Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
ho ho ho
I had a nice Christmas. I tried not to let the bastards get me down, as they say. They succeeded, but not completely.
I called my Aunt (I'll call her "Bernice") yesterday. The conversation went like so:
Mary (me): (cheerfully) Hi Aunt Bernice! It's Mary. How r u?
Bernice: (laughs) Could be better. Having trouble walking.
Mary: (sympathetically) I know. We were hoping to stop over today about 4:30. Is that ok?
Bernice: Where are you going?
Mary: Rockville Centre
Bernice: You're not going to see your father?
Mary: No, Bea is going today. DH went yesterday and we're going tomorrow.
Bernice: Are you sure you're going tomorrow?
Mary: Yes, we're planning on it.
Bernice then went into a tirade about my not seeing my father, etc. My father had requested that we not come in on Christmas Day since DH and DS had gone there Christmas Eve, that Bea was coming Christmas Day. It would be too many visitors for him. Did I think to explain this to Bernice? No, I caved.
I don't know what it is about Bernice. She always gets me rattled. She never has anything nice to say. Whatever happened to pleasantries such as these?:
- Merry Christmas to you too!
- So nice to hear from you.
- Did you have a good Christmas?
- How are the children?
- Of course, I would love to see you. That would be wonderful.
- How is your father?
Bea and Bernice are two peas in a pod. I thought that Bernice - unlike my father and me - was too smart to fall for Bea's tricks. I was wrong. Bea has been manipulating Bernice, lying to her about what is going on with my Dad. She has Bernice thinking that DH and I are horrible.
I called my Aunt (I'll call her "Bernice") yesterday. The conversation went like so:
Mary (me): (cheerfully) Hi Aunt Bernice! It's Mary. How r u?
Bernice: (laughs) Could be better. Having trouble walking.
Mary: (sympathetically) I know. We were hoping to stop over today about 4:30. Is that ok?
Bernice: Where are you going?
Mary: Rockville Centre
Bernice: You're not going to see your father?
Mary: No, Bea is going today. DH went yesterday and we're going tomorrow.
Bernice: Are you sure you're going tomorrow?
Mary: Yes, we're planning on it.
Bernice then went into a tirade about my not seeing my father, etc. My father had requested that we not come in on Christmas Day since DH and DS had gone there Christmas Eve, that Bea was coming Christmas Day. It would be too many visitors for him. Did I think to explain this to Bernice? No, I caved.
I don't know what it is about Bernice. She always gets me rattled. She never has anything nice to say. Whatever happened to pleasantries such as these?:
- Merry Christmas to you too!
- So nice to hear from you.
- Did you have a good Christmas?
- How are the children?
- Of course, I would love to see you. That would be wonderful.
- How is your father?
Bea and Bernice are two peas in a pod. I thought that Bernice - unlike my father and me - was too smart to fall for Bea's tricks. I was wrong. Bea has been manipulating Bernice, lying to her about what is going on with my Dad. She has Bernice thinking that DH and I are horrible.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
FALL FOLIAGE @2009 BY MARY PECK
Newlyweds KIM and STEVE are celebrating with family and friends at their swank "destination wedding"
in Aruba.
CHARACTERS:
KIM: the blushing bride, with a taste for the finer things, loves being the center of attention
STEVE: the groom, easygoing, gregarious, fun-loving
DIANE: Kim's mother
MAYA: Kim's friend and bridesmaid
LUPE: a kind, unassuming waitress
SANDI: a pretty young barmaid
CHELSEA: friend of Steve and Kim
LUKE: Chelsea's estranged husband
ERIC: friend of Steve and Kim
SCOTT: friend of Diane's family
HEATHER: friend of Steve and Kim
JARED: Heather's wise-cracking husband, a guy with a middle-class upbringing who has worked his way up the ladder
The guys are at the bar. The gals are exchanging pleasantries with Kim, Kim's mother Diane, and the bridesmaids.
