I just read that today is the anniversary of Princess Diana’s death. The information brought me back to what I was doing eight years ago today. I was twenty six years old.

I was living in the upper portion of a spilt level house two blocks away from the Warren Stamping plant (Eminem’s old place of employment). The rickety, wooden stairs leading to my upper half were coming unattached from the weathered aluminum siding. I always had visions of it finally just pulling the rest of the way from the house and dumping me over the neighbors chain link fence. The house was across the street from a Burger King that seemed to do nothing but burn their flame broiled hamburgers to a crisp. The whole block always smelled like singed whoppers. On the other corner was a small local bar with a proper name that I can’t remember. It was something like “Joe’s” or “Jack’s Place”. When I would leave the house for work at eight am, the would be three or four local drunks hanging outside, waiting for the place to open up.

I was living in this neighborhood because my “abusive” boyfriend and I had finally called it quits. We had been dating for two years and living in his house on the East side of Detroit for maybe six months. I put “abusive” in quotes because yeah, he was a jerk, a big one at that, but really, the old adage, “it takes two to tango” is true. We were both sick, wounded and acting out in unimaginable ways. I was clean from drugs for about two months at that point. Or in the terms of the 12 step program I was attending, 60 days. Finally with my head somewhat clear, I left. I was so desperate to be anywhere else, I said yes to the first place I saw, and this was it. I remember signing the lease with a clenched jaw, churning stomach and the pressure of emotion in my chest wanting to erupt into tears.

Looking back, I have to cut myself some slack. I would have made better decisions had I been in my right mind. They tell you lots of things in those meetings. One of them is not to make any major life decisions for the first year of your sobriety. Sometimes, decisions can’t be put off and your feet go into the fire, ready or not.

The inside was painted mint green and the threadbare carpets were grey. Near the end of my lease, there were so many roaches thanks to the occupant downstairs, I was almost afraid to go to bed at night. Speaking of the occupant downstairs, he was drunk all the time. A big, smelly, drooling, hairy, drunk man in a wife beater t-shirt and his blue collar work pants hanging too low. Fortunately he rarely came outside and when he did, he was too much in a stupor to do anything but sit on his porch nursing his “forty”.

I was sitting on my futon contemplating a colorful bag of glass fragments that I had picked up from around the neighborhood. I had starting making crafts to keep me busy. I was working on a mosaic candle holder. The news was on in the background. I remember hearing the newscaster say that Princess Diana had died. My heart sank. The same sinking feeling I had when I heard the news that Mitch Hedberg and John Ritter died. A person that was bigger than life, celebrated and glittering was gone. If people like that could die…..I could die.

At the time, I didn’t think of it in those terms. Also, I think that’s only part of it.

I think about mortality a lot. Maybe more than I should. I hope that when I go, ninety or so years from now, I exit with grace and nobility. I wish to have touched people’s lives and made connections that stretch beyond the grave. I think about these things and today I’m in love with people. Today I think that we are beautiful, special and amazing creatures that make my heart explode with gratitude. I love my husband and my friends and couldn’t dream of a better life.

My husband made a movie for me this morning.

bob
Originally uploaded by cindigodotcom.

I’m laying in bed. There seem to be cats everywhere, even though there are only two. Both are laying on my arms, and expanding, making it difficult to type.

I’m back from Chicago and feeling like I’m not sure what I’m feeling. It’s a half headache, slightly stoned, introverted, achy but strangely comfortable feeling. I think this is what I may have felt like for the first twenty some years of my life. My aunt Barb and mom took my step dad to the hospital the day after I left. He’s taking morphine shots, oxcycoton and percoset for the pain. Although, I don’t want to put this wonky feeling all on this situation. I’ve been headed in this direction for weeks.

I don’t know that I even mentioned why I went back home. I was planning a trip in a few months, maybe for Thanksgiving, but my sister called and said to “get there now”. From talking to my mom, I never really know the true state of Bob’s health because for the last six years my mom has been claiming he’s “getting worse” or telling inflated stories of his declining health. For my sister to call and be worried, I was worried.

About six years ago he was diagnosed with prostate cancer and given a year to live. Since that time, he’s had open heart surgery and a broken neck that required him to wear a “halo” (a metal bracing device that is screwed into your skull to immobilize your neck), and lay in a electric bed rented and placed in the middle of the living room. The guy looks like you could knock him down with one finger, but he’s tough as hell.

My mom said that he should be in the hospital for another week, or more, she doesn’t really know. After that, she thinks “continuing care”, but she’s just making an educated guess, and even wasn’t sure what “continuing care” actually meant. My aunt is flying back next week, and I told my mom that I can fly out at any time.

I’m flying back to Vegas tonight.

gimmie
Originally uploaded by cindigodotcom.

My niece turned four today. We partied like rock stars in the McDonald’s playland. I’m exhausted. My stepdad kept calling Ronald McDonald, Roddie McDowell.

