portia_joe
Originally uploaded by cindigodotcom.

We’re sitting in my friend Portia and Joe’s living room in Farmington New Mexico. We got in yesterday from Denver. I feel some anxiety about writing this since every time something fun or funny happened, I was asked, “Is this going on the blog”.

What is making it onto this forum is that we just went through our high school year books. Portia, Andy and I went to high school together. We all graduated in 1989. We laughed at everyone’s hair and looked for our old crushes. Portia was looking through all the signatures to find what I wrote. The paragraph I wrote in the freshman book started with… “when you read this 20 years from now remember, the good times weren’t all that good”. We all burst out laughing and ended the nostalgic session on that note. How funny that it really is almost twenty years later.

Earlier in the day Andy, Portia and I went to “Cackers” sports bar to watch Denver loose a football game. We all had some drinks, laughs and memories. Joe stayed behind to keep cleaning the garage. They just bought this fantastic property in May and they’re trying to get everything organized and beautified. It’s a perfect place for them. Portia is a Napropath. They moved to New Mexico because the opportunities for that type of doctor are wide open. Her clinic is at the bottom of their property on a main street. She just opened her doors a few months ago and already has a steady stream of business. I think she said three acres, but it could be more. There’s the beautiful and spacious southwestern style house, the clinic, a pond with Koi, some sort of airplane hanger looking shed, a pig pen (sans pigs) and a large open space that they’re going to possibly have an Alpaca. They have a boarder collie named Rusty that desperately needs something to herd. Portia wants an Alpaca and Joe thinks a Llama is fine. Apparently Alpaca are wildly more expensive than Llama. When I asked why not a Llama, she said that she “didn’t like their butts”. Interesting.

That’s probably more than you wanted to hear about people that you don’t know. But, you should know these guys they’re great. I’m not just saying that because they’ll read it either.

Portia is wrapping Joe’s right hand in some sort of self adhesive bandage. We decided to go to the roller rink after Crackers, something none of us had done since we were twelve. We all wiped out a few times (not because of the drinks at Crackers, I’m sure) and Joe happened to land wrong. The rink looked like we had remembered complete with a disco ball and red, green and yellow sequential flashing lights. We decided that it was pretty much the same except for the hip hop. Also kids, really little kids were going around the rink on Razor scooters. Some mom let her two year old in diapers run around on the rink. I almost ran over his fingers or toes several times.

Now we’re sitting in the living room drinking tea and watching Dead Alive (aka Braindead). It’s a cult classic that Andy and I haven’t seen. It’s a very amusing, very disturbing horror film with gruesome and amazing special effects. Throughout the movie I kept saying, “Oh god. Oh no, no, no” and covering my eyes and turning away. I’m squeamish like that. Although I don’t have any trouble looking at gore after the fact. The priest “kicking ass for god” was an amazing scene that was stopped and rewound since I was in the kitchen making more tea. Another highlight had to be the killing of hundreds of zombies with a upturned running lawnmower. Also, be sure not to miss the intestines that just won’t die and keep on attacking.

Tomorrow (which is today now that I’m finishing this post) we’re thinking about checking out some of the casinos and maybe riding our poorly neglected bikes up into the hills.

After Andy’s hockey game last night we slept in the parking lot of the hockey place. It’s far away from the road, next to a park, surrounded by trees and horse farms. When we wore up this morning, there was six inches of snow covering everything. It was shocking to open the blinds. Not to mention freezing. It was half raining, half snowing all day. We have a few leaks and a scare that the furnace was broken. Other than that, it’s a great adventure.

We should be on our way in a few days. I think I keep saying that, but really, a few days. Tonight we’re staying at Rogo’s house. The RV is parked across the street. I’m laying on the wooly, curly couch refusing cherry brandy from Rogo and watching television. I think I can lay off the booze until at least after dinner. I probably should just accept and pour it out, but homemade polish brandy. How could I? Andy and Rogo are playing online poker, comparing strategies. Rogo’s wife is cooking a vegetarian feast for us. If these guys are any nicer to us, we might never leave.

