I am alive

I am sure by now anyone who has cared to read my blog in the past has given up. But, if you are still with me, I thank you. My life has been crazy the last several months and I am starting to feel with it again. At least with it enough to consider vomiting my thoughts and feelings out into the interwebs for all to see. So, with that said I am going to bed and will try to start keeping this thing updated. The need for sleep overrides the need to blog.....sorry.

Love you all!!

bleh

My house is a mess. I am sitting here looking at the pile of stuff on the table and thinking how it would be good for me to clean it off. It might be a good idea now that February is coming to a close to put the Christmas decorations away. I know I would be more relaxed in my home if it were tidier. I know I would have more energy to work on fun house projects if I didn't have a list of not fun ones staring me in the face. But alas (love that word), I just don't wanna. I think I will go take a shower instead.

My Dad

My earliest memories of my Dad are from pre-school. I was either three or four and he would visit the school in his police car teaching all of us about how candy and medicine can look a lot like each other and we should never ever eat anything without knowing for sure its okay. I was always so proud of him in his uniform. With his busy police schedule he was often gone at night til after I was in bed and I loved getting to see him at school. One time he wasn't able to make it because of police stuff, he was able to come for the afternoon group though. I was babysat in the afternoons in the house just up the drive from the church where the pre-school was. When he drove in Jerem Feltman (boy who I was babysat with) and I peeked around the corner of the house. Of course my dad saw me as as all the afternoon pre-school kids were around the police car he got on the radio loudspeaker. "Molly M------, get down here!" I was thrilled of course and ran down to see him. Most of my early memories are like this, quick snips. He was busy, I was young. I also remember when I broke my arm while my mom was in Hawaii and he took me to get the cast put on. He and my brother and sister teased me that I had this funny new purse and why would I keep my arm in it. I thought my dad was a hero and the smartest guy in the planet. He was fun too. He drove for a field trip to the airport when I was in first grade and I remember him singing with us in the car. When I was in third grade he started working on the North Slope, being away for two weeks and then home for two weeks. Even though I missed him he was always there for concerts, plays, dance recitals and important holidays. I made him a card one year that said, "I love you little, I love you big, I love you like a big fat pig" My sister and I still joke about that card. I loved my dad, and I know he loved me. As I got older it was harder. He wasn't there all the time. We had two sets of rules at home, one set when dad was home, one set when he was at work. It was also like I had two dad's. My sober "good" dad when he was at work and all conversations happened on the phone. And the alcoholic frustrating dad who spent all his time at the Moose Lodge.

That’s something I could never understand. How could he not drink on the slope for 2 weeks at a time, sometimes longer. Yet when he was home he couldn’t stop drinking.

I always knew. It was right there in front of me, but I never acknowledged it. One time in high school my dad was picking me up after I had stayed late to work in the photography lab. I was excited about the work I had done and wanted to show him. The moment he got out of the car I could see how much he had been drinking and I knew my classmates would see it too. I was embarrassed, and it forced me to admit that my dad was indeed an alcoholic.

Since graduating from high school and moving out of state I have been largely out of touch with him. He came for my wedding, walked me down the aisle. But we didn’t talk much. Calling him on the phone was difficult, if the timing wasn’t right he would be too intoxicated for the conversation to make any sense.

I called him to tell him he was going to have another grandchild and he cried. He was so happy. He loved his grandson long before he was even born. And once Miles was born my dad would call, and sometimes was sober when he did, and ask about him and called him Inches, “because he wasn’t big enough to be Miles yet”.

When Miles was 8 months old I took him to Alaska to meet his grandfather. It was also a good bye in a sense. My dad had been drinking way too much and eating way too little. He was in the hospital, under nourished and very sick. By the time I got up there I didn’t know what to expect, but I wasn’t sure if I would ever see him again so I made sure to take Miles with me. He was home by then, skinny but doing ok. He wasn’t drinking much, but he was still drinking and of course smoking like a chimney. I basically told him that I really wanted him to get to see Miles grow up and that in order to do so he would have to stop smoking and drinking. I wanted him to be able to teach Miles how to hunt, and to take him fishing. I also knew that would never happen. But I hoped.