Once again having to watch over and attend to small children leads me to the already explored fact that I’m not ready….good lord, I’m so not ready.

Police sirens should never be used in rock songs. Or at the very least, they should bleep them out like curse words when being played on the radio.

That is all to report from birthday party central.

murphy_no_eye
Originally uploaded by cindigodotcom.

This letter was written to Murphy the dog by my three year old (four year old tomorrow) niece.

Dear Murphy,

God is making foot prints for Taylor to see. I hope you feel better from your operation. I hope you like flowers. I hope you like computers too. And I hope you like ice cream too and coffee. Also, Auntie Cynthia has tattoos.

I love you,
Samantha

p.s. I want to tell Murphy about pillows and bowls. And I hope he can open his mouth.

Tonight we ate dinner with Aunt Jackie and Uncle Ralph. It was slightly painful, but bearable. The only two highlights that I feel like writing about…..

My step dad Bob just recently started walking with a four pronged cane. He shuffles unsteadily and slowly makes his way along. As we walked through the front door of Ralph and Jackie’s new “retirement home” my step dad, tripped over the door jamb. He wobbled for a few seconds and we all sucked our breath in fear. The cane steadied him, he righted and continued his way through the door. Jackie looked at my mom, rolled her eyes up and said, “Well that’s all I that I need right now”. She said it twice and I think was waiting for my mom to agree with her. How dare Bob almost break his neck. Do you know what that would do to Jackie’s nerves?

I put “retirement home” in quotes up there because really it’s like a nursing home for kazillionaires. They have their own home but it’s outfitted with a special bathroom for my uncle who had a stroke, an a elevator to get to the second floor and emergency buttons to call staff. It’s a subdivision of red brick houses that are desperately trying to disguise the fact that they are in fact an institution. Albeit a swank institution with a forest preserve, activities, movies and the restaurant where we ate tonight. The restaurant that I found served nothing but beef and chicken. I guess eighty five year old vegetarians are a rare thing.

Then Jackie had a glass of wine with dinner. She turned to Bob and said, “Helene (my mom) calls me up all the time and says that you’re practically knocking on death’s door. I think she’s way off, you look fantastic”.

I went shopping tonight. I bought THE perfect purse. When I was done, I walked out into the dark parking lot and could not find the car. The parking lot was nearly empty, and I was puzzled. I went to the four or five hondas in the sparse parking lot thinking that maybe, somehow I couldn’t remember what my mom’s new Honda hybrid looked like.

At first I felt nervous about peering into random cars and trying my key in the lock but as it got later I became braver. I thought that my niece’s car seat was in the back, but after looking into five other cars and doubting my memory, I was confused. At this point I wasn’t even really sure what color the car was. How embarrassing. How could I drive the car for fifteen minutes, and not even remember what color it was.

I walked back and forth thinking how ridiculous that I would drive the car less than five miles from the house and it would be stolen in the twenty minutes I was shopping. Finally I saw a friendly looking woman with a cell phone (I had left mine in the car) and asked her if I could call my mom and maybe confirm the license plate number or that Samantha’s car seat was actually in back.

While the phone was ringing the woman said, “Are you sure you didn’t park by the other entrance?”. I snapped the phone shut. I tilted my head down an looked up at her and said, “What other entrance?”. The other entrance was at such a severe angle that it was impossible to see unless you turned a corner. I thaked her and walked to the other doors. I found the car within thirty seconds.

I am filling my time by selling off the mountains of crap my mother accumulates between the times I come to visit. I suppose garage sales and trash days are better than taking this compultion to Nieman’s. Although, in her defense, I have to say that the house isn’t as bad this time. I only had to politely refuse a lime green pants suit and a Mr. Coffee iced tea brewer, instead of a crate of lime green pants suits and a twelve pack of iced tea brewers.

Here’s a sample posting.

This lamp was my grandmother’s. It has gold leaf (gold something?) around the bottom and handles, and has a greenish (patina?) finish. In the center is a picture of victorian people having a party in their George Washington-esque wigs. I’m posting this for my mother. She would like $20, but please, if you like it, make an offer so I can help her part with all of this stuff she’s accumulated.

If you would like more information, or to tell me what a great daughter I am for taking the time to post all this stuff on the net for my parents, you can email, or call Helene (my mom) at 847-555-5555.

p.s. If you tell her how great I am, play like it’s an unsolicited compliment.

I did not die in a fiery plane crash, or a fiery car crash as of yet.

But…..

my mother is a terrible driver. I have been wearing my seatbelt while sitting in the back seat.

I’m laying in this dusty cluttered bedroom looking into the open closet at the boxes of christmas stuff that I organized for my mom last year. My body wants to go to bed, but I’m resisting. My plane was delayed this morning for three and a half hours. I couldn’t take it and with the Transmerdian Air apology four dollar food voucher, I ate a mini pizza. What a hypocrite. Eating a mini pizza after that venomous rant against dairy.