I thought I should update so, as I said to Robbie yesterday, all you guys don’t think I’ve been lying around for weeks riddled with canker sores doing nothing. I’m doing much more exciting things really. Right now I’m sitting in the basement office of Andy’s professional poker player friend drinking Polish Cherry brandy. I’m sitting on some crazy sort of curly, brown and tan, fuzzy matted fur couch throw being stared at by the sockets of an eyeless fox pelt. I tried to refuse the brandy because one, I don’t drink brandy and two, it’s 3:07 in the afternoon. Unfortunately I tried to refuse by trying to be polite and saying, “maybe later” and Steve “Rogo” took it as a yes and poured us both a glass, not halting the stream of liquor when I said, “thanks”, “okay”, “thank you”. I learned my lesson and gave a straight “no thanks” to the homemade fermented cabbage salad.

We just came back from lunch with Pat, Jarrett and Rogo three of Andy’s friends from “back in the day”. Jarett was the manager at one of the poker rooms that Andy played at as a young poker playing upstart. Jarrett tried to talk him out of playing for a living. Pat is a poker playing friend and Rogo was a prop player with Andy. Ask Andy about his days playing prop poker in Colorado. They’re some entertaining stories. A prop player is someone who gets paid by the casino to play poker with their own money to make the games fuller.

It’s turning cold again tomorrow. We’re spending a few days at Jarrett’s house before we shove off to New Mexico. We’ve been staying at Cherry Creek State Park again for the last few days. There are deer everywhere. A few days ago we came home and there were six or seven of them standing around munching grass right in front of our windshield. It’s funny to be getting to feel that the the beauty and grandure of nature is commonplace. While driving the Jeep into the park, three or four cars were pulled over on the side of the road looking and taking pictures of deer. I was impatient thinking, “Geez people, quit blocking the road, it’s only deer”. Like living in the middle of the forest and hanging out with herds of deer had become just as commonplace as looking at a squirrel or a dog in someone’s backyard.

In other news, I bought a replacement wedding ring yesterday. If you don’t know the boring story, I lost the original about six months ago at the gym. I took it off because I was going to lift weights and I didn’t want to hurt my finger and scratch the ring. I think that I left it in the locker. Four months ago I bought a “placeholder” for three dollars at a silver shop at an outlet mall. I ask Andy occasionally if it bugs him that the symbol of our everlasting commitment is a plain piece of metal that I got at the outlet mall. He doesn’t care. I really don’t either. I actually like the ring. It’s light and doesn’t irritate my skin so I never feel the need to take it off.

I’ve been meaning to buy a replacement to wear on a chain. Before I lost it I mostly wore it on the chain, it was my favorite necklace. It’s a beaded chain. The chain as described by my mom while slamming my fashion choices would be, “Cynthia, why are you wearing a toilet chain around your neck?” The chain is doubled around and connected by the ring with a star pendant in the middle. There was only one place in Denver that sold this brand of ring.

(…..let me interrupt her to say, “Oh sweet Jesus, now, in addition to the cherry brandy, Rogo’s wife just brought down chocolate. What are these people trying to do here! They keep trying to feed us dinner too.

interruption over.)

I went into this high end diamond shop that I had to be buzzed into. The lady was so snotty and obviously unapproving of my not high end choice in jewelry if there were another place to buy the ring, even if I had to drive an hour, I would have done it. I was going to write all about it but now since I’m plied with brandy and chocolate, it’s just not that funny anymore. I will tell you though that I’m wearing the necklace right now and I love it. When I put the ring on the chain and snapped the clasp closed it made my heart feel warm and fuzzy. I will also tell you, and not only because I’m drunk on chocolate and brandy, that I’m madly in love with my brilliant, talented, sexy, smart, funny, wonderful and considerate husband. I would not trade that guy for anything.

my canker sore is no longer KILLING me. It is now downgraded to mouth terror alert elevated.

This may be due to the fact that I stopped whining about it and started putting medicine on it.

I have a canker sore on the very tip of my tongue. It is KILLING me.

That is all to report from the road to Denver.