LUKE: (to barmaid, putting two bucks down) Hey beautiful! Vodka tonic.
SANDI: You got it
ERIC: You got Molson?
SANDI: For you – anything.
CHELSEA: Kim, you look gorgeous. I love the details.
SCOTT: Indeed. Is that Vera Wang?
CHELSEA: Oh, Mrs. Mullin, you look beautiful. So good to see you.
SCOTT: That color is absolutely stunning on you… stunning! I love it.
DIANE: (putting arm around Chelsea) You too, sweetie. Please, call me "Auntie Diane".
CHELSEA: Oh
SCOTT: (picking up a poinsettia) Oh, my, I just adore these centerpieces! I just love a Christmas-y wedding.
DIANE: You look lovely as always. How are the children?
CHELSEA: Good, thanks.
DIANE: And the little guy? Is he trained yet?
CHELSEA: (glancing over at Luke at the bar) Umm…
KIM: Mom? He's not even two years old yet!
CHELSEA: (realizing Diane is referring to the baby) Oh, we're working on it
DIANE: Well, you were all trained by six months.
KIM: Oh, c'mon… we were not.
DIANE: Oh, yes. (to Chelsea) Sweetie, if you ever need anything, you know I'm just a phone call away.
CHELSEA: Yes, thanks.
LUKE: another vodka tonic
A group of waitresses is staring and pointing at Luke. They push one of the women forward.
LUPE: Excuse me, I don't want to bother you, but it's not for me, it's for my grandson Keith. He's 7. You're his favorite player.
LUKE rolls eyes, wordlessly scribbles his initials on a napkin and hands it to Lupe.
LUPE: (a little disappointed) Oh, thank you. (she walks back to show the other waitresses)
JARED, HEATHER and MAYA walk over to the bar.
JARED: Hey, hey, hey!
ERIC: Whassup man?
LUKE: (checking out Heather and Maya) Hey
ERIC: (to Jared) Heard you got a promotion. Congrats!
JARED: Thanks, man. That extra money comes in handy with the kiddies, I tell ya. Especially with the economy the way it is.
ERIC: I hear you, man.
LUKE: (to Heather) Whassup, doll?
HEATHER: Same old. Nice to get a break. Seventh graders, I tell ya. Then it's home to my three. But I wouldn't trade it for anything.
JARED: Oh, Heather's gonna be in a pageant.
LUKE: Well, you should slay 'em.
JARED: Yeah, it's for "over 40" chicks.
HEATHER: (bristling at the "over 40" part) Well, it's a "Mrs. Long Island" pageant.
ERIC: You'll be great.
SANDI: (agitated) What's your talent? Baton twirling?
HEATHER: Actually, I tap dance.
LUKE: Care to give us a sampling?
HEATHER: Here? I don't think so. Maybe after a few more of these (she hoists her wine glass). Um, I understand Chelsea used to compete in pageants.
LUKE: (agitated) Yeah, back in the day.
HEATHER: Oh, remember my cousin MJ? She says hi.
LUKE: MJ? What does she look like?
JARED: Like a human bowling ball. (Jared waddles. Heather playfully smacks Jared.)
You'd never know those two were related.
LUKE: Yeah, if she looked like you I woulda remembered her. She here?
JARED: No, they didn't make the cut
LUKE laughs
STEVE comes over to the bar.
ALL: Steverino!
To be continued…
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Fat woman walkin'
Went walking today, unfortunately it was cut short b/c my dirtbag neighbor is out of jail again. Nice, huh. See, some folks, including the dirtbag himself, have objected to my calling him that word. He was on his bike, did a wheelie like he was a little kid, and glared at me. I made it home ok, called the cops and social services again.
social services has done nothing. cops say they'll "check it out".
this "kid" has been nothing but a menace since he moved in here. he's broken into houses, cars, smashed windows in his house when intoxicated, and I could go on and on.
the father has defended him
after stealing things from us he continued to loiter in my driveway on his cell phone, while his parents were in la la land, when I couldn't take it anymore one day, called him a "dirtbag" and told him to get out of my driveway. Now some people think I antagonized him by doing so. So the next time he saw me he stared me down and screamed "get out of my driveway".