In my defense, I think I said that dairy wasn’t good for you and wouldn’t help you lose weight. I didn’t say I never fell to the siren song of cheese.

Ten minutes to boarding the plane and I find out there is free wireless at McCarrin airport. I’m flying into Rockford Ilinois. It’s an hour ouside of Chicago. Rockford is the town that my mother is from and that my grandparents lived the majority of their lives in. It’s 10:30 in the morning. I have the sick queasy feeling I get every time I fly. It’s part stress of feeling like I’m forgetting something, getting up early, not sleeping well and breathing stale airport air. The gate “hostess” is telling a passenger a convoluted story of some plane mix up last week. I’m not really following it. I don’t think he is either, but she’s a hottie potatti and I think that this white, pasty older man just likes having any sort of conversation with her.

There’s an adorable three year old that really wanted to play the dollar slots badly. They’re located ten feet from the gate and loud. So far, surprisingly I’ve only heard the “bing, bing, bing, bongbondbong, bing, bing, bing” of the spinning wheel, and no “biiiiing, biiiiing, biiiiiiing” of a jackpot. Her mom said, “No, sweetie, those games are for adults”. She didn’t miss a beat and said, “I adult, uh huh, yes, I adult, I five”. Smiling, the mom said, “No honey, you’re three, your sister is five”. She pleaded for a few more seconds and then went to work washing a row of cranberry colored vinyl seats with a baby wipe. Another mother just carried her twoish year old over to the window to see the planes. She was chewing gum and blew a big green bubble. She took her toddler’s hand and popped the bubble with it. He laughed like crazy.

When I see cuteness like this, it makes me want to have a kid.

Then I think about our eight year old neighbor Boooke who we really like, but sometimes rings the doorbell every two minutes after we’ve told her we can’t come out and “play”. I remember Anna and Svetia who came over all the time. How after twenty minutes with them I felt like every ounce of strength had been sucked from my body. I think about poopy diapers and screaming fits. Then I’m thinking about the trip to Costa Rica we’re planning for October with white water rafting, surfing and a jungle canopy tour. That wouldn’t be as easy or maybe even possible at all with a child. We’re just not ready. But I keep checking in with myself and my personal supervisor/husband. Maybe someday we’ll be ready.

I was going to describe more people in this terminal, but all you need to know is that most of them are elderly, ghostly white and look like they are falling apart.

That is all I have to report from McCarrin airport.

p.s. If I die in a fiery plane crash please say all the appropriate things to the appropriate people. I think you all know how I feel.

I’m going to Chicago this morning. I’ll be there a week or so.

Anyone want to buy our eurovan?

I just want to say one short thing, and I have to keep it short because I have a very strong opinion on this and related matters and might have a tendency to go off on a tirade.

Cow’s milk and dairy products in general are not good for you. Cow’s milk and dairy products in general do not help you lose weight.

Why do you think the dairy council would spend outrageous sums of money to fund studies that come out in their favor and then spend more money to buy prime time ads touting the benefits of their products.

Cow’s milk is for baby cows.

If you want more information, I am a wealth of knowledge.

All I can say is even after a terrible trouncing yesterday, baseball is still going well. I also really want to tell you about the half of a craps table that “someone” built in our bedroom, but that’s top secret also.

Damn, it’s hard to keep my big mouth shut.

Murphy the dog has lived through her experience. I was expecting her to be traumatized and asleep. She bounded out of the back room of the vet’s office with more gusto than usual. Her eye actually looks better than it did beforehand. At home she slowed down a little. She drank some water ate some food and stumbled upstairs with some assistance. Now she’s sleeping and content in her cage.

I’ve been meaning to post this but I had to download new drivers for my scanner. This is Andy and I in fourth grade.

Andrew Blair rocks my world!!!!!!!

Murphy the dog is through her surgery and resting. Although she may have to spend the night at the vet’s office. I keep thinking I hear her comming up the stairs and then I remember that she’s not here.

Andy is playing poker. I am sitting next to him on the couch seriously considering cleaning up the living area. It’s getting a little out of control in here. Very nest like. Somewhat comforting but rapid decaying into squalor. I think it might need a few more minutes of consideration. You don’t want to jump into these kinds of things, it could be dangerous.

One last thing before I go. I’ve admitted it before, but, I’ll out myself one more time. I cannot control myself when I watch America’s Funniest Videos. It’s embarassing. It’s really, really embarassing. I laugh so hard, sometimes I cry. Andy likes to watch it with me, just to watch me.

There, I said it. Judge me if you will.

We just dropped Murphy the dog off at the vet to have her eye eneuclated (medical verbage for removed). I don’t really want to write about it because it brings up that burning shaky feeling that if I give in to will lead to crying. I haven’t had breakfast yet. There can be no crying before breakfast.