Archives—March 2009

March 2—Irish Eyes Are Smiling

I've been out of touch for a while due to recent family trouble. Although I'm well aware of the inappropriateness, I am going to post the whole story here since I don't feel like explaining it forty times to individual friends. Apart from being time consuming, it is also upsetting.

On Saturday, my dad and I went down to Houston because my aunt called to say that my grandfather had taken a turn for the worse (he had already been in the hospital for two weeks) and was not expected to live more than twenty-four hours. He is still alive, but just barely, which is miraculous since there's so much wrong with him. He was admitted to the hospital because of stomach trouble. He had a perforated intestine, and some blood got into his lungs, which led to pneumonia. They opened him up from stem to stern and found a large, malignant tumor in his esophagus (he smoked for many years). So, he's coughing because of pneumonia, coughing up things because of the intestinal trouble, and he can't swallow or speak because of the tumor. He's delirious half the time, and he's only intelligible ten percent of the time (if that).

We brought him some music to try to cheer him up or at least focus him. He likes classical and forties music, so we brought him Chopin, Schubert, Beethoven, and Glen Miller. Also, being Irish, he of course likes the Irish classics, so my dad and I went to Best Buy, and I bought a CD with his favorite, "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling," on it. He sang that song to my dad and aunt when they were small, and he sang it to me when I was small. So in the hospital, we sat him up in a wheelchair since he was trying to escape the bed. They had him in a bed with a tent-like net zipped over it (to keep him from falling out or escaping), and they put his hands in sponge-like mittens since he was highly agitated and fidgeting, either because he was hallucinating and fidgeting, or he was lucid and trying to escape, and they didn't want him picking at himself or unhooking anything. But he was much more lucid sitting up, so we put him in the chair and played "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" for him. He really perked up at that and was mouthing the words, as best he could without being able to speak. It was heartbreaking to watch (my aunt and I both cried a bit), though I know he got a lot of enjoyment out of it, which is what matters most.

So then my dad and I came back to Austin to feed the cats and pick up the mail and so on. We'll probably be back down there in a couple more days. Freefall and Bolie were nervous since we'd been gone two nights. They had plenty of food and water, but they were feeling neglected. They at least had each other for company; they'd been up to their usual mischievous tricks while we were gone. When I got back, the chair in front of my computer was sideways on the floor, and the keyboard was also on the floor. Nothing seemed much amiss otherwise.

. . . I will never cease to marvel at animals' knack for cheering up their owners. I was sitting here watching a video of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" and starting to cry, when I felt a paw tapping on my foot and looked down, and Freefall was sitting there looking up at me in concern. He usually doesn't announce his presence like that. He's still worrying, actually—I'd better take off and pet him; it won't do any good to have him upset too. And no doubt petting him will cheer me up too.

March 13—I'm back, though maybe not for long.

Happy Friday the 13th, everyone. (Does anyone else remember King Friday XIII from Mister Rogers? Oh well.)

I'm back from Houston; we got back last Friday. My grandfather is still hanging on and doing better. I still don't know if he will ever leave the hospital, but if he does, he will almost definitely not be allowed to live on his own anymore. So my dad and I went to his house and did nothing but clean for three days. Well. My dad ran the tractor outside (pushing dirt up against a corner of the house where there was some erosion), and I got the glorious job of cleaning up the squalid interior. I mopped the kitchen floor four times, scrubbed the shower three times (and it's still awful), and filled ten trash bags with used tissues, old newspapers, etc. I filled another four or five bags with old clothes for Goodwill, and I washed and put away the new stuff my aunt had bought for him that he never got around to actually wearing. I dust mopped, EndDusted, and still didn't get to everything. In a few more weeks we'll likely make another trip.