That was June of 2006.

Since then my dad and I have talked perhaps 5 times. He remembered my birthday. He would call very rarely and see how Miles was doing. It was like talking to a stranger every time. Since I had seen him he was diagnosed with Addison’s Disease which was very controllable if he would remember his medication. If he didn’t remember he would pass out. Hitting his head, knocking out his teeth, bleeding everywhere. He was still drinking, occasionally making an attempt to go to rehab, but never did.

He called me in early January, left a message. He wanted to make sure we weren’t floating away in the heavy rains we had been having down here. He sounded drunk in the message and I never called him back.

On January 21st I had gone shopping with a couple of my coworkers. On the way back to the museum my phone rang and it was my brother. I had just seen him, he and his wife had visited, so even though he never calls me I didn’t think it was too strange.

“Dad’s gone” is all he said. He was crying.

“gone?” – me

“He’s dead” my brother says, sounding nearly hysterical

I don’t know really what was said after that. I came back to work, organized a couple of things and went home. Headed to Alaska the next day. That’s another story.

Since then I have cried, been angry, kinda bitchy really. I have run the whole gamut of emotions. I don’t regret the last 2 ½ years where my dad and I really didn’t talk much. I had to have it that way. There were too many times I was disappointed by him not being there. If I accepted the fact that he wasn’t then I couldn’t be hurt. What I didn’t really realize was how much I hoped deep down inside that he could change and I would have a dad again. I see it now with how often I see or hear things and think how he would have enjoyed them. Mitch and I visited Depoe Bay over on the coast the other weekend and I realized how every time I visited I would think about how much my Dad would have loved it there, with the harbor and all. I always thought that someday he might come back to Oregon and I could take him there. But he never did.

I loved my dad, I always will. I imagine some day I might figure out how to deal with these emotions I have been having. How do you ever accept the death of a parent, especially when they were only 66 and shouldn’t have died yet?

Wish I had a picture

While at a friends house tonight Miles was playing on the floor in the kitchen. I grabbed him between my two feet in an attempt to slide him across the floor. He says to me,

"hey, I'm not an egg!!"

(like penguins, get it?)

So funny and cute (and intelligent I must say)

Resolutions

I resolved many years ago not to make New Year’s Resolutions. I always felt that people would make all these promises to themselves and others and that by the time the first month was over most were forgotten. What a waste. Because I am unhappy about some things in my life and want to change them I feel compelled to make resolutions this year. A list of those things I want to improve. I will not beat myself up over it…that is important. These are things I would like to have happen in my life in 2009 (and beyond).

1) Eat healthier. (& drink more water) I have been doing fairly well during the day, resisting the temptation of multiple sodas and passing on vegetables with meals. I love veggies actually…not sure how people don’t like them. But at night after Miles has gone to bed and I am sitting and reading or watching TV the sweet tooth comes out to play and all I want to do is eat chocolate and candy. Right after the holidays is terrible, we are always given at least one box of chocolates and then there is Ellen’s fudge. Terrible. I cracked a box of candy last night. I ate more than I should have (more than one) but I did stop. I think the secret will be to have no sweets in the house, or very little and to have more fruit around. I have also been drinking a lot more tea and that seems to help with the cravings a little. I don’t want to list this as a “lose weight” desire. I do want to lose some of the pounds that never left after Miles was born, but, I am not technically overweight (on the upper edge of “healthy”, but not overweight). My main concern is the tendency of the women in my family to type II diabetes. Belly fat is a big indicator of risk and I do have excess belly fat.
2) Exercise. I really don’t, ever. I do walk a lot with my job, especially on Saturdays, but I need to be more active in the evenings. Go for more walks with the family, play outside, something. I am tempted to get a Wii Fit….not sure how good I would be at using it, but it is supposed to be really fun and effective if used correctly. The basics is, I am in my thirties and need to be healthy now if I want to be healthy in my 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.
3) Be more Creative. I always talk about it, I have tons of ideas. I need to do them. In the evenings after Miles goes to bed, on Mondays when I am off work. Bottom line is: I am happier when I am creating and I have way too many unfinished projects. I have no excuse except for laziness (and sometimes a really good book). I also want to take more classes and workshops as part of this.
4) See my Friends. The majority of my close friends live in Portland. I need to make more effort to see them and hang out. We talked on New Years about going dancing once a month. I am all for it. My working Saturdays has really impacted my social life. Partly because I feel guilty if I take time for myself after Mitch has had Miles all by himself all day every Saturday, partly because I am just plain tired after a Saturday at work. But I need to do it, much like the other things above, this is for my mental health. The first date has been set, I can’t make it because of an overnight at work, but, I will be there for February. I have to be.
5) Either learn to love my job, or find a new one. I think that explains itself. Things are better, will get even more so once the evil boss leaves for Peru and I only have the one good boss. The fundamental things about the company that I don’t like will never change. I have to decide if I can live with that. I also have to decide if I can live with working every Saturday.
6) Blog More. I am happy when I am writing. It allows my mind to work through things and think about them and share them. Doesn’t matter whether anyone reads it, at least its out there.

