Now Playing -
Now Eating -
Now Feeling -
Now Tweeting
- Melanie
I have attempted to imbue our home with some holiday spirit.
A string of lights has been hung on the balcony with care.
Various and sundry holiday-scented candles have been lit, because subliminal advertising works, folks.
The Huz's current cache of presents (and oh, he needs many many more, judging by how pitiful his stash looks so far) is now wrapped, and sitting on the tree skirt which has been carefully arranged around the tree stand.
The empty tree stand.
I'm hoping he gets the hint. Ideally, we could tree shop tomorrow evening, if the weather holds.
Just checked...showers. Seems like it's been wet every other day. Especially when I say to myself, "Gee, maybe we could get the tree tomorrow...."
I want my tree. I missed my tree last year. It's our first Christmas in the new apartment, and I want my tree.
Huz was dozing in bed when I got home (caroling at a holiday party), so we didn't get to discuss my decorating. He's sick again, for the third time in two months, and I'm sure it's a result of all the stress he's under. He hasn't had a chance to really "get well." But we're still dealing with doctors for his mom, so he won't get himself to a doctor anytime soon. He's taking her to the neurologist Tuesday. Christmas Eve. As he summed it up, "Merry Christmas, you have Alzheimer's." Which is essentially what will probably occur. But at least we'll have some sort of a diagnosis. And be able to take steps from there. Maybe get her on medication to slow things down. Maybe help her to realize that she really shouldn't be living alone.
It's difficult, this getting old. And watching those we love get old. Huz's father was almost lucky in a way, going as quickly as he did. Yes, it was sudden, and yes, it was a terrible shock, but I think I personally would prefer that rather than wasting away. In pain. Or vegetative, knowing practically nothing of my state, no longer myself, with my loved ones tortured by the knowledge that the person they knew and loved was no longer really there, that what they saw was just a shell waiting to die.
I wonder almost every day what will become of my parents. How long they will last, whose body will give out first, will it be quick, will it be lingering? And how they, of the symbiotic marriage, will react to the prospect of one going on without the other. My paternal grandfather was marking time from the day my grandmother died until he followed her. Marking time, living on soups and sandwiches, in his dusty Brooklyn apartment with the view of what I guess was Sandy Hook Bay.
He was the last of my grandparents to die. I still well up thinking that none of them ever got to see me graduate college, ever got to dance at my wedding, ever got to see great grandchildren born. I am jealous of my cousins who had their grandparents longer.
A while back, I was cat-sitting for my parents while they were on vacation (visiting my brother in NC? visiting my aunt in Canada? Don't remember.) My paternal great uncle died while they were away, and I attempted to go to the funeral, which was at the cemetery in Elmont where my paternal grandparents are buried (so is Andy Kaufman, by the way). It was pouring, and I went in the wrong entrance and, long story short, never found the funeral party. But I did visit my grandparents. And stood there in the pouring rain. And cried. And told them I'd found someone I loved, and who loved me, and that I was happy. And that I turned out okay.
Because I thought they should know.
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a very fine cat indeed - Friday, Jan. 17, 2014
happy new year! - Thursday, Jan. 24, 2013
this is where i am - Saturday, Jun. 30, 2012
this is how it is - Friday, Feb. 24, 2012
a very late last year's wrap-up - Wednesday, Jan. 18, 2012
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