We took the cats with us. Bolie completely shut down the first day and hid under the TV all day with his tail tucked. In the middle of the night, both cats explored the house (Freefall got lonely and howled and wouldn't stop till I collected him). The next day, Bolie calmed down and was open for business. Naturally, it was not to last: On the return trip to Austin, Bolie clawed a hole in the side of his soft shelled kitty carrier and wet himself (you can imagine the joys of traveling with a urine-soaked, hyperventilating cat bounding around the inside of a Jeep hurtling down 290), so we had to pull over and put him in the hard shelled carrier with Freefall, meaning both cats got baths when we got home. My dad washed Bolie, and I washed Freefall since he responds better to me.

Anyway. I have posted pages for a cute pair of basic mittens (still no working camera; sorry). For more entertaining updates, I have updated klutzy incidents, the political blog, tech theatre gigs and the accompanying FAQ, and—yes—ARSE!

March 14—Pi Day

It's Pi Day again. I have nothing to note regarding the occasion seeing as how I am not mathematically inclined.

In other news, I'm gaining a little weight. This is a good thing. I lost at least ten pounds that I shouldn't have while I was living at Kirston's; that was a big part of why I moved out. I wanted to gain that weight back plus a little extra for work; I have to do a lot of heavy lifting in theatre, which means I need to gain some muscle. One of the riggers told me I needed to gain about thirty pounds (I need to get up to about 120), so I bought weights and weight gain formula and set to it. It's quite difficult; my body seems resistant to keeping weight on. I've gained about four pounds in the last month. I want to speed that up, so I'm going to have to remember to eat more.

Now that the Borders job has ended, I'm looking for another crappy retail job. I hate those things, but they're the only jobs flexible enough to work with theatre and film work. I have an interview at a Wendy's on Monday morning. I expect to get the job since I worked at a different Wendy's for a year and a half and was one of the best employees there. That's not a terrific source of pride, but I met some interesting people and got some funny stories out of it. More to the point, I was able to work my way through school with that job (and a couple of others, and some grants [financial aid]). Anyway, with the Wendy's job should I get it, I think I will save up and get some pro audio gear for myself. I'm really sick of having to pass up work because I don't have the equipment.

Anyway, I have updated klutzy incidents and the political blog.

March 15—Philosophy of Life over Lingerie

Tonight I was doing laundry and thinking about life. I had an interesting weekend; I talked to friends Dom and Ralf from Houston. Dom and I talked briefly about drama queens, and he gave me some awesome advice: "Throw that shit out."

That is why Dom got a hand knit blanket for Christmas.

So. I started some laundry earlier, and when I got out of the shower, I folded the laundry and hung the lingerie on my shower curtain to dry (typical female) while contemplating life. I was thinking about different philosophies on life I've encountered.

I remember, some years ago, I was sitting on the bus on my way to UT one morning, and an older woman a couple of seats ahead of me was talking to her seat mate about her career. She said she had retired from the navy after twenty years, and she had joined apparently out of boredom. She said she had graduated college, gotten a job, and was bored to discover that all she did was go to work, come home, and pay bills. She called her dad and asked him, "Is this all there is to life?" and he said, well, yeah. So she joined the navy, presumably for something more adventuresome. I wonder if she found it, or if even that grew weary after twenty years.

Recently I read something online about men cheating on their wives because they were looking for more excitement. The (presumably female) author said that the men were bored and blaming their wives for their failings. She said that of course life was not going to be a riot; it was all paying bills and cleaning out the lint trap and picking up cat poop.

I have to wonder, is this quest for excitement just drama? Is this watching too many movies (in which case I, with my still-packaged degree in film, am partly to blame)? Why is it that the mundane tasks must be so dreadful? Why is it that these people do not derive more pleasure from just living? I know I'm hardly the most optimistic person in the world, but, I reflected as I tossed my overpriced thongs over the shower curtain rail, there's so much more. I suppose that is what they mean when they say life is what you make it. You can make it miserable by bitching about aging and chores, or you can make it fun with art, literature, music, films, friends, and family (if you have a decent one).

