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....

It Was An Accident! Honest!

I have a brother (we'll call him Waldo) who's 13 months younger than I am.  Because of our closeness in age and because my older sister thought we were total pests and refused to have anything to do with us, we used to hang out together a lot.  And it was usually my brother who came up with the good ideas for things to do.

When he was in about sixth grade  Waldo got a paper route.  He'd go out every day to deliver the daily news to the neighborhood... almost like the old fashioned town crier.  I was in awe of the great wealth he amassed from this gainful employment.  As a man of wealth, Waldo got to buy all sorts of swell stuff.  

Now, being children of the 50's, our heros had always been cowboys.  After playing "Cowboys and Indians" with pearl handled cap guns and suction cup bows & arrows for so many years, Waldo was finally able to buy a real live bow and arrow set!  

I still remember the day he brought it home.  We marveled at the sleek bow, which had to be carefully bent with a powerful arm to attach the string.  And the arrows! Wonderful pointy ends, the shaft fletched with real feathers.  So cool!

Not wanting to miss out on a moment of fun, Waldo ran outside to set things up.  The neighbor kids were also excited.  So much so, that one offered to hold the target for him.  

That would be the paper target.  

That he held between his two grubby little hands.

And he stood steady on as my brother notched the arrow onto the string.

And pulled back.

Whish!  Away the arrow flew!  How graceful!  How dramatic!  It arched upward into the air, sailing, sailing, until it found it's target!  

Lucky for the neighbor kid, Waldo had not yet perfected his aim.  He missed the bulls-eye.

No, it's not what you're thinking!  GEEZ!  How crazy do you think we are?  

Waldo only managed to wing him in the hand.  Seven stitches later, we had all learned our lesson.  

Or, so we thought!

In the attempt to avoid further accidents (and lawsuits) my parents started taking the entire family to a nearby indoor archery range.  It was really cool.  The targets were on conveyor belts so that when you were done shooting, you could simply push a button and the target would come to you so you could retrieve your arrows from the bulls-eye... or surrounding area.

One day, as we were enjoying the range, I was poised in the lane next to my older, more refined sister.  (She actually condescended to join us on this family outing and got dressed up for the occasion.  She was wearing a skirt, sweater and hosiery to impress the young men at the range... I'm sure she was looking really hot.)  This time it was I who notched the arrow, drew the string back to my ear and aimed at the target.  

As they say, always keep your eye on the target.

Just as I was about to let go of the arrow, someone said something to me and I got kinda distracted.  My fingers slipped and the arrow went flying.

No worries, though... it was headed in the right direction.... almost.

It only went slightly off course, making contact with a steel beam strategically placed between the lanes.  (Shit!  Who put that there?)  

Was it my fault the sucker ricocheted off the post, causing it to come flying back in the opposite direction and hit my refined, well dressed older sibling in the leg.  I mean big deal!  

You'd think I'd done it on purpose, the way she went on, screaming and yelling at me and shit!  I mean, it hardly even bled or anything... it didn't even stick in her leg for more than a fraction of a second!  And she didn't need any stitches like the neighbor kid did.  What a whiner! I think she just hated me and wanted to get me into trouble because it ran her nylons.

Anyway, neither Waldo nor I ever made it as Olympic archers.  Our interest in archery began to wane soon after that incident.  But it's not like the experience was all for nought.  I simply added this to my store of cautionary tales to share with the kidlets at school.  They all think I'm very wise... if somewhat accident prone.

Time for the Yearly Obligatory Inspection

So I got a courtesy call from my mechanic this week to let me know it was time for my annual inspection.  My car inspection, that is... I got my personal inspection last week at the gynecologist's.  Each year I wonder why you have to keep going to the gynecologist after you've had a hysterectomy... it's not like that sucker's gonna grow back or anything, so what are they looking for in there anyway?!

But, back to the topic at hand...

Vlad's car is also in my name, as insurance premiums tend to go up exponentially when a car is registered to a young male.  And it was time for his car to be inspected as well.  I decided to take his car in one day and mine the next.  (Vlad actually had to be at work before the shop opened, so it was up to me to make the morning delivery of combined auto parts that were still connected.)  I went out to get into his fine automobile, only to discover he had not yet unpacked it since he arrived home from college six weeks ago.  Including his dorm refrigerator.  With the door still attached and tightly sealed.  

Danger!  Danger, Will Robinson!

It's not like I expected the neighbor kids to break into his car, pry the mini fridge out from the other crap, squeeze their little bodies into it and await suffocation.  Rather, I was imagining the potential contents of said mini refrigerator bubbling and churning as they begin to rot and emit gasses within such a tiny, hermetically sealed space that was getting hotter and hotter in the summer sun.  God knows what all he's been keeping in there... including most likely the remnants of the last meal he made for himself at school, which happened to be fish.  I know this because he told me how proud he was of preparing this delectable taste treat... in fact he was so proud, he even took a picture of it.  

While I feel good that my child has learned how to fend for himself, there are a few things he has yet to learn.  Not wanting Jim and the rest of the folks at The Wire Wheel to think I was a total clod or anything, I walked into the office to drop off the keys and immediately beat them to the punch by telling them all about the refrigerator and other assorted crap before they could take a look at it and condemn me for being a terrible parent who raised a bozo who would leave a refrigerator in a car for six weeks in the summer.  We all had a good laugh over that.  As long as it didn't explode while they were working on the car, they didn't give a shit.  It was all good. 

