to help pay the bills is bad enough, but when the person I was working for turned to me and said, “You really have no education, do you?” it was all I could do to not walk out, to not say something extremely rude, to not kill her silence her with my own bare hands… I don’t need this shit.
TAXI!!!! Can I go now? I leave Sunday for the beach! Woohoo!
Summer is going well so far. I had forgotten how much more food our kids seem to consume when they’re off school. It seems as if they were born with hollow legs. Also, Polly has been having friends spend the night, and the addition of a few more mouths to feed has made it always time to run to the store. I have been hitting the farmer’s markets this year, as well as a store that I found quite by accident that sells items directly from farmers, resulting in huge savings. With the plan to freeze a lot, I went a little crazy. They had these huge bags of red and green peppers for sale for $2.99 per bag. I had planned to roast some, and then maybe make stuffed peppers. I ended up chopping a whole bunch to freeze so they wouldn’t go bad. Add to that chore the vast quantity of Oregon berries I just had to buy, by the flat, of course, and I have been spending a lot of time in the kitchen. Oregon strawberries are so good that I couldn’t resist. They are so sweet and juicy that they really put the California berries I had been buying to shame. I wanted to stock up, but with all of these kids to feed and the possibilities of numerous desserts, not to mention just plain snacking, and it doesn’t look as if they will be lasting as long as I had hoped. Maybe I should buy some more before the season ends. Alex and I talked it over and decided to buy a food processor. I had a blister on my hand from all of the chopping, so my “yes” vote was admittedly biased. It arrived today from Amazon and I haven’t tried it out yet. Alex mentioned that if we had more tomatoes he could whip up a batch of salsa, but I don’t want to go to the store again.
My Mom bought a house so she is very stressed right now. She closes in less than 30 days. It is a nice ranch style, three bedroom, 2 bathrooms with an attached garage and a beautiful yard. It is about 15 minutes from my house by car, but it’s walking distance to my sister Maria’s house, so at least we won’t have as much worry with her being so far away from family as she is now. I know that her tastes run more to the large 2 or 3 story Victorian style houses she has always been drawn to, but I convinced her that a one level house would be easier for her, especially in the years to come. She already has one artificial knee and her doctor has said it is only a matter of time before she needs to have the other knee done and also a hip. She just can’t have all of those stairs to deal with. I reminded her that she promised to pay someone to move her so I am secretly hoping she doesn’t even ask me. Why can’t my mom like rattan furniture? It’s so light.
Not much else going on here. We have decided to send Nathan back to high school in the fall. He needs the social interaction and I am not the best home schooler in the world. Trying to get a 15 year old with ADHD to study is hell. I did manage to get him to read a few books though, and I am happy to report he is now reading for pleasure. He even asked me to take him to Powell’s book store the other day and I almost passed out. Polly was mad that I was so excited because she is always asking me to take her to Powell’s, but Nathan has willingly read a book in years.
My camera is still in the shop and I am starting to get pissed. I want it back! Alex asked me if they had sent it to Japan when they told me they were shipping it out to be repaired to keep costs more economical and I had to admit that I hadn’t asked them.
We are going to the beach for five days next week and I am looking forward to getting out of town, even if it does mean shaving parts of my body that usually go neglected.
We had a barbecue today, complete with guests, in honor of father’s day. Alex had to work all weekend last week so we celebrated today. I of course got very nervous and made too much food and worried too much, but I ended up calming down in time to relax and enjoy my family. It was a very good day and I am very tired now. Polly has a friend spending the night and it is nice to hear them giggling together in her room. I made this potato salad today that I found on epicurious. com. You can serve it warm or cold. I didn’t bother soaking the onions and I used Baby red potatoes because that’s what I had. They didn’t need to be peeled. I also added extra lemon juice and dill because I like to play around with things. It was a big hit.
WARM POTATO SALAD WITH LEMON AND DILL
Soaking the red onion in cold water mellows its strong flavor.
Active time: 15 min Start to finish: 40 min
2 lb small yellow-fleshed potatoes such as Yukon Gold
1 small red onion, finely chopped (1/3 cup)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup sour cream
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup chopped fresh dill
Cover potatoes with salted cold water by 1 inch and bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, until potatoes are tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Reserve 1/4 cup cooking water, then drain potatoes in a colander.
