WOW
My last LJ post was a very long time ago. How did it get to be 2011? Many things have changed.
I have mostly returned to The Present, with only short lived, albeit daily, slips through the vortex into The Past. It has gotten better. I said it would, but I said it in that kind of rote way one says things without really believing. Things like "I love kids" or "Of course I don't mind".
Dad is trucking along pretty well these days. He has ups and downs. The other day, he even got the convertible out of the garage and drove around in the pretty Spring weather. After several months of oxygen tanks and doldrums, he has resumed doing some of his own chores around the house, except, of course, for the dog's messes, which he still leaves for me. Oh, and he mowed his lawn on his riding lawn mower, which I let happen without a fuss as soon as he'd weaned himself from the oxygen tank. I figure there's no harm in him driving himself around his yard, as long as there's no clunky combustible tank slung over his shoulder and his cell phone in his pocket. I'll take over that chore when the heat and humidity climb to Alabama Summer levels.
The holidays continue to be horrific for myriad reasons, not the least of which is that I now have to drive Dad several hours to my sister's house to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with a bunch of people I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister, and these are perfectly nice people. I just really really hate driving. Dad doesn't really like my driving either. He especially doesn't like my GPS thingie, which I refuse to turn off and trust to his directions. I had to tell him that was because he sometimes dozes off and I didn't want to suddenly find myself in, I don't know, Valdosta. He insists he doesn't doze off. *Insert awkward silence- the perfect soundtrack to a drive down rural North Georgia back roads*. Added bonus: This past Christmas we were treated to a snowstorm. On a mountain. In the Beetle. On the other hand, there were miniature horses. And mountains of food. And an honest to goodness Redbone Hound named Buddy. Buddy doesn't much like the snow, either. Buddy's my soul mate and if I had a bigger yard, I'd have been tempted to steal him. See photos here: PHOTOS
I wrote in my last two posts about my desire to have my Normal back, and how I knew I would never get it back. Turns out I was right about that. My new Normal isn't too awful, but I sure don't like it as much as my old Normal. It has taken some getting used to, that's for sure. For one thing, I'm on call 24-7. Every time the phone rings, I jump out of my skin, imagining The Worst. This jumpiness is compounded by Dad's reluctance to ever initiate a phone call that doesn't spell disaster. He just isn't a guy that calls to check in and chittychat. For that matter, he doesn't chittychat at all. So our time together is full of my nervous rat-a-tat about my restaurant or my show or this thing I saw on tv and a litany of questions about who Dad's seen or talked to since the last time we talked, which invariably includes a list of Who's In The Hospital This Week. Sometimes I haul him to a doctor's appointment. The December one nearly did us both in.
As is his habit, he didn't tell me about needing my chauffeur services until after I'd already scheduled myself to work, so I had to give up my shift. Then, I had to get up at 5 damn 30 in the morning so I could pick him up egregiously early for his appointment, as I have been schooled that "ON TIME" means 30 minutes before actual on time, and therefore, 29 minutes before actual on time is "LATE". At any rate, I picked him up and we headed out for the doctor's office. We arrived with plenty of time to spare, but "LATE" at the same time. I think they call this cognitive dissonance. Maybe it's a rip in the space-time continuum.
I dropped him off at the door and went to find a parking space at the edge of reality and walked back through the blustery 20 degree wind to join him. I found him, not in the doctor's waiting room, but just inside the door to the building, where he had returned, having found that the doctor had moved his office elsewhere. I sat him and his tank down in the lobby and Googled the doctor (I love my iPhone. Have I mentioned that?) and asked the surly receptionist who answered where they were. Turns out they had not only moved out of this building, but out of the entire hospital complex and clear across town to an entirely different hospital altogether. I asked her if we should drive over there (30 minutes, at my fastest driving) or just give up for the day and reschedule. She put me on hold and returned minutes later to snap that we should come on. So I hiked back out to East Buddha, Siberia. I packed Dad back into my car and then drove half an hour to the new office, which, incidentally, is not even a mile from my house, whence I had started this whole day.