I had all kinds of funny, deep thoughtful things to write about. Now, I have hours stretched out ahead of me with nothing to do but write and I’m thinking of nothing.

I like our families, but I’m also feeling glad that we’re heading westward once again. It’s six o’clock and it’s just starting to get dark. The bottoms of my socked feet are pressed against the glass of the front windshield. The heater is blowing on the back of my calves. We’re driving through long stretches of green with farms and fields of half mowed down corn or barren fields. There are shorter stretches of truck stops and homestyle diners. Occasionally a flock of birds in a V shape fly by. I’m assuming they’re going south. We have three more hours of driving.

If I were driving we would stop every two hours for at least an hour. If I were driving it would also take us weeks to get back to Denver. The radio is talking about “a wall of rain”, “a soggy scene”, and how it’s much different in Denver because it’s snow. Maybe up to two feet in the mountains. I was toying around with the idea of flying to San Diego for a few days when we got back to Denver. That idea is becoming more attractive the more I think about trudging around in snow. Andy has to stay in town for a week or so before we shove off to New Mexico. Instead of following him around all week like a baby chick, I could visit Novabella, something I’ve been promising to do for a long, long time.

This is probably all over the net and I’m the last to know, but, if not…

virtual bubblewrap

We’re sleeping in the driveway at my sister’s house. That is all to report. Well that’s not really all to report, but I’d like to get out of town before I start railing on my sis for the disheveled state of her home. We had one rule between us, that was a joke, but not really…. just ask yourself, “Does the health department need to be called?” If the answer was yes, then clean it up.

We found out while cleaning out the spare room *trying not to rail…. really, really trying not to rail* that was filled with boxes of various crap, that my sister has the same “pen disease” as my mom. Although, my sister has the ability to part with the pens. My mother does not. While my sister was trashing the handfuls of pens and broken pencils that we found, my mother was becoming agitated and looking for a plastic bag for them so she could take them to the church and the missionaries could send them to, I think she said Botswana. She really was having a breakdown about it, so I grabbed a small handful out of the garbage, showed them to her and said, “here, I’ll just put these in your purse.” Enabling? Maybe. But at the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do. The woman was distraught.

My sister is on bed rest because of complications from her pregnancy. She’s due in January and she might have to be there until then. She’s been having contractions on a regular basis. This I am sure is one of the reasons that Kimba will pull out for the state of the house. But she forgets, I’ve known her for a while. I remember the state of her bedroom while we were kids, and not much has changed. It pains my mother to no end. Which is funny. I pulled out the “glass house analogy” today, which surprisingly met with no response. It only bother’s me a little once in a while. I figured since we (okay, Andy and my brother-in-law) were here fixing the gas tank problem in the RV I could at least clean out that one room so the baby has a place to be.

Soon we will be free of the midwest and heading twards sunnier skies.

Tonight we went out to dinner with Andy’s parents at a restraunt in Lambau Field. Before I write any more about it, it should be said that Jack, Andy’s father has a reputation for being “difficult” at dining establishments. When we were here last time, Andy’s sister ordered the crab which wasn’t brought out with the rest of the food. It was a ridiculous situation, with the waiter continually coming out and apologizing saying dumb, not helpful things like, “the cook has alot of prep work backed up”. It really did take much, much to long. When Jack finally blew, the server was nearly in tears and we had free drinks all around. Everyone at the table felt uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say to break the silence. Finally Andy, my witty, hilarious and wonderful husband piped up with, “Nobody order the bisque, okay.” Everyone laughed and the tension disbursed.

Tonight, I ordered the Walleye. It tasted like wet newspaper and paste. When the waitress came by I smiled enthusiastically and said it was wonderful. Andy’s mom ordered the chicken pot pie and made the fatal mistake of remarking that she couldn’t find any chicken in it. It was mentioned to the waitress when she came by to ask if everything was okay. The waitress offered to bring out more chicken. Andy’s mom said that it was fine. Andy’s dad said that it was okay, but the tone in his voice said that it wasn’t. The waitress picked up on it, said it was no problem. She caught my eye and I mouthed, “bring it out”. She smiled, nodded and walked away.