While potatoes are boiling, soak onion in cold water 15 minutes, then drain in a sieve and pat dry.
When potatoes are just cool enough to handle, peel and quarter, then toss with lemon juice and salt in a large bowl.
Whisk together onion, sour cream, mayonnaise, dill, and reserved cooking water in a bowl until blended. Whisk in salt and pepper to taste, then add to potatoes and toss to coat. Serve warm.
Makes 4 to 6 servings.
There has been a whole lot of construction going on in our neighborhood the past couple of weeks. We knew this construction was coming, and we considered selling our house like many of our neighbors did, but we ultimately decided to stay here. When the work is completed property values will rise. Right now it’s a noisy pain in the ass, just as we thought it would be. The one thing I never thought of when I was considering whether we should stick it out here was that our utilities would be turned off frequently. Our water has been shut off four days out of the last seven. Usually they turn it off from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. Our electricity has been off for two days out of the last week. We are truly roughing it right at home. I told Alex we should pitch a tent in the living room and tell the kids this is their summer camping vacation. I thought that the power being off would bug me more than the water, but aside from the worry over the food in the fridge and freezer going bad, I miss water more. I like being able to flush the toilet, thank you very much. I like washing my hands. The last day the water was off I was ready for it. I had bottled water; I filled the kettle; I filled buckets with water; I did all of the dishes and laundry; I watered the garden; I placed hand sanitizer by each sink. Still I mourned the loss of water. Oh indoor plumbing, why did I ever take you for granted? I hope that they won’t need to turn the utilities off again anytime soon.
I have been working a lot on June’s garden. It is looking so beautiful that I get garden envy and spend too much of the money I am earning on plants for my yard. Yesterday I planted the lupines and delphiniums that I had bought. I was so excited about my new flowers that I mistakenly thought that Alex and the kids would be excited too. I sang the lupine song from Monty Python. Alex didn’t remember seeing it, but he smiled anyway. Who have I married? I was raised on Monty Python. I asked him where he thought I should plant the new flowers and he admitted that he really didn’t care. He said I could plant whatever I wanted anywhere I wanted, so I told him that I was going to dig a hole in the middle of the front lawn and plant a zucchini plant there. Ha! Now he’ll regret his words. June gave me some plants that she no longer wanted. She gave me a lilac and a red rose bush. She hates red roses and wants to replace all of hers with yellow roses. I am gardening on a budget here; I appreciate the free plants. A friend of my mom’s gave me so many bearded irises that I don’t know what to do with them all. I have been a little overzealous in my digging and planting. My back has been hurting badly the past few days. It’s difficult to stay in the same position for any stretch of time so I haven’t been on the computer as much.
Nathan and Polly are doing well. It is getting difficult to find things that they both like to do. Part of me believes that it isn’t my job to entertain them, and then another part of me feels bad when they whine about being bored. I spoke with them about it last night and they both agreed that they would like to go swimming. It looks as if I will be squeezing my white as snow body into a bathing suit once again. The last time that we went swimming we went with my sister Monica and her two daughters. When I arrived at the pool my niece Erin stared at me for awhile before saying, “You look funny, Aunty Tammy.” I had just bought a new suit and you all know the horror of the first time you wear the new suit in public, right? I froze for a second. Erin grinned up at me and said, “I’ve never seen you without any pants.”
Thanks for sticking around to raise your kids, and for helping out so much with all of your nine grandkids. I know that it hasn’t been easy. I can remember you working three jobs to feed us. You taught me the importance of keeping a sense of humor about it all. You always remind me to never let anyone talk down to me, ever. You still tell me that I can be anything I want to when I grow up. You have never laughed at my dreams, however unrealistic they might be. You have shown me what it means to be brave. You have shown me that I don’t have to be in a relationship to be complete. You have taught me the importance of friendship. Thank you for never turning your back and running away. You are the best Dad I’ve had.
Not much going on. My Mom is starting to feel better, although she’s still feeling a bit off , as she puts it.