I had to call the snarky receptionist a second time because, of course, the GPS doesn't have this newly constructed building among a huge hospital complex full of buildings in its listings. After several u-turns and a vertigo inducing drive up to the 4th level of a parking deck and an elevator ride, we were inside the right building, but still unable to find the damn place, as it was not yet listed on the building directory next to the elevator on every floor. I called a third time and we were finally there. At this point, we're about an hour and a half past actual on time, let alone "ON TIME", so Dad was right agitated. He signed himself in and I left him in the waiting room and navigated my way across the labyrinth that is the modern hospital complex to find a frigging cup of coffee. I walked through at least 1/4 mile of hallways and no fewer than two crosswalks to get some chicken fingers and a coffee in the food court. I barely had my coat off and my coffee sweetened before my phone rang and Dad was done with his appointment and ready to leave for home. So, I re-bundled myself and bagged my breakfast and hauled ass back to where I'd left him.
I got him to the top floor lobby of the parking deck and schlepped down three levels to get the car and discovered that while we were inside, the weather had turned a distinctive shade of worse. Freezing rain worse. Great. This particular freezing rain was in pellets like extruded ice, and it fell on the car with a plop, both solid and liquid. Sort of the consistency of an Icee. It fell from the sky in a torrent, quickly accumulating on the road, and we crept our way to his house with the rest of the unfortunate souls on the road. Not wanting to get trapped at Dad's for the day, I shuffled him into his house, made sure he had something for lunch and got the hell out of Dodge. It Icee'd on me the whole way home, and completely stopped as soon as I arrived at home. Of course.
I felt pretty good we'd gotten through the ordeal, proud that neither of us lost our patience with the other, or had road rage or something equally upsetting. I had wanted to really bark at Dad for not returning the receptionists' call to him that they were moving their office, which would have been a Very Good Idea. I did manage to hold my tongue, except for yelling at the Icee rain: "Really? Freezing rain? REALLY?!?!" My sister told me later that Dad said the whole day had been a fiasco.
I told her I thought that pretty much summed it up.
I have mostly returned to The Present, with only short lived, albeit daily, slips through the vortex into The Past. It has gotten better. I said it would, but I said it in that kind of rote way one says things without really believing. Things like "I love kids" or "Of course I don't mind".
Dad is trucking along pretty well these days. He has ups and downs. The other day, he even got the convertible out of the garage and drove around in the pretty Spring weather. After several months of oxygen tanks and doldrums, he has resumed doing some of his own chores around the house, except, of course, for the dog's messes, which he still leaves for me. Oh, and he mowed his lawn on his riding lawn mower, which I let happen without a fuss as soon as he'd weaned himself from the oxygen tank. I figure there's no harm in him driving himself around his yard, as long as there's no clunky combustible tank slung over his shoulder and his cell phone in his pocket. I'll take over that chore when the heat and humidity climb to Alabama Summer levels.
The holidays continue to be horrific for myriad reasons, not the least of which is that I now have to drive Dad several hours to my sister's house to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with a bunch of people I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister, and these are perfectly nice people. I just really really hate driving. Dad doesn't really like my driving either. He especially doesn't like my GPS thingie, which I refuse to turn off and trust to his directions. I had to tell him that was because he sometimes dozes off and I didn't want to suddenly find myself in, I don't know, Valdosta. He insists he doesn't doze off. *Insert awkward silence- the perfect soundtrack to a drive down rural North Georgia back roads*. Added bonus: This past Christmas we were treated to a snowstorm. On a mountain. In the Beetle. On the other hand, there were miniature horses. And mountains of food. And an honest to goodness Redbone Hound named Buddy. Buddy doesn't much like the snow, either. Buddy's my soul mate and if I had a bigger yard, I'd have been tempted to steal him. See photos here: PHOTOS
I wrote in my last two posts about my desire to have my Normal back, and how I knew I would never get it back. Turns out I was right about that. My new Normal isn't too awful, but I sure don't like it as much as my old Normal. It has taken some getting used to, that's for sure. For one thing, I'm on call 24-7. Every time the phone rings, I jump out of my skin, imagining The Worst. This jumpiness is compounded by Dad's reluctance to ever initiate a phone call that doesn't spell disaster. He just isn't a guy that calls to check in and chittychat. For that matter, he doesn't chittychat at all. So our time together is full of my nervous rat-a-tat about my restaurant or my show or this thing I saw on tv and a litany of questions about who Dad's seen or talked to since the last time we talked, which invariably includes a list of Who's In The Hospital This Week. Sometimes I haul him to a doctor's appointment. The December one nearly did us both in.