A blow out was averted, even though the restraunt has been black balled. I had a few Red Bulls and vodka, and a pretty good evening was had by all.

We’re in Green Bay Wisconsin visiting Andy’s parents. Dykesville actually *snigger*. Vlad the Russian has been sent back to Colorado on a big, shiny, metal bird. Andy and I will be here until tomorrow afternoon, then back to my sister’s house where we left the RV. We’ll be there for a few days where Andy will be doing some repairs to the gas tank fill tube. We’ll possibly buffing the faded baked stripes off the side. We have the special attachment to do it, but nothing to attach it to. If my brother-in-law has the part or knows someone who does, we’ll do it. I know, exciting stuff to read about. Then we’re going back through the suburbs of Chicago to say bye to my mom and maybe have dinner with Andy’s sister and family. We’ll go through Kansas to spend a night with Andy’s other sister and family. Then on to Denver to tie up some loose ends. Then, New Mexico for friends, Vegas, LA, Hawaii and Sacramento.

Sunday we moved the last of the big stuff out of the garage, played Scrabble and watched the Bears game. Andy ate three bites of a vegan rice crispy treat with some worms in it. It came from the “moth pantry”. Funny stuff, especially if you know Andy and his pickiness about food. Not that wanting your food absent of worms is picky.

Monday we went to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. Andy was so excited he was running around like a fourth grader. Which ironically was probably the last time we were there. I wasn’t so enthused about going after staying up late, getting up late and feeling like my brain was stuck to my skull. All I was thinking about was traffic, a swamped museum because of Columbus Day, the expense of parking and admission when we had already slept and lazed through most of the day. But watching his excitement, I couldn’t deny him the experience. I’m glad I mustered up the energy because it was a great time. And unexpectedly, a bonus of free admission because it was a holiday.

He remembers the chicken hatchery vividly, which I have no memory of. I remember the vertical slices of cadavers pressed in glass, which he has no memory of. We got to see both. The chicken hatchery was worth the whole trip. We saw two baby chicks actually peck their way out of their shells, flop around heart wrenchingly and dry into fluffy, cute babies. How can you see that with your kids and then go to McDonalds for McNuggets? I regretfully forgot my camera. I talked to my sister who said that we were lucky to actually see the chicks come out. She watched the hatchery for two hours and didn’t see one birth. She was stuck at the hatchery because she has a bum knee. My mom gave her Bob’s motorized cart to use, but forgot to charge it the night before. My sister said she drove it ten feet from the car and it died. In front of the hatchery was a available plug for charging the cart.

I probably should have written more funny stories about cleaning, schlepping, dragging, lugging and reorganizing, but I felt that over the years of this journal, I’ve written enough stories about being here and doing that. I’ll just end that saga by saying that our work here is done.

Last night Andy, Vlad and I went to a party hosted by Andrew (I don’t think you can see the page if you’re not a member) the benevolent couchsurfer. When I emailed him and he responded I was under the impression that a few people were coming over for a potluck. A few people turned out to be 40 in his medium sized Bucktown apartment. We barely got a chance to speak to him, but had a great time. Good food, nice people, even a ukulele played by Vlad, Andy and various cute young enthusiastic, hip, drunken, artistic chicks.

Then we went a few miles away to the famous Cubby Bear Bar across the street from Wrigley Field. My friend Lainie’s brother’s band, The Silent Years was playing there. Laine and I saw them at The Viper Room in LA on one of our BEST VACATIONS EVER ™. I was kind of snarky before hand because I know her brother and didn’t think that he would have a band that was actually good. But I was surprised. I thought they were great. They recently opened for The Chapin Sisters in New York.

It was too early so we went down the street to The Blarney Stone to have a few drinks and some greasy snacks. Afterwards we walked back to The Cubby Bear and decided that it was too smokey and too late so we decided to drive back.

Tomorrow, The Museum of Science and Industry… maybe.