Polly has finished school for the year. Nathan has discovered that he likes to read again, after swearing off it since 5th grade. I tried to tell him, it depends on the book. My camera is still in the shop. The had to ship it to Canon for parts. Next time I think I’ll get a Nikon.
Me, I am O.K. I have been working a lot. I feel as if I need to make a crucial step, but I am unsure what I am supposed to be doing. I feel as if I am waiting for something to happen to me, when I should be out there making it happen. Tired. I feel so tired.
“Baby, I’ve been waiting,
I’ve been waiting
Night and day
I didn’t see the time,
I waited half my life away
There were lots of invitations
And I know you sent me some,
But I was waiting
For the miracle,
For the miracle to come”
Leonard Cohen
“Do not swallow Tylenol PM if there is any chance in hell that your mother will call you and tell you that she thinks she’s having a heart attack.”
“If you ever need anything please don’t hesitate to ask someone else first” Kurt Cobain
Anyway, advance notice: I haven’t slept in a long time, but I feel compelled to post this, so it shall be written, warts and all.
Last night, after feeling the effects of swallowing the above mentioned pills and gratefully crawling in between my sheets and passing out, my cell phone rang. “Mom calling” it said on the screen. I pushed the answer button and mumbled something. Right away I noticed something was off by the tone of her voice. “Are you O.K.? You sound mad.” I asked.
“No, I am not O.K., I am having pains in my chest and I think I am having a heart attack.” was the stern reply. I instantly bolted upright in bed. “Have you called 911?”
“No, and I don’t want to.” (It should perhaps be added here that my mom lives 20 odd miles from my house in a city outside of Portland. I don’t know how many miles it is exactly because I think in bus rides, not distance.)
“Anyway”, she says, “this is really important, I need you to write it down and tell the doctor.” I scrounge around and find a pencil on the floor as well as Alex’s favorite bedtime reading magazine, the one a lot of men probably fall asleep looking at, PC Magazine. I start writing across its cover. “Tell the doctor I took 2 Aleve 30 minutes ago with a cup of tea, black, no milk.” Now I know something is really wrong. My Mom has never drunk a cup of black tea without milk in her life. If faced with the prospect she will drive to the store to buy milk.
I start pulling on jeans and frantically looking for my purse. “Are you still having pains? Hang up and dial 911!” I exclaim.
She is breathing very fast and every once in awhile she’ll gasp loudly. “No! I am not calling 911! I don’t want my neighbors to know my business, and I don’t want those people in my apartment!” She says those people as if EMTs are the enemy.
“For lunch I had lamb soup and for breakfast I had toast and tea, NO MILK, and I forgot to take my Celebrex today..” Still confused as I run around pulling my nightgown over my head and pulling a shirt on I dare to ask her why she’s telling me what she ate.
“Because I think I have indigestion, but I don’t know, it might be a heart attack.”
At this point I play strong daughter and I say, “That’s it, I am calling 911 for you.”
In a voice so angry she gave me chills she says, “Don’t. You. Dare.” She then asks me if I would grab the kids and take a cab to her apartment. I scrounge in my purse and see two ones and a handful of change. All of my money is in the bank. Do cabs take debit cards? I don’t even know.
I run downstairs and search for the home phone. It is time to ask for help. I ask my Mom if she has her Nitroglycerin tablets. She shakes the bottle into the phone so I can hear them. I encourage her to take one. She refuses, telling me they give her the worst headache she’s ever had in her life. Right here, at this point, my husband would say “if your mother refuses to call 911, if she has time to tell you everything she ate and she is refusing to take her Nitroglycerin tablet then she is not having a heart attack.” But see, my Mom, she’s tricky like that. She had a heart attack when I was a little girl. My parents, my three siblings and I were having dinner at a friend of the family’s house. My Mom had a heart attack at their house but didn’t want to ruin dinner for anyone, so she didn’t say anything until we were headed to the car and she clutched my Dad’s arm and whispered that she needed to go to the ER.