I basically am ok w/most of my other neighbors, but I am puzzled by their reactions. One says he does work for the kid's mother and she's "very nice". I don't know how nice she is if she lets him go around and break into houses. I've seen other parents let their kids hang out with him, the same neighbors that shunned my son with LD who doesn't bother anyone.
I don't get it. The parents were never held accountable for not keeping a closer eye on their kid. I have sympathy for a lot of people, but not this family.
social services has done nothing. cops say they'll "check it out".
this "kid" has been nothing but a menace since he moved in here. he's broken into houses, cars, smashed windows in his house when intoxicated, and I could go on and on.
the father has defended him
after stealing things from us he continued to loiter in my driveway on his cell phone, while his parents were in la la land, when I couldn't take it anymore one day, called him a "dirtbag" and told him to get out of my driveway. Now some people think I antagonized him by doing so. So the next time he saw me he stared me down and screamed "get out of my driveway".
I basically am ok w/most of my other neighbors, but I am puzzled by their reactions. One says he does work for the kid's mother and she's "very nice". I don't know how nice she is if she lets him go around and break into houses. I've seen other parents let their kids hang out with him, the same neighbors that shunned my son with LD who doesn't bother anyone.
I don't get it. The parents were never held accountable for not keeping a closer eye on their kid. I have sympathy for a lot of people, but not this family.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
good morning
There is much to be thankful for.
Good friends, family, just being alive even if it is a little too chilly for my liking...
My fear is that some folks will read this blog and go "gosh, what a complainer..."
Yeah, I am one. But I feel better already just having b*tched.
Ok, I'll try to find the positives and talk about those for a change. That would be liberating.
Meanwhile, I hope you all have a great day. Later...
Good friends, family, just being alive even if it is a little too chilly for my liking...
My fear is that some folks will read this blog and go "gosh, what a complainer..."
Yeah, I am one. But I feel better already just having b*tched.
Ok, I'll try to find the positives and talk about those for a change. That would be liberating.
Meanwhile, I hope you all have a great day. Later...
Monday, November 30, 2009
Dad
I don't understand.
When I was a child my father tickled me to the point where it hurt and I begged him to stop, which he didn't. Then he'd hold me down and say: "I could kill you if I wanted to."
I was a little kid and my father was a big man. I was powerless against him.
My father screamed at me all the time and called me names. I was "mental", a "snotnose brat" and a "thankless kid". When he drank, it got worse.
I wanted my father to love and accept me. Nothing I ever did was good enough. I felt like it was all my fault. If I tried harder, did better in school, was prettier, etc., then he wouldn't treat me this way.
I was terrified to tell anyone. My mother said "What goes on within these four walls stays within these four walls." and "The Bible says to honor thy father and mother." When I got a bit older I heard about a group called Alateen. I wanted to contact them in the worst way. But I was too scared. I was afraid that my father might find out and kill me.
So I harbored this secret my whole life. I went to several counselors but couldn't bring myself to tell anyone. I keep hearing my mother's words in my head. I tried to move on. I tried to forgive.
When my mother passed away there were some people who constantly asked me "How is your father?". It was hard to steer the conversation in another direction. I would mumble about how he sings, plays cards, etc. I didn't know what to say and I still don't.
I became increasingly active in Catholicism, the faith in which I was raised. Obviously I still harbored resentment towards my father for the way he treated my mother and I when I was growing up. However, I felt the need to "honor" and "forgive" because that is what my religion had taught. He was a difficult, arrogant man. Still, I kept trying.