With the downpours of the last few days we found a surprise when we went down into the basement to clean out the remaining boxes. The basement was flooded. The sump pump didn’t work. The boxes had gotten wet in an almost identical scenario previously and had grown mold. Now they weren’t just moldy, they were wet and moldy. Most of the boxes contained newsprint wrapped dishes and glasses. We should have been wearing haz mat suits for the clean up we had to do this morning.

Also, an interesting little factoid that I learned this morning: we are lugging dishes around from my father’s mother, my mother’s mother, My stepfather’s mother, my mother and my stepfather’s first wife.

I remember packing dishes from my grandmother’s house when she died. China lugged from Nona’s house, wrapped and packed, lugged downstairs, lugged upstairs soggy and moldy, unpeeled, re-wrapped, packed in boxes and lugged into the new/old house garage to be gone through at a later date. Dishes are heavy! I haven’t even mentioned the china cabinet yet.

I do have to put in a positive here. She did give away her mother’s set to the nice neighbor next door.

As we were in the middle of all this I stopped looked at my mother and said, “You gave me life and I am forever grateful, but now… we’re even.”

It’s rainy here still. The story I was going to tell about a dead mouse in a vase, doesn’t seem all that interesting to me anymore. But maybe it is and I’m just letting the overcast morning settle too much in my brain. Who knows what this day will hold?

I would like to order room service up to my bedroom right now. I’m pretty sure that this is not an option.

I have trained by years of exchanges like these:

Ma: Do you want some cereal for breakfast?
Me: Sure.
Ma: Well go get it then.

Although to be fair, there was hot water boiling for tea when I came downstairs yesterday and I was the only one drinking tea.

I have been here a little over 24 hours. This is not what I was expecting at all. When my mom asked me to help her move, I stupidly had a vision in my mind what moving meant.

What my mom had in mind was to take all the crap stuffed into every drawer and cabinet, stray pens without ink, strange knick knacks from the dollar store, at least ten pounds and various sizes of paper and envelopes, parts of things that have broken, a box of twenty five almost exactly identical purses…… you get the idea…. and shove then semi randomly into boxes. Then we pack as much of it as we can into the two cars, drive it three miles to the *new/old house and pile the boxes in the garage to be gone through at a later time. It was not logical. It also offended my sensibilities. I told my mom so and she scoffed and rolled her eyes. But it’s true, things that are not considered thoughtfully, especially when others are involved make me wince a little.

It put me in an awkward situation. I want to be helpful, I came here to be helpful but if I endorsed this behavior, by helping, it just felt wrong. I explained myself. She blew me off. I explained myself a different way. She blew me off again. I tried one last time, and she got mad. Then later on while we were standing in the kitchen, she said she understood. She told me a story about going over to her mother’s house and going in the basement to find magazines stacked waist high all along the walls. She thought it was disturbed, argued with her mom and then ended up cleaning up the basement. My grandmother was probably twice as bad as my mom with packratism. I thought I had gotten through. But no. She still insisted on sticking with the original plans, leaving me to shake my head and feel the wince.

What should I have done? I didn’t think that trying to convince her to try to change something she wasn’t ready to change was going to be of any value for either of us. Although I didn’t like the idea of repeating history, I clammed up and decided to schlep boxes down the stairs. I told her I would carry things up and down the stairs, pack and unpack the car, but not pack or unpack boxes. Even though she brought the mass amounts of crap into the house, bringing this mess on herself, I couldn’t let her break her body lugging said heavy crap around.

Now it’s ten p.m.. The cable went out . I’m watching silent static on the screen of the tv and listening to the thunder and rain and the loud ticking of the clock on the mantle. There was golf ball sized hail a while ago. It was an amazing thing to watch falling and bouncing on the green astroturf of the patio and pinging off of the gutters. I wished Andy was here to see it. He just called me a while ago. They got into Council Bluffs and they were decadently ordering room service. He said he and Vlad both ordered pie. I forgot to ask what kind.

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*For those of you not in the know: My mom kept the house that my sister and I grew up in. When she and Bob got married and moved into his house fifteen-ish years ago, she rented it out. Both houses are not far from each other in the same town. After the new/old house is painted and new carpets are put in (the last renter trashed the place), she will be able to move in. The house she’s moving out of has been technically sold.