That’s about it for now. Those are the basics, or at least the ones I am willing share on the internet. We’ll see how I do.

Ho Ho Ho

Christmas this year was fun. Miles was very into the whole idea and for the weeks building up to it would shout when he saw Christmas lights on neighborhood houses, "Christmas Lights!! It's Christmas Time!!" As well as knew that although it was Christmas time, it wasn't Christmas day and therefore not time to open presents.

For the almost two weeks leading up to the day we have had terrible weather. Being an Alaskan girl I look at the snow and think "so what?" and then remember that Oregon cities do not have the equipment or personnel to deal with snow, and that Oregon drivers think they know how to drive in it but don't and my reaction is that I am better off staying home warm and safe. Miles had a week at home because his daycare was closed and by Saturday even with the falling snow we decided to go to Portland and visit Nina, Loki and Carter. They had a lot of fun in the snow.

Miles is a bit like me, he likes the snow but didn't want to be out in it all day. He had his fill and then came in for some snuggles. We had planned to hit Kelly's for a holiday party the next day but the weather was getting bad enough that we headed home Sunday morning instead. We made it fine, but it was slow going with chains.

Around 430 on Sunday we were all cozy and warm when we heard this very loud, very strange noise come from outside. Then it happened again. Going outside we see some neighbors out to investigate as well. The noise is coming from the transformer up the street. There are now sparks etc flying out occasionally. Mitch and I unplugged our computers and waited. We didn't have to wait very long. Sparks flew and the tree was on fire. At this time I was trying to call PGE, which is what the news had said to do, and of course no one answered. Then I tried the police non-emergency number where because of a long menu of choices I was unable to get a person before I was told of the tree being on fire. So I dialed 911, it was busy. Redial, busy again. Redial, got through to a recorded message telling me to wait. By now the transformer has exploded in huge brightly colored flasshes of light and noise and the power has gone out. As I am waiting a police car drives up the street. I hang up. I get a call back within ten minutes from 911 and I explain the situation, she thanks me says an officer is on site and hangs up. We are in the dark.

After handing Miles a flashlight we pack up our things and head to my mom's. On Monday we come home to check it out, still no power. The cat is totally freaked out, we pack her up to take to my mother in laws. We also throw away stuff from the fridge, resuce what we can. Get more clothes and head out. Although not snowing at the moment the roads were quite slushy and slippery. When we get to Linda's I am getting the cat out of the backseat and Miles is climbing through the front to get out, I shut the door, on his fingers....I am a terrible mom and should be beaten. I am always so caeful to watch for where his hands are and this one time I don't and he gets hurt. We put snow and then ice on them. He can move them, theres no broken skin, he calms down. Turned into a bruise and thats about it, I still feel awful though. We settle in the cat, head to the drugstore for tylenol for Miles and hit McDonalds for a happy meal.

Now we are just heading back to my moms on the ither side of town. Its starting to snow again and we have ditched our thought to go to the mall. Then a chain flies off our car, I pull into a parking lot which happens to have an auto supply store, they are out of our size. So we head on with one chain. Stop at another store, they are also out of our size. Finally get back to my moms and settle in with drinks all around.