While I think that on some levels my mother was an enabler, I believe that she was frightened of my Dad, that he might kill her and/or me. I also think she thought she was doing the right thing by being the good, obedient wife. A deeply religious, traditional Catholic, she had made a commitment before God and His Church.
When my father became ill and hospitalized, I took care of his affairs. His personal life and financial matters were a mess. Still, I kept trying. I went to visit him. He got up out of bed to use the bathroom. He knew that he wasn't supposed to do so without consulting the nurse but he did it anyway. He shushed me not to tell the nurse. His roommate became agitated and said he shouldn't do that, he could die. The nurse came in and admonished him. Dad became angry at her and threatened to leave the hospital.
DH and I continued to visit. He had only a handful of visitors. I prayed and sang hymns over his bedside with the Sisters at the hospital. He wanted to get out of there. I told him that the nurses said he couldn't leave yet, he was still too weak. He called me a liar and a charlatan.
He finally went to a rehab facility, the best of all that DH and I had visited. The staff was kind to him, but he was abusive and uncooperative. Pulling out tubes, refusing to eat, removing the DNR bracelet. Now he's in another rehab place, behavior hasn't changed. People try to help him and he's nasty. Last times that I saw him he had nothing but horrible things to say to and about me. He forcibly pushed my head away.
I left the room. I went into the ladies room and sobbed. I tried to compose myself. I went back into the room. More abuse. Back to the ladies room. Same thing. Repeated this the next day.
I can't do it anymore.
I have a DH and three children. They are my family. I love them. DH still visits Dad. Dad is still nasty. Someday DHs picture will be depicted in stained glass if he keeps going.
I'm in church on Sunday and the priest is going on about forgiveness and whatnot and my insides are a jumbled mess.
When I was a child my father tickled me to the point where it hurt and I begged him to stop, which he didn't. Then he'd hold me down and say: "I could kill you if I wanted to."
I was a little kid and my father was a big man. I was powerless against him.
My father screamed at me all the time and called me names. I was "mental", a "snotnose brat" and a "thankless kid". When he drank, it got worse.
I wanted my father to love and accept me. Nothing I ever did was good enough. I felt like it was all my fault. If I tried harder, did better in school, was prettier, etc., then he wouldn't treat me this way.
I was terrified to tell anyone. My mother said "What goes on within these four walls stays within these four walls." and "The Bible says to honor thy father and mother." When I got a bit older I heard about a group called Alateen. I wanted to contact them in the worst way. But I was too scared. I was afraid that my father might find out and kill me.
So I harbored this secret my whole life. I went to several counselors but couldn't bring myself to tell anyone. I keep hearing my mother's words in my head. I tried to move on. I tried to forgive.
When my mother passed away there were some people who constantly asked me "How is your father?". It was hard to steer the conversation in another direction. I would mumble about how he sings, plays cards, etc. I didn't know what to say and I still don't.
I became increasingly active in Catholicism, the faith in which I was raised. Obviously I still harbored resentment towards my father for the way he treated my mother and I when I was growing up. However, I felt the need to "honor" and "forgive" because that is what my religion had taught. He was a difficult, arrogant man. Still, I kept trying.
While I think that on some levels my mother was an enabler, I believe that she was frightened of my Dad, that he might kill her and/or me. I also think she thought she was doing the right thing by being the good, obedient wife. A deeply religious, traditional Catholic, she had made a commitment before God and His Church.
When my father became ill and hospitalized, I took care of his affairs. His personal life and financial matters were a mess. Still, I kept trying. I went to visit him. He got up out of bed to use the bathroom. He knew that he wasn't supposed to do so without consulting the nurse but he did it anyway. He shushed me not to tell the nurse. His roommate became agitated and said he shouldn't do that, he could die. The nurse came in and admonished him. Dad became angry at her and threatened to leave the hospital.