Of course, maybe it's only easy to look at life like this when you have tiny lace thongs to toss over shower curtain rails.

March 17—Happy St. Patrick's Day!

As probably everyone knows, I am part Irish, so, happy Saint Patrick's Day, everyone. My holiday was spent installing a new dishwasher. I got to pay for half of it, too. I dislike plumbing because you inevitably get wet, and there's always something that smells bad. Having said that, I was working with my dad, which made it rather funny. By that I mean his "oh dear" reaction when I inevitably dropped a screw down the drain which took forever to extract; he had to get out a flexible retrieving tool to remove it. I used to have one myself that I used to recover socks that had fallen behind the washing machine, but I lost it. It's probably on the floor behind the washing machine. Anyway, my dad later got back at me by making "bzzt" noises as I fiddled with the wiring, and then he spilled water all over the floor (not at the same time, thankfully) when he opened the box with the new dishwasher in it. They test them in the factory before shipping them, and thusly the hose still had water in it. This, naturally, came immediately after I had mopped up all the spillage from removing the old dishwasher.

I would also like to report that working on the floor is somewhat terrifying. You think your kitchen floor is clean, and then you come face to face with it when working on, say, a dishwasher, and . . . let's just say I shall be cleaning tomorrow on my hands and knees. I shall probably clean under the sink as well; I think the cleaners and small tools under there should be sorted and easy to find, or at least, I want to be able to find the little wrench that unclogs the garbage disposer. We keep a long stick (colored black on one end) in the garage that serves the purpose better, but I think I would rather, next time, use the wrench since I asked my dad which end of the stick was the handle end and which got all the nasty stuff on it. Said question was followed by an uncomfortably long pause featuring many facial tics, at the end of which he totally unconvincingly informed me that the black end was the handle end. I'm not touching that stick ever again.

Anyway. I've updated the quotations pages, klutzy incidents, and the political blog.

Happy St. Patrick's Day again, everyone. I trust my next one will be marked by a complete absence of plumbing-related fiascoes.

March 23—Happy Birthday, Kirston!

That's all.

March 27—Going to Houston for a Bit

I am headed down to my grandfather's place for the weekend. My dad and I are both going, and we're taking both cars so as to take more stuff. That, of course, indicates that we are beginning the moving process. My grandfather is still in the hospital and recently took a turn for the worse; I'm not sure whether he's stabilized or not. Either way, my dad and I will most likely be back in Houston for good by the end of the year. Right now we're just focusing on moving the nonessentials and cleaning. So while I expect to be back Monday, I might stay a little longer. There's a lot of cleaning to be done.

I know the political blog isn't working; sorry. I don't have time at the moment to fix it. I'll have to deal with that and the klutzy incidents section when I get back.

I do have a new section, though. I suspect everyone reading this site knows about my love of literature. Thusly I present to you the reading section. There's not really anything there yet except a page with a list of my books, and another page listing books I do not have but want. The latter is what you should consult if you want to give me a present.

March 31—Back from Houston

I went down to my grandfather's place on Friday and returned Sunday afternoon. I didn't really get a lot done since I got more than I thought done last time. There's still plenty to be done in the house, such as washing a large collection of sheets, but I didn't really get started since I was trying to finish up the basic dusting and tidying of books. My dad did a little work outside on the tractor. Next time, I expect to start cleaning out the barn (which is actually an ugly steel building the size of a six car garage). It's filled with tools and such.

I saw Kirston while I was down there. We were going to meet for breakfast Sunday morning, but he texted me as I was getting ready and said he couldn't do breakfast since he'd been throwing up all morning, but I was welcome to stop by anyway. I did. I brought him soup (for later), tea, honey, and a large water bottle. I also gave him some eight tracks my dad said he could have, plus I lent him a couple of books. I showed him my Obama sweater, which he called cute.

I'm exhausted, so I'll update properly tomorrow.