TheBanyanTree: Grrrrrrrr . . .

[Margaret R. Kramer]

Joe has the flower van.  He’s been using it for moving stuff into his new
apartment.  And because he has temporary custody of it, he’s been driving me
to and from work in the flower van, too!  So I’ve been getting lots of “face
time” with my beloved flower van.

This morning I noticed a drawer under the front passenger seat.  I never
noticed it before.  So I opened it up and it contained the owner’s manual
for the van.  That’s good.  And then I found the title transfer receipt when
Ray bought the van on February 2, 2008.  We paid $650 for it.

I remember how sick he was that weekend, but he wanted to get a car, so he
could go to work on Monday.  About two weeks before, he had been in an
accident, just sitting waiting for the light to change at a stop light.
Someone ran through the light, bumper cars ensued, and Ray was hit by
another car.  Ray’s car was totaled out.  He talked the insurance agent into
giving him more money than he should have received, and we stashed most of
the money (which helped pay for his funeral), and bought the flower van.

But he was so sick.  I remember waiting with him at the government office so
we could change the title.  His gut was hurting so much; he could barely
tolerate sitting the chair waiting for our turn.  But he drove the flower
van home OK.  I had cleaned out his old car, and it had been towed away, so
I put all his stuff into the flower van for him so it would be all ready for
him on Monday.  And then Ray backed it into the garage.

He drove it to work on that Monday, February 4, but got so sick that he came
home, and then went to the emergency room.  That was the other receipt in
the flower van’s drawer, the parking receipt for his visit to the hospital.
He got to the hospital at 1:44 pm and left the hospital at 7:03 pm.  He paid
$7 for parking.

He called me at work that afternoon about going to the hospital.  We kept
playing phone tag, but eventually we hooked up at the hospital.  He had a
very bitchy doctor who took an x-ray and then told him to go home.  If he
didn’t get better in 24 hours, then he should see his physician, she said.
Whatever.

So he drove home OK and collapsed on the couch.  I remember shoveling the
driveway, because it had snowed a little bit that day.

Then on Wednesday, February 6, 2008, Ray entered the hospital for the last
time.

It’s funny how these two receipts can bring on these flashes of those
memories.  And as I usually do, I want to back in time and change the events
somehow.

Now this morning . . .          

Everyone thinks their grandchildren are perfect, but I’m tired of mine.
They live with me mostly part-time, and mostly it’s OK, and I like the
closer relationship we have, but I lost it today with them.

Asher was at work and their mother was going to pick them up.  That was OK.

They woke up around 8:30 am and instead of eating a healthy breakfast, they
ate these snack cake things that are pure sugar.  They were still hungry,
but they were also on a sugar high.  I don’t make breakfast for them; they
can handle that chore themselves.  But they got away on that one with the
excess sugar overload.

While they were on their sugar highs, which means they can’t concentrate on
anything, they pick on each other, the older makes all kinds of weird
noises, and they turn on the TV the minute their eyes open up in the
morning.  I can’t stand that.  I wouldn’t let my son watch TV on Saturday
mornings, because I wanted him to find ways of entertaining himself.  In
spite of that, he turned into a big TV head, and I see the same thing with
these guys.  I so rarely have the TV on, and I can’t see spending my whole
day in front of the TV.  TV stifles any kind of creative thinking.  It’s a
vast wasteland of crap.

I went outside to pick up dog poop.  

I noticed one of my new gutters was smushed.  I’m sure while it was buried
under a snow bank, one of them stopped on it and smushed it.  Well, that’s
great, because now I’ll have to get a new one.  It’s not a big deal, but it
is.

When I came back in the house, I swept out the kitchen.  The minute it was
done, one of them came into the kitchen, and then spilled potato chips all
over the floor.

After I got him to sweep them up, I went upstairs.  Then I heard something
crash in the living room.

That was it!  I was done.  I left the house and drove up to Trader Joe’s and
bought some wine.  No, I haven’t drank any.  It’s just the idea of buying
cheap wine that appealed to me at that moment.

By the time I got back, their mother had picked them up and they were gone.

I know those are small things, but it’s part of the larger picture.  There’s
been slippage in the cleanliness and neatness expectations that need to be
addressed.

Maybe part of anger is due to spring coming, and I want to do some spring
cleaning.

But, anyway, I’ll deal with that later.

Joe and I got a bunch of his tubs moved into his new apartment this
afternoon.  I fear he’s bringing his clutter with him, because he’s not
going through anything, but that’s him and his living situation.

I got in a nice walk on this late winter day along with most of St Paul.
That helped me get over some of the grrrrrrrrrrrs.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at comcast.net
margaret.kramer at polarispublications.com
www.polarispublications.com
www.linkedin.com/in/margaretkramer

There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with
freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a
poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.  
-Colette