I find the home phone and dial my brother while listening to my Mom talk about chewing three Rolaids, and won’t she feel stupid if she goes to the hospital and it’s a stomach ache? I try the “better safe than sorry” line. My brother’s not answering his phone. I decide to call 911 myself, but I can’t find my Mom’s address. I just had it the other day. I dump my purse all over the living room floor and sift through the contents. At this point Nathan is awake and sensing that something is wrong, he starts pulling on clothes and shoes too. I try to use hand gestures to tell him what’s going on. I give up and scratch the details on a piece of paper and call my sister Monica.
My sister, while not a doctor, has her degrees in Science and works in a field where she wears scrubs and sees patients daily. She has been seen with a stethoscope around her neck and it wasn’t Halloween. She is the one to sit by at family dinners if you think you might need CPR or the Heimlich maneuver. Everyone goes to her with their health concerns. Why didn’t I call her first? I give my cell phone to Nathan and tell him to talk to his Nanny (the grandkids call her Nanny) while I talk to my sister. I can tell as soon as Monica answers that she was fast asleep when I called. I tell her the situation and she says, “Oh, this is fucking ridiculous.” That’s one thing that I really like about her; she swears so infrequently that when she finally does, it has impact. Monica quickly decides that if my Mom isn’t going to call 911 she is driving over there and taking her to the hospital.
I take the phone back from Nathan and talk with my Mom. She is scared. I tell her Monica is on her way. She sounds as if she’s crying. She wants to be taken to her regular hospital in Portland. She’s worried that everyone is going to be mad at her if it’s not a heart attack. I explain that is ridiculous, that she has to take care of herself. She asks me if Monica was asleep. I lie. I try to encourage her to do the breathing techniques that I do when I am having a panic attack. I ask her about taking an aspirin. Are you supposed to take an aspirin when you think you’re having a heart attack? She says she’s already had her one aspirin for the day. I tell her she can have another one but she shoots down that idea. I mention the nitro tablets again. She shakes the bottle again, but refuses to take one. She describes this lamb soup she made. She sounds funny, sleepy, far away. “I bought your sister some cookies. Do you think it would be weird if I gave them to her?”
I tell her to go ahead. I can hear the package crinkling in her hands; they’re Arnott’s Biscuits from Australia. I remember how excited she was when she found a shop that carried them. She bought some for all of her kids.
I hear my sister arrive. My Mom says to her, “I am feeling better. If you could just drive me to Tammy’s house, I want to sleep over there with her.” My sister’s voice is loud, strong, and firm, “I drove all the way out here and you’re going to the fucking hospital.”
“O.K., after the hospital I want to go to Tammy’s.” my Mom sounds like the child in the room.
Why didn’t my Mom call Monica in the first place? I’m no good at crises.
She is whisked right in at the ER. I curled up on the couch with Nathan, waiting for my phone to ring with the latest update. My sister calls me when she can, telling me of the tests. I feel bad for not being there. Finally they admit my Mom. She ends up staying in the hospital for almost 20 hours. Diagnosis- Extremely high blood pressure, low blood oxygen levels, very low potassium levels and this time, no heart attack. The doctor tweaked her medications and told her she needs to go to see her physician. She is now tucked into bed.
Yes, I know I didn’t handle the situation properly. I should have had my Mom’s address accessible and called 911 immediately despite her protests. I do have her address by the phone now, but shit, I hope nothing like that happens again. It’s times like this that I am glad not to be an only child.
When the blackness descends I have to remind myself that I will pull out of this; that this is, in fact, the reason why I wake up each day and swallow a handful of pills. I am feeling way down and dragging through the motions. Feed the cats. Feed the kids. Load the dishwasher. Fold the clothes. Notice that we are low on milk. Walk to the store. I almost got hit by a car on the way. The driver puts his head out the car window and yells, “Nice tits.” I raise my hand to flip him off, but it’s too much effort, so I drop my arm back by my side. This whole right turn on red thing here drives me mad. The cars don’t even stop; they just speed around the turn. I used to think I would surely die in this fashion and I made an effort to make eye contact with every driver who came thisclose to hitting me. I don’t know what good it would do but I had an idea that at least if they looked into my eyes… Maybe I was planning to haunt them.