DH and I continued to visit. He had only a handful of visitors. I prayed and sang hymns over his bedside with the Sisters at the hospital. He wanted to get out of there. I told him that the nurses said he couldn't leave yet, he was still too weak. He called me a liar and a charlatan.
He finally went to a rehab facility, the best of all that DH and I had visited. The staff was kind to him, but he was abusive and uncooperative. Pulling out tubes, refusing to eat, removing the DNR bracelet. Now he's in another rehab place, behavior hasn't changed. People try to help him and he's nasty. Last times that I saw him he had nothing but horrible things to say to and about me. He forcibly pushed my head away.
I left the room. I went into the ladies room and sobbed. I tried to compose myself. I went back into the room. More abuse. Back to the ladies room. Same thing. Repeated this the next day.
I can't do it anymore.
I have a DH and three children. They are my family. I love them. DH still visits Dad. Dad is still nasty. Someday DHs picture will be depicted in stained glass if he keeps going.
I'm in church on Sunday and the priest is going on about forgiveness and whatnot and my insides are a jumbled mess.
hi all
I hesitated whether or not I should write this blog. I don't want to hurt innocent people. I have grappled with whether or not I should "out" someone because they were abusive to me and someone that I loved dearly. Thing is, some people I care about deeply think that the abusive person is a good guy. They don't know what happened. If I "out" the abuser, these folks might be hurt. Chances are good they will be. I don't want that. My God, I don't want that.
But I am a loose cannon ready to explode. The aftermath of my abuse has been a lifetime of dysfunction. I have PTSD. I love my husband and children with all my heart. I love my friends. I feel like I can't be the person that I want to be with them. A good friend of mine keeps asking me "are you ok?". She knows something is wrong. I keep telling her that "I'm tired" but it's so much more than that
But I am a loose cannon ready to explode. The aftermath of my abuse has been a lifetime of dysfunction. I have PTSD. I love my husband and children with all my heart. I love my friends. I feel like I can't be the person that I want to be with them. A good friend of mine keeps asking me "are you ok?". She knows something is wrong. I keep telling her that "I'm tired" but it's so much more than that
Monday, October 12, 2009
At the wake
My father's brother died recently. We'll call him "Paul" (not his real name). He was a good husband, father and pillar of the community. The turnout at the funeral Mass showed how much he was loved and respected.
DH and I grappled with whether we should tell my father about his brother's death. If so, how do we break the news? I felt that he had a right to know. Yes, it would make him sad, but that's life. DH talked to the social worker, who felt that it wasn't necessary for him to be told, spare him the heartache.
We went to the wake. There was "Bea", my father's nasty "friend" that I have discussed ad infinitum in earlier posts, sitting in the front row next to Paul's wife and sister (my aunts), as though she were a member of the family! That left DH and I (and everyone else who was there to comfort and grieve) with the awkward task of greeting Paul's wife and sister while having to deal with Bea. DH spoke to them all. Then it was my turn. I greeted Paul's wife and sister. I tried to ignore Bea. She kept staring at me. It was so uncomfortable. As I was trying to have a conversation with them, Bea blurted out: "Did you forget me?" I felt like ignoring her. I should have. But I said no. Then she asked how the kids were and if my oldest had gotten his license yet. She doesn't give a damn about my family. She's just a bitch. But I politely answered her. I dunno why. Once a sucker, always a sucker, I guess.
Well, guess what? Bea had already told my father about his brother's death. She went to see him and blurted it out. I have told Bea in the past "leave my family alone". I was dumbfounded. I've never hated anyone so much in my life. She never asked us if we should tell him, nothing. She's caused trouble at every facility he's been at.
DH and I grappled with whether we should tell my father about his brother's death. If so, how do we break the news? I felt that he had a right to know. Yes, it would make him sad, but that's life. DH talked to the social worker, who felt that it wasn't necessary for him to be told, spare him the heartache.
We went to the wake. There was "Bea", my father's nasty "friend" that I have discussed ad