Fill my Head
Your strong, silent stares
Was what we all needed
And the point
We would always behave
Seems like just yesterday
We were celebrating your birthday
And many more to come
Stories and drinks flew around the country club air
We had our special time together
We had fun everywhere—
Elmira and more
Now you are gone
Yet your memory lives strong
You are in me, Sar and Rae
And will never be far
Reunited with Pop
Forever you will be
Until we see you again
Our memories remain
I got a horrible news this past weekend that my Nanny (Grandma) was injured in a serious accident this past weekend. I have been an emotional train wreck. She and I were really close and I feel very thankful for the time I got to spend with her. The last few years, while living in CT, we have gotten to see her and spend ample time talking about all kinds of things and for this I am very thankful. Her death was unexpected, but luckily she held on til our family flew in Monday night. She was an awesome lady. Full of spunk, personality, wit, charm and most of all love for all. I treasured every moment I had with her and I know she is at peace. I have so many great memories and stories with her…she was the matriarch of a great family and we won’t forget her.
I love you Nanny. Rest in Peace, and we know you are with Pop now.
So during dinner conversations with the sisters and hubbies, I stated how I noticed I have to eat really slowly or I get this burn in my chest.
Me: I can’t eat. I think I am dying. When I eat, my chest hurts.
Sar’s Hubby: You probably have Gerd. It happens when you are stressed out.
Me: What was the source of your stress?
Rae and My Hubby (answering simultaneously): Sar!
THANK GOD this week is over. I have been surrounded by crazy people all day and I cannot get away. I think I am becoming crazy, there is no hope. Crazy pets, crazy drivers, you name it I have seen it.
On my way home from work today, I am driving in bumper to bumper traffic, I am not kidding you. The guy behind me and I merge over, pretty much at the same time. He sticks his middle finger up at me (like I somehow read his mind and merged at the very same second, HELLO, there is a big fat semi in front of me…..DUH) So, what do I do? I stick my middle finger right back up at him. Yea, I am from Brooklyn, YO. So, then he sticks it back at me. Ok, fun…so I do it back. He motions for me to move over…I shake my head no at him while cointinuing the middle finger war game. He then– full speed ahead merges ON THE LEFT (mind you in an oncoming traffic lane) and proceeds to force me to slow down, or be mauled by his stupid yellow Nissan Pathfinder.
I now officially HATE Phoenix. Why are the crazies following me from state to state, and why oh WHY can’t I get away…..I think I need help. Or pills whatever. Luckily, Rae is readily prepared with the booze when I get home…maybe it won’t be a bad weekend after all……
Ok, so I have another confession to make. I am ADDICTED to deleting. I can’t explain it, but I can admit to it. We have a DVR and I am OBSESSED with deleting. If the hubby isn’t home and hasn’t watched his recorded shows in a “timely” manner (yea, what I consider to be timely is usually a few hours…look I am confessing here….don’t judge) then I HAVE to delete them. I usually try not to tell him, but he usually notices. I really can’t help it, it is an addiction. I can’t explain the pleasure that runs through me as I am deleting something….be it in the DVR, my emails, my phone, you name it…if you can delete it I will. I think I might need to go to therapy for this……I even (sometimes) dream about deleting…I don’t know why. It makes me happy. Even my sister cannot get over my habit. The other day she told me I could delete her Dexter show cause she watched it at a friend’s house…then she changed her mind because she thought I would get “delete happy” and delete the wrong thing. Oh, she knows me too well. I would claim denial of course, but I am a bad liar and she knows it. Oh crap, do they have a deleter’s anonymous? I might need to attend and soon….before I delete this post.
Note to Readers: My sister only likes to read the blog when it is about her, so just remember, she asked for this.
For as long as I can remember I had to share a room growing up. It was the worst TORTURE you could possibly imagine. Not only did I NEVER have any privacy, but my annoying little sister would follow me everywhere. I now realize she wanted to BE ME (cause I was SUPER cool…and still am), but at that time, I so did not want to be seen with her. She cramped my style. So, sometimes, I had to get a little creative to get her in trouble.
We always used to pretend there was a line in the middle of the room, come on who didn’t? It was the dividing line. This line was critical to our existence together. It divided my stuff and hers and was never to be crossed by the other person without permissions or instant death (or beatings) could occur. As I recall, I made sure my side had the bathroom and the doors, so she would constantly have to ask for permissions for entry and exits (to which I could ignore if I so chose). I was very careful to make sure I always got the better deal. Whenever we would have room inspections, I would get all the praise. I was sooooooo clean; my side was always picked up. It was me who could go off to my friends house, while Sar stayed home and picked up her messy side of the room! It became FACT: I was the clean one, and she was Sarah the SLOB (no worries, names HAVE NOT been changed to protect identities).
But in reality, it was me who would shove stuff everywhere on her side. I would throw my toys on her side, I would throw my trash on her side….you name it, I shoved it. She never really caught on for the longest time…..I think she thought her messes just multiplied, when in fact, I was the culprit. It was awesome really. Not only did I have the better side, but I could get away with tossing stuff on her side of the room and plague her with the torture of cleaning her side—while I went off and played.
Life was good.
That is, until we moved into the new house and all got our own rooms…..soon the truth was out….Sarah the SLOB disappeared and Junky Jessi came out to play….ahhh the joys of sisterhood! J
Hubby and I are lying in bed reading. All of the sudden we hear the noise. The gagging, vomiting of Boston (cat) who previously just finished scarfing down his dry food. (I think he might be bulimic.) We stare at each other in disgust for a moment until I remember the GOLDEN RULE!
Me (proclaiming vehemently): NOT IT!
Hubby: What?! Why do I have to do it? I made lunches*!
Me: You know the rules! Whoever cries “not it” first doesn’t have to do it.
Me, Patches and Boston all stare while he (gaggingly) cleans it up.
Hubby: Enjoy the show?
And this, my friends, is why we should not ever have children! Because maturity was never one of my strong suits! J But, clearly, calling NOT IT is in the marriage rulebook—section, how to get out of gross things, right?
*Note: Lunches is a most hated task in our household, which whomever has the task can hold over the other in anticipation of getting out of any other hated task, however calling “NOT IT” trumps all—kinda like having a WILD card when playing UNO!