At times like this Alex asks me what’s wrong; tells me that I am acting weird. I shrug, say nothing. There’s no way to describe it, really, unless someone’s lived it. I once heard it (depression) described as trying to run in jello. My Mom had given me some article she had saved from Reader’s Digest. I couldn’t finish it. I liken it more to sinking in quicksand. I had a phobia of quicksand when I was a little girl. My brother and I saw some movie; I can’t remember the name of it, where someone drowned in quicksand while helpful people on the edge tried to hold out sticks and ropes to pull him out. After I asked my older, all knowing brother if quicksand was real, I asked him where it was. “Oh, it’s everywhere. You just never know when you’re going to fall in.”
“Does it suck you down fast?” I asked trembling. “Very fast”, he said, “once you fall in there’s zero chance you’ll get out.” I think he was right. While other kids were joyfully splashing in puddles I was walking all the way around them, just in case. Because you never know. It’s everywhere.
My Mom and I went out to lunch on Thursday. I really love her for coming to get me out of this house sometimes. We went to a restaurant my brother loves and eats at frequently. Everything on the menu is vegetarian or vegan so he recommended that I go there, certain that I would love it. I didn’t realize that my Mom was going to create a big scene when we walked in the door, announcing that I was Matthew’s sister! The staff told me that I had to sit at the table my brother ate at. They joked that they were considering putting his name on it. It was right in front of the window. I would have chosen the one way in the back, in the corner, but no matter. It was all worth it listening to my Mom try to pronounce hummus, tempeh, tabouli, and tofu. Poor lady, she had no idea what to order. I had to talk her through it. I ended up getting a vegetarian Reuben. It had the most delicious dressing on it that kept running down my hands and tempting me to lick my fingers, but I resisted the urge and used my napkin. My brother was right. The food there is great, affordable, and the portions are huge.
Afterwards my Mom went to some camera shop she had heard printed photos from very old black and white negatives and I sat on a park bench and smoked a cigarette, watching the people walk by. I know very little about North Portland. When I was younger it was a predominantly black neighborhood with a lot of beautiful old houses, most of them very run down. It was considered dangerous for whites to venture that far north. I went over there on the bus with an ex-boyfriend who happened to be sporting blue hair at the time. It was the 80s. A group of guys tried to pick a fight with him as soon as we got off the bus. Realizing it was hopeless to try and talk his way out of the fight he ended up grabbing my hand and we ran. We ran until we came upon another bus and after we jumped up the stairs the driver looked at us and said, “What the hell are you two doing in this neighborhood?” Truthfully, we had been using the bus as a place to make out and we didn’t realize how far into what was then referred to as the ghetto we had gotten until the bus screeched to a halt and it was the end of the line.
My brother bought his house over there before it became trendy. Now I don’t even recognize North Portland.
I wandered into a bookstore. Every so often I’ll say something to Alex like, “I saw the funniest thing today. I wished that I’d had a camera so I could have taken a picture of it.” He will sigh and remind me that I always have a camera on me. It’s called a cell phone. I always forget about its picture taking ability. My Mom joined me in the bookstore, stating that she knew I would end up in there. “Leave Tammy alone somewhere and she’ll always find her way to the nearest bookstore.” I didn’t tell her that the first place I had considered walking into had been the dark looking little dive bar across the street, followed by the coffee shop, before I settled on the bookstore.
As I walked around I saw so many books that I wanted to read. Just about everything was full price and I like to buy my books used or get them from the library, so remembering my cell phone at long last I pulled it out and snapped photos of the titles that interested me so that I could add them to the list of books to read I have at home. I was proud of myself for thinking of it until my Mom started following me around and offering to buy me every book I took a picture of. I realized she was embarrassed by my behavior. I found an Anne Tyler book I haven’t read in the dollar bin and bought that.
My camera is in the shop being fixed so ya’ll are stuck looking at headshots of me taken on the same day. Only the expressions change, but I managed to not smile for any of them. Before I took my camera in I asked Alex what I should say was wrong with it. “You’re paying them to tell you what’s wrong with it.” He replied. So off I went to the shop, set in down on the counter, and told the woman I wanted to have my camera fixed. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked. I knew it! Arghhhh. When I got home I told Alex in that “I told you so” tone of voice and he said didn’t you tell them about the whatchimacallit and the whosit and the whatsit? I didn’t understand a word he was talking about. I just nodded yes. Of course I had told them. I can’t wait until it’s done.
