to see if they had placed his headstone (they had not).

Both sets of paternal grandparents and their kin are buried here.  Some in the ground, some in the family mausoleum.  The crypt is pretty well full.  Two spaces left – I’m assuming for Sonny and Bill.  I’m planning on just having my body cremated, though I am fine with it being donated to medical school for student to do what they will with it.  (see – I told you I thought a lot about death!)

And as much as I am grateful I wasn’t named for my grandfather, I realized I was only two or three generations from being named something much more nebbish with family names.

I called my mother the next day and thanked her for naming me what she had.

Song by: Cat Stevens

Deathly

Monday, after going out to lunch with my parents, my mother made a trek over to her best friend’s house to see her.  Unfortunately, my mother stumbled upon tragedy when she discovered her friend had died sometime in the previous 24 hours.  More unfortunate was that my mother was the one to find her.

They had been friends for over 30 years – and she was just one of the nicest people you’d ever want to meet.  And while she seemingly passed away peacefully, and  regardless of how it happened, I know it was a shock to my mother – as this person was almost 20 years my mother’s junior.  Nothing expected.

There was the calling of emergency services, so to speak.  There was the need to tell her sons and her estranged sister.  But it is the image of her sitting there in a hammock chair that my mother cannot get over.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about death.  When all added it up, it probably totals months and months.   I don’t think I’m a horribly morbid person, but my mind wanders to it, especially was we get older.  I find myself noticing the ages on the obituary page.  I’ve made a deal with myself that I get to go first – as to be abandoned in this relationship, left behind, would ironically, kill me.   Sometimes it keeps me awake at night.

What?  Too much of a downer?

I wish I could lighten the scene and tell you some of the conversation my mother had with her friend’s sister. To say it was surreal would be selling it short.  But I’ve tried to draft it, and nothing comes out right.  I would say it was shocking at first – and then laughable.  To the point I had to make some snide retort, which at least got my mother laughing.

Later in the day, Iris DeMent’s “My Life” popped up on my iPod.  There is a portion of it I always cherish – and if nothing else, speaks to me – and hopefully to other about me:

I gave joy to my mother.
I made my lover smile.
I can give comfort to my friends when they’re hurting.
I can make it seem better for a while.

Song by: Aimee Mann

Pocket of a Clown

I went out a few nights ago with an old co-worker for a few rounds. Well, she’s not an old co-worker. She is older than I am, but I wouldn’t call her “old”. Let’s just say she is a former co-worker.

We meet every few months and usually head to a wine bar and knock back a few sniff, sip and swallow. Yes, I’m still talking about vino!

I wish I had gotten the name of the bottle we had, but I didn’t. It was a great red – a blend. We talked a little about the old place of employ (well, mine – she still works there). We talked about Denton and my ring…….which meant I had not seen her since we got those last October.

We chatted about travel, her kids, my cats and various other things.

…and lord knows how we got on the subject, but we touched on clowns. Oh wait, I remember. It was about my trip to Vegas….then it went into Cirque du Soleil….which led to the real circus…which led to clowns….and how nobody truly likes them (speak now or forever hold your peace if you do).

My anti-clown feelings were solidified with Poltergeist. …and time and time again, I’ve heard that was a tipping point for many grease-painted, red-nosed, wig-wearing, horn-tooting haters.

Then Kathy said – ‘try going a week without a clown reference coming up’. Kath said at least once every week something about a clown comes up – and it has for years. I told her I would keep an eye out for this trend.

Not 48 hrs later – I get this!

Poor Bozo!

I already sent Kathy and email damning her to hell for putting me on this path. I’ll keep you all posted on if this goes on weekly. I expect you will all to do the same to me.

Song by: Dwight Yoakam

Dear Jesse

To be honest, I already thought he was dead. Maybe I was thinking of Strom.  Not like there is a huge difference anyway.  Maybe Jess doesn’t have illegitimate black babies like Strom did.

Maybe.

Perhaps I was too hasty in my last post about not being patriotic.  I can live with this kind independence.

Song by: Madonna