So, the next day I went to take my car in, failing to realize that I had not yet unpacked all the crap from my camping trip last weekend.  Opening the back door to grab my brief case, I notice that not only is there firewood still in the back seat, there's a little bottle of propane strategically located beneath the wood.  Just ready for a little summer heat!  Boy, do I feel like a royal ass!  How do I explain that one? Actually I don't.  I just hope Jim and the guys don't notice!  

At last report, Vlad's car has yet to be unpacked, but at least my propane tank is now stored in a cool, dry place.   Look at the bright side... the mini propane tank could have been in the mini fridge.  Vlad and I are known for blowing things up, after all!

Guess we both just like living life on the edge!

Christmas with the Cat Lady

So... here it is, December 23 and not only are the stockings NOT hung on the chimney with care, the tree is not yet in the house and there are no gifts wrapped in sparkly paper.  Either this is the home of a confirmed atheist or non-Christian, or there's something dreadfully amiss.  

Or, could it be that there's something far more sinister afoot?  

Perhaps this is a move to delay the biggest holiday of the year for blatant economic advantage?  (Something only a cat lady would think of.)   

Just imagine... your friends take pity on you because you just haven't found the time to enjoy the holidays as they SHOULD be enjoyed.  You let them know that your life has been far too traumatic to let you even THINK about preparing for the holidays.   You tell them your spouse has left you, you've just quit your job, all your retirement fund just went up in smoke with the economic downturn and the electric company has just turned off your heat for non-payment of your bill.  (Never mind the fact that the spouse left 4 years ago, so that's old news, you haven't really quit your job, you never had any money in a retirement account anyway, and both the heat and cable TV are still working fine, thank you very much... a cat lady's cable would never be disconnected!)  

Here's what happens...

~Your friends come shovel out your driveway for you so you don't have to be a shut in for Christmas.  

~They stop at the pharmacy to pick up and pay for your anti-depressants so that you will be in a good mood.

~They take you to the Boy Scout Christmas tree lot to buy you the last tree available at this late date.

~They all invite you to join them for Christmas dinner.  (So you don't have to cook.)

~They ply you with free alcohol to boost your spirits.  (And even send you home with an extra bottle for the New Year.)

~They spend the afternoon stringing popcorn and cranberries for you to take home to put on your spindly Christmas tree.  (What ever you do, don't let them see the lush fir you have waiting in the garage.)

~They buy you token gifts in an effort to help you feel better about yourself.  (So you don't have to buy all those gifts and wrap them up for yourself to pretend like you have friends and loved ones.)  Meanwhile, they refuse to allow you to get them anything, as you're so emotionally and financially destitute, thereby enabling you to maintain a healthy bank balance.

~By hitting up several friends, you can amuse yourself for the entire day and bring home enough Christmas dinner pity leftovers to eat for a week.  (Or more, if you have a large freezer.)

Once the festive day is over, you can happily return to your own abode, drag the hidden tree in from the garage and begin decorating.  By this time, all the stuff in the store is on sale so you don't have to spend as much for gifts, you can get festive holiday wrap for next to nothing, your fridge is nicely stocked and the pesky relatives have all gone back to their own homes without bothering you.  You can ring in the New Year, enjoying more peace, joy and prosperity than you ever could have, had you actually followed the traditional schedule.  

Isn't that what the spirit of Christmas is all about anyway?  

P.S.  If you are a friend, or know any of my friends, this is not really about me.  Please do invite me over for Christmas dinner!

10 easy steps for becoming a crazy cat lady (without the cats)

In taking a step back to review my life as the New Year approaches, I find that I have become a crazy cat lady... without the cats.  How does this happen?  Let me enlighten you...

10 EASY STEPS TO BECOMING A CRAZY CAT LADY.... 

1.  Stop doing your dishes.... there's really no reason to do dishes until you have nothing left to eat off of.  Then you can simply polish up a fork with a your shirt tail.

2.  Always drop things on the floor when you enter your home.  Why use up extra energy to locate where the things actually belong?  Being a cat lady is all about conserving energy. Besides, that way you'll always know where everything is... in the pile just inside the door.

3.  Don't make your bed... you're just getting back into it the next night anyway.

4.  Don't bathe too often... it allows the natural oils on your skin to maintain that youthful glow.

5.  Never, ever vacuum... all the pet hair on the floor and furniture actually adds to the insulation value of your home.

6.  Don't go outside unless it's really necessary.  (For instance, like if the house catches fire.)  This keeps the warm air inside during the winter months, saving on utilities. 

7.   Don't answer the phone.  It's usually just someone who either wants to complain about something or who wants your money for some obscure reason.  Be sure you have special ring tones for individual friends you MIGHT want to talk to.  Limit yourself to three ring tones... saves on having too many people who actually know who you are.  A special ring tone for family members is especially important.  They may want to try to save you from being a crazy cat lady, so it's best to avoid them.

8.  Watch LOTS of TV.  The more senseless the program the better.  Talk shows are particularly useful for building your self esteem.  (They demonstrate how many people are crazier than you are.)  Remember, no matter how many other bills go unpaid... always keep the cable bill paid up... there are so many more possibilities for trash TV on cable than there are on regular TV.  (Although, I would also suggest paying the electric bill so you have the juice for running the TV.)

9.  Talk to yourself frequently... remember, you are your own best friend. 

10.  Always remember... there's absolutely no reason to actually have cats... simple black construction paper silhouettes in the windows will do just fine.  Much better to have a dog who will bark at strangers who try to come to the door to extricate you from your abode.  Plus, the dog is always glad to see you... cats could care less.

So there you have it... even if you maintain the facade of being a normal person in public, you too can become a crazy cat lady at home.  No one ever has to know... which makes you an even crazier cat lady than the usual one.  

Best wishes for a healthy and happy New Year!