I feel better having typed this out. I feel good enough to curl up on the couch and to take a little nap for maybe an hour or so.
I went to see her the day before she went to the hospital to have her mastectomy. Even though she knew I was coming over she greeted me in a bathrobe, her long hair hanging down uncombed. Besides the robe and the messy hair she looked the same. I thought there would be fear in her face, but she was calm. She talked in her usual way, animated, with her hands moving this way and that. As she was always so modest I was surprised when her robe worked its way open, her breasts came out and she continued talking and pointing at things only she could see. Her breasts were beautiful, a pale white with the lightest pink nipples; they looked as if they had never been seen by the hot eyes of the sun. I felt as if I shouldn’t have even seen them, but there they were, and there I was, and why do we hide our beautiful bodies anyway.
It was only later, after she had dressed, that she mentioned her surgery. She asked me if I thought her vain because she wanted to have implants. I didn’t hesitate before saying that I felt she should do whatever she wanted to with her body, whatever made her comfortable. “At my age!” she said, and snorted out a laugh, “Imagine.”
I smiled.
Her breasts had felt the touch of her lovers; her breasts had nursed her babies. That day she spent saying goodbye to a part of her own body, and she spent part of that time drinking tea with me. She offered me cookies, no longer concerned with every calorie she ate. I ate them and couldn’t help wondering if I would be so calm, so strong, if the roles were reversed. The doctors had already told her that her prognosis wasn’t good. She said, “I might not make it”, shrugged, and reached for another cookie. I took another one myself and we sat there together, the room filled with the fragrance of the flowers she had cut and placed on the dining room table. We both used our free hand to catch the crumbs as they fell from our lips and gazed silently at the flowers in bloom outside the window.
One of the (dis) advantages of working for someone who doesn’t know me very well is that she assumes that I can do just about anything. Take yesterday, for instance. When I arrived she showed me where she wanted a brick wall built, and then three separate brick flower boxes all at different levels. I looked with horror as she pointed and then I said, “There’s no way I can do that without mortar.”
She had already thought of that and bought mortar over the weekend.Curses, foiled again. I figured that she deserved fair warning so I said, “Uh, I’ve never done this before.”
“That’s O.K., there are instructions on the package” she replied and walked away.
For years now I’ve seen Alex do just about anything he wanted to do, and do it very well, even if he had never been taught. It’s infuriating. My Mom claims I am visual, maybe I am just slow. I seem to remember seeing something on TV where a man was placing bricks down, spreading mortar, and then placing more bricks down. I decide what the hell? I’m winging it baby; I am winging it. And I did. I was rather pleased with the finished result, even if it was far from perfect, but I did it with my own two hands. When June came out to take a look she looked for a long time. I was afraid what the words would be when they came, but she nodded, smiled, and said, “I like it. It looks rustic, just the way that I wanted it to.” Then she tells me to come in and wash up for lunch. It always cracks me up the way that she tells me to wash my hands before I eat, as if I am a little kid. As I was washing my hands I started to wonder what she meant by rustic. Is rustic even a compliment? Here I go again, picking conversations apart, word by word. Why do I torture myself in this way?
Good lord, look at what I found when I was doing a search for rustic.
1. Of, relating to, or typical of country life or country people. See Synonyms at rural.
2. a. Lacking refinement or elegance; coarse.
b. Charmingly simple or unsophisticated.
3. Made of unfinished or roughly finished wood: rustic furniture.
4. Having a rough or textured appearance; rusticated. Used of masonry.
rustic - awkwardly simple and provincial; “bumpkinly country boys”; “rustic farmers”; “a hick town”; “the nightlife of Montmartre awed the unsophisticated tourists”
bumpkinly, hick, unsophisticated
provincial - characteristic of the provinces or their people; “deeply provincial and conformist”; “in that well-educated company I felt uncomfortably provincial”; “narrow provincial attitudes”
Oh well, hopefully it will all look better when the flowers get bigger. Tomorrow, who knows what she’ll have me do?
Maybe I’ll spin straw into gold.