I Smell Dead People!

My friend Michelle, over at The Surly Writer, has been looking for a new apartment.  The mention of apartment searches brought back memories of the apartment I had years ago in Colorado.

My ex and I had decided to move to Canon City to look for work, since his sister lived there and said we could easily find something.  No job prospects, but we were young and the idea of living near the mountains was very appealing.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.  So one September, we loaded up the old Fiat sedan and made the drive from Iowa to Colorado.   

First things first, as soon as we arrived we started looking for an apartment.  We looked at a few, but they seemed kind of expensive, what with not having jobs and all.  Then we spotted the ad in the paper. 

 

For Rent:  Half house, garage.  $95/month.

Score!  We called and made an appointment to see the place, hoping nobody else had snatched up this bargain before us.  The person on the other end of the line seemed overly glad to hear from us.  We wondered why, but didn't think too much about it. 

The apartment was perfect!  Lovely old brick building downtown,  with a living room, parlor, kitchen and a bathroom on the first floor, (which would be perfect for a darkroom for the photographer ex.)  Upstairs were three bedrooms and another bathroom.  Plus a private back yard and garage.  We'd take it!

We couldn't resist asking the question, though... why were they offering the apartment so cheaply?  Did it have heat?  Did the roof leak?  Were the neighbors loud?

No, no problems with any of those things.  There was just the small issue of the smell in the parlor.  Well, we had to confess we did notice an odd aroma.  In the interest of full disclosure, the landlord told us the sad story of the previous tenant.  An older lady.  Who died.  In August.  With the windows closed.  Whose acquaintances didn't realize they hadn't heard from her until about two weeks later.

Ah... that explained it.  It also explained the strange stain on the oak floor in the parlor, which she had used for her bedroom.  The stain in the shape of a body.

Turns out the lady left a bit of herself in the apartment.  Which was kind of off-putting to all the other prospective tenants.  But, since the ex's father was a medical examiner, we were used to weird stuff like that.  Didn't bother us in the least.  A contraire!  We thought it made for scintillating dinner conversation with guests!

Strangely though, my sister-in-law and her husband never wanted to come to our house for those scintillating dinner conversations.  They were happy to have dinner with us... just not at our house.  And when my sister, her boyfriend and my mom came to visit, the boyfriend was none to happy about having to sleep in the parlor.  Geesh!  What's with these people?

Some people are just so picky about where they eat and sleep! 

So, Michelle, I think I know where you can find an apartment... cheap!  And the smell's probably long gone by this time!  Score!

Why I'll Never Become a Crash Test Dummy

 It's amazing what you find out about yourself by reading.  While sitting around with my leg propped up, I have plenty of time to catch up on that stack of books I've been meaning to read. 

I just finished Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers last night.  It's probably not something I would have picked up on my own, but my friend Nancy happened to have it when she was in the ER with me last Sunday and it turned out to be quite fascinating.  Basically it tells about the many ways cadavers are  used in science... from anatomy classes, to crash test dummies, to ballistics, to determining causes of plane crashes, to discovering new alternatives to cremation and embalming/burial. 

One of my favorite sections was about the use of cadavers in crash tests.  Seems there are certain things that the typical plastic crash test dummies can't measure.  So, occasionally, they've used actual cadavers or parts thereof in crash tests.  Whoa!  Now that would be a cool way to contribute to scientific inquiry!  Sadly, though, I'll never be able to will my body to be a crash test dummy.  It seems klutzes need not apply.  My broken bones would prevent my cadaver from being any use to the crash test laboratories.  Damn!  That would have been a great way to make a contribution! 

Then there was the chapter on alternatives to burial or cremation.  Strangely, I liked the idea of being flash frozen in liquid nitrogen and then bombarded with ultrasound to be broken up into little bits that could be used as fertilizer.  Cool!  (Literally & figuratively.)  I'd volunteer for that one!

So many things I just hadn't thought about before.  Guess this whole invalid thing is expanding my horizons! 

Now... what to read next?

How to Host a Funeral... CatLady Style

First, let's just say that there will be no actual funerals involved in this post.  Cat ladies don't do funerals... they just wither away.  Although, a Viking funeral would be a fitting way to remove all the useless crap from my house.  You could load it all up into an ancient rowboat and then torch it as you send it out to sea.

The number one trick to hosting a funeral is to have the deceased not want a funeral.  Thanks, Mom!  Then it's also handy to have a father who is uber-organized so that there's not much to do when you arrive on scene.  Thanks, Dad!  Then there are the two uber-organized sisters who already had the picnic basket packed by the time I got there.  Thanks, Number One Daughter and Eowyn.  (And yes, in case you were wondering, the mad organizational skills of my family have always left me wondering if I was adopted or something.) 

So, ix-nay on the funeral... let's have a party at the beach instead!  My mom missed her 60th wedding anniversary by eight days, so we decided to have an anniversary celebration instead of a funeral.   

Complete with Mom's Haviland china and silver.