As is his habit, he didn't tell me about needing my chauffeur services until after I'd already scheduled myself to work, so I had to give up my shift. Then, I had to get up at 5 damn 30 in the morning so I could pick him up egregiously early for his appointment, as I have been schooled that "ON TIME" means 30 minutes before actual on time, and therefore, 29 minutes before actual on time is "LATE". At any rate, I picked him up and we headed out for the doctor's office. We arrived with plenty of time to spare, but "LATE" at the same time. I think they call this cognitive dissonance. Maybe it's a rip in the space-time continuum.
I dropped him off at the door and went to find a parking space at the edge of reality and walked back through the blustery 20 degree wind to join him. I found him, not in the doctor's waiting room, but just inside the door to the building, where he had returned, having found that the doctor had moved his office elsewhere. I sat him and his tank down in the lobby and Googled the doctor (I love my iPhone. Have I mentioned that?) and asked the surly receptionist who answered where they were. Turns out they had not only moved out of this building, but out of the entire hospital complex and clear across town to an entirely different hospital altogether. I asked her if we should drive over there (30 minutes, at my fastest driving) or just give up for the day and reschedule. She put me on hold and returned minutes later to snap that we should come on. So I hiked back out to East Buddha, Siberia. I packed Dad back into my car and then drove half an hour to the new office, which, incidentally, is not even a mile from my house, whence I had started this whole day.
I had to call the snarky receptionist a second time because, of course, the GPS doesn't have this newly constructed building among a huge hospital complex full of buildings in its listings. After several u-turns and a vertigo inducing drive up to the 4th level of a parking deck and an elevator ride, we were inside the right building, but still unable to find the damn place, as it was not yet listed on the building directory next to the elevator on every floor. I called a third time and we were finally there. At this point, we're about an hour and a half past actual on time, let alone "ON TIME", so Dad was right agitated. He signed himself in and I left him in the waiting room and navigated my way across the labyrinth that is the modern hospital complex to find a frigging cup of coffee. I walked through at least 1/4 mile of hallways and no fewer than two crosswalks to get some chicken fingers and a coffee in the food court. I barely had my coat off and my coffee sweetened before my phone rang and Dad was done with his appointment and ready to leave for home. So, I re-bundled myself and bagged my breakfast and hauled ass back to where I'd left him.
I got him to the top floor lobby of the parking deck and schlepped down three levels to get the car and discovered that while we were inside, the weather had turned a distinctive shade of worse. Freezing rain worse. Great. This particular freezing rain was in pellets like extruded ice, and it fell on the car with a plop, both solid and liquid. Sort of the consistency of an Icee. It fell from the sky in a torrent, quickly accumulating on the road, and we crept our way to his house with the rest of the unfortunate souls on the road. Not wanting to get trapped at Dad's for the day, I shuffled him into his house, made sure he had something for lunch and got the hell out of Dodge. It Icee'd on me the whole way home, and completely stopped as soon as I arrived at home. Of course.
I felt pretty good we'd gotten through the ordeal, proud that neither of us lost our patience with the other, or had road rage or something equally upsetting. I had wanted to really bark at Dad for not returning the receptionists' call to him that they were moving their office, which would have been a Very Good Idea. I did manage to hold my tongue, except for yelling at the Icee rain: "Really? Freezing rain? REALLY?!?!" My sister told me later that Dad said the whole day had been a fiasco.
I told her I thought that pretty much summed it up.