Thursday, July 29, 2010

Talk Thursday: Odds and Ends

But really I should call this a lot of bitching...

There are days when depression creeps up on even the most positive soul. And while that may not be my soul I get hit by bummed out bouts, too. At fifty-four I suddenly realized one of the biggest things in my life I miss (besides a bikini bod) is wrapping my arms around my little girl and being the center of her universe (right after chocolate ice cream and playing that is.) I don’t’ begrudge her growing up, it is part of the process; I envy her the same thing I am missing. She is the center of Burp’s universe (right after food and playing that is.) It is a vicious circle that begins and becomes bereft with each generation’s maturity.

Last night my brother called and chatted, whined, talked for an hour. Let me start this by saying, “I’m not a phone person.” I will think about calling my sister, whom I’m close to (in my family’s definition of close), for a week or two before I pick up the phone. This is my baby brother, of whom I am very proud, who just retired as a Sergeant Master Chief after 30 years in the Air Force. Did I mention he’s my baby brother by six years? Our mother spent the money and time to fly back to Georgia for his retirement ceremony, roast, and BBQ. Last night I was “privileged” to hear

1) Why doesn’t mom like my Monster Child? Okay, I call him Monster Child (to family and friends who aren’t my brother and sister in law,) I guess I really should come up with a better internet moniker for him. Monster Moppet? Moppet? That would probably be nicer.

2) He is afraid Mom is becoming forgetful. She forgot that she promised me great great grandfather’s humidor.

There is a long story (but true story) about my double great grandfather being a dollar a year man to a President who started out his adulthood as my double great grandfather’s roommate at Stanford. He was gifted the humidor by the president for his service to his former roommate/friend/president and country. Mom, had once said it was Buddy’s because it mirrored his service to our country. She apparently forgot, not that she’d given it to someone else. Oh, and not that there arent’ TWO, because excuse me, our other double great grandfather (who started American Fucking Express) had a humidor that will be passed down, too. Ach!

She also “forgot” to give Monster, er Moppet a birthday gift. “Hmmm, Buddy, are you sure mom didn’t leave something for Moppet?”

“Well there was this weird thing she did. She got these three water guns for him when she was here.”

Forgetful? Believe me I was a bit ticked at this point. “Buddy, did you stop to consider that Mom gave your son a piece of your childhood?” He didn’t understand. “Don’t you remember having waterfights when we were kids and dad would have the water hose and we’d have buckets, water balloons, water pistols?”

“Oh.”

3) Mom is not “doting” (my word not his) on Moppet, doesn’t she like him?

Buddy. Buddy. Buddy. Mom, tries very hard to let you raise your child your way, to not step on toes, interfere, over step your boundaries, or over stay her welcome. To.Not.Be. One.Of.Those.Mother.In.Laws. She treated each of her grandchildren as per the ways that their parents raised them. When she had Psam she knew she could say no, stick her in the corner, smack her hand, or swat her butt. When she was with Pinecone’s two, she respected their boundaries and knew what was expected. When Moppet was running around during one of the ceremonies (I believe it was a roast) my mother took Moppet outside so he could run around and not interrupt the goings on. Yes, they took a five year old to a roast with lots of military people, like colonels, majors, and such. I’m thinking a baby sitter would have been a much better idea. When they went shoe shopping, well I get images of him running everywhere and scaling the shoe racks because isn’t that what every well behaved little boy does? Mom had to walk away and act like nothing was going on.

Ach! Thank you for listening. That’s the tip of the iceberg.

Last weekend for our anniversary Ducky and I went to the casino for dinner. They have this Seafood Buffet that he’d been wanting to try. As our norm I made sure I had an extra twenty per person, because that’s our limit. Kind of like a big person’s pinball machine with out the rollers, flashing lights, clanging bells, and bumpers. Slot machines just aren’t the same. But, strangely we both walked out having paid for dinner and with twelve dollars extra – what’s that all about?

Wednesday we (Bob and Wayne) were suppose to interview Joe Diffie on the air. Bad cell connection. So Thursday they tried again. At the same time we (Bob) are trying to hook up the phone link, an earthquake rattles the Oregon Coast. We (Bob) hangs up on Joe Diffie. I’m rattling earthquake information in Wayne’s face, and he’s having a minor meltdown. When the connection finally happens, Wayne opens his mic and say,

“For those interested, yes we know about the earthquake, no there is no Tsunami warning posted by the National Weather Service. On the line I have with me Joe Diffie ….’

I looked at Bob and said, “Crap now we’ll never get him here for the concert.”

Saturday night Ducky and I are going to the casino to see Joe Diffie. I’m looking forward to it, KCST is sponsoring the concert so the tickets were free. Bob says that when he introduces Joe Diffie at the beginning of the concert he’s going to say,

“And now I present the biggest celebrity I’ve hung up on twice in one day, Joe Diffie.”

I’ll let you know how it goes.
Sith,
Cele


And so you don’t’ think Sunday is boring, Ducky and I have tickets to see Ringo Starr at the Cuthbert Amphitheatre (my favorite concert venue) with Pinecone and her hubby.

1 comments:

Psamanthe said...

I know we had a long phone (yes, both of us... on the phone at *gasp* the same time...) about Uncle Buddy, his uncivilized, heathenistic brat-child and money-loving, animal-saving, leather-wearing twit of a so-called VEGETARIAN wife... (ok.. I'm done name calling... but I'm better at it than you are...) and again... I want to express...

I very, very much encourage and support the idea of writing Uncle Buddy a letter. While you're afraid of closing doors... it's kind of like voting.. if you don't vote, you can't complain... Well, you can't keep quite and hope for change... Also, I've come to realize that issues like this, if not dealt with, will fester.. and grow and one day you will let loose and not just close a door.. but slam it shut and bolt it and nail the fucker closed..

All you can do is politely and respectfully express to him what a self-centered, stuck up little prig he's become.... and let him make his own choices... You can't make him pull his head from his ass but you can point out where his nose now dwells..

love you much..