Sadly, Mom's ashes weren't ready yet, so we weren't able to bring her in the silver chafing dish that Eowyn set aside for the occasion.  Oh, well... nothing ever goes according to plan.  But Dad did bring their wedding photos, so we still got to see her.

Vlad and Waldo couldn't make it, but Eowyn, Ilsa (my niece) and I came decked out in Mom's finest jewelry, which we had raided the day before.

 

                                                  

 

One must always look one's best!  Number One Daughter forgot to wear her jewels, so we were going to make her sit at her own table but then relented. (When one is in mourning, one must be forgiven these serious lapses in fashion judgment.)

Looking the most dapper, was Dad...  all decked out in his beach gear.  Now, there's a guy who knows how to have a good time!

My brother in law, Sven, provided the music... songs of the forties and fifties.  We toasted Mom with gin and tonics and Dr Pepper while enjoying the breezes off the Gulf of Mexico.  All in all, it was a happy way to provide closure on a life well-lived.

After all, Mom would have wanted it that way!

And When I Die...

My mom died a week ago and today I'm headed down to Florida to spend some time with my family.  Despite being in poor health for close to 20 years, my mom always insisted on having things "just right".   Whether it was designing tasteful decor for her home, planning the perfect party, or using correct syntax in her speech, mom wanted things done properly.  That included dying on her own terms.  So much so, she was supremely pissed when Dad called 911 instead of letting her expire last month.  She even threatened to call a divorce lawyer over that one.  Classic Mom... snarky to the end! 

In the last few weeks, Mom was ready to go and just wanted to get on with it, dying only three days after being moved to hospice care.  She wanted to be cremated right away and insisted that we dispense with the usual funeral or memorial service.  After all, Mom hated it when people got all teary at funerals... she thought it was undignified.  And I'm sure she didn't want anyone staring at her when she was dead and obviously not looking her best. 

So we're not having any sort of ceremony.  Instead, we'll head to the beach tomorrow for a picnic to celebrate what would have been my parent's 60th wedding anniversary.  But we'll use real dishes and silverware... Mom wouldn't want us using tacky paper plates and plastic forks on her anniversary.  I think we should bring her box of ashes with us, but we'd have to find her a tasteful urn first... the cardboard box that cremains come in just isn't going to cut it!  It will probably be bittersweet, but it will also be a happy time, with lots of memories and lots of laughter.  After all, what else would you expect from the Cat Lady and her family?

I figure Mom's out there somewhere enjoying her grand adventure.  After all, she did love to travel.  So I'm dispensing with the traditional dirge and carrying on with life while having Laura Nyro sing Mom out in style....

Forgive me...

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned... It's been 12 days since my last blog entry.

Damned good thing I'm not Catholic or anything!  Nothing going on here to explain my absence this time.  Just a lack of inspiration... and the fact that my special writing chair kinda got buried in school stuff.  What can I say?  I am a cat lady sans cats, after all!  Every once in awhile things get a little out of control around here.  Teetering on the edge of madness, I tell you!  Madness!

What I do love about this blogging community, though, is that people check up on me whenever I go missing.  My greatest fear as a cat lady without the cats is the scenario in which I finally meet my demise through some incredibly klutzy move inside my house and nobody finds me for days.

I know what that's like from personal experience.  Long ago, when the ex and I moved to Canon City, Colorado for a year, we lived on the cheap.  I worked as a kindergarten teacher's aide half days and the ex taught silkscreening in night school and worked on his photography during the day.   It was a great life.  I'd go to school in the morning and then we'd go up into the mountains to hike or ride bikes in the afternoon. 

Surprisingly, we were able to make ends meet.  Because the wiring wasn't quite right in our apartment, our average monthly utility bill was $1.89.  Seriously!  Even at 1976 prices, that was ridiculous.  We went next door to the utility company and were able to pay our bill in spare change.  But it was the cheap apartment itself that made our meager paychecks last from one week to the next.  Our rent was $85 a month for a three bedroom, two bathroom apartment that was half of an 19th century duplex house.  A double garage was also included. 

So, how does one get a large apartment at that price?  When the previous tenant has died there... in August... only to be found two weeks later.  Even with the best of tidying up, the smell of death remained.  Not the roadkill type of stench, but the aroma of special chemicals used to eradicate the smell.  Plus there was a stain on the hardwood floor in the parlor where she met her demise.  Charming, to be sure and a turn-off to most potential renters.  Intrepid bargain-hunters that we were, though, it didn't bother us in the least.  Maybe because we were used to the accoutrements of death from living in close proximity with a medical examiner.

We would sit in the parlor at night, communing with the spirit of the previous tenant.  Just to show her good will and all.  Wouldn't want ghosts pissed off at us.  We wanted her to rest in peace.

Funny thing, is... nobody ever wanted to come visit us.  We kept inviting my sister-out-law and her husband over for dinner every week, but they always declined... suggesting that they feed us, instead.  I wonder why?  Somehow, I don't think it was our cooking.

Still, it was one of my best years ever.  I was young and in love and living the dream of every hip, with-it kind of 70's pseudo-hippie. 

Good times... good times!