Tuesday. I have to go to work. Mitch drives me downtown where a coworker picks me up in his truck. The drive out was slow and slippery but we made it. Mitch had to go to work too but was delayed. Miles' daycare was open for awhile as well. There was no-one at the museum. We left around 430 and only almost went off the road once. But the power was now back on at my house so we could all go home. The roads were decent enough that I could run out and finish some Christmas shopping.

Wednesday. Christmas Eve. We did have some shopping to still do so made some quick runs in the morning. The roads were mostly clear, just wet.

Christmas Day was great. Miles woke up around 715 and was very excited by his stocking ans his presents. We then went to Linda's for brunch and more presents. Then to my moms for dinner and of course, more presents. Dinner was wonderful. My Grammie was there and a good time was had by all. The parking lot was a mess and we almost didn't make it out with the ice and the slanted driveway, but we did.

Saw Mitch's dad and family day after. They all seem well. Mitch got to play tech support for the new computer.

Some pics of Miles Christmas morning at our house. He made out like a bandit.

Dead Jim

When I was a little girl my Uncle Jim sent his wife and children to the store and then shot himself in their kitchen. A terrible thing to do, a terrible way to die, he was apparently a terrible man. My aunt is much better off without him in her life and so are my cousins. But, it doesn’t excuse the selfishness of his actions and the negative energy that he sent into their lives that permeates to this day. I would assume that it has been since that day that in the family he has been known as Dead Jim. I am not quite sure how it started and whether it was a way to delineate him from another Alive Jim or if it was just how my family found a way to cope with a horrible thing.

Many of his clothes, including a horrendously ugly 1970’s polyester suit went to my father. For some reason my dad loved this suit, and for many years he would wear “Dead Jim’s Suit” for certain types of special occasions. He was finally convinced to get rid of it I believe some time in the 90’s…..

The reason I think of this today is because of Curtis. My friend Curtis who died in 2006 was a good guy, married to one of my best friends. We all liked him. He took photos at my wedding, made the day memorable and special. He was diagnosed with cancer and about 6 months later he passed away leaving behind his wife and one year old son. We miss him and think about him often.

Christina, his widow, recently cleaned out all of Curtis’s clothes and gave many items to my husband. Luckily no double knit polyester suits that should really only be burned. This morning Mitch asked me what I thought of the sweater he had put on. We are going to my company holiday party tonight so he was trying to look nice. It was a very nice sweater and one I had not seen before so I asked where he had gotten it. He said it was one of Curtis’s. While I was driving to work I was thinking about Mitch and the clothes that used to belong to Curtis and although I know Christina gave them to him, I wonder how she actually feels when she sees them on him. Does it make her think of Curtis? Does she get sad? Is she happy someone can use them? Then I thought of Dead Jims Suit, and I had to wonder what my Aunt Lane thought every time she would see her brother wearing the suit of a man who not only hit her but then took his own life, shattering hers. Although the sweater technically no longer belongs to Curtis, and the suit no longer belongs to Dead Jim, they still do in a way. What does that mean to the living?

Many cultures through history and around the world will bury their dead with all of their earthly belongings so that they will have them in the afterlife. I must wonder if that is the full true reason, or if it also may simply have hurt too much to keep using the belongings of the dead in their everyday lives, when that person was no longer there. I hate to think what I would do if someone that close to me died, but I don’t know that I would be able to keep that much around. I have some items of my Grandfathers but I don’t use them and tend to keep them hidden away. A friend I grew up with died about 5 years ago and I have some little miniatures that he gave me one Christmas that I also have hidden away in a drawer. Every time I see them I get sad that he is gone, but smile at the memory of that Christmas, the last time I saw him.

The dead leave trails in our lives. Their spirits linger, we have strong memories brought about through dreams, smells and images. But they also leave their junk behind, and what is the best thing to do with it. Should we throw it out on the lawn and put up a sign “free dead guys stuff”? Or should we keep it close and hold on to their essence and their smell that they have left behind. Should it be different whether we loved them or hated them, or hated to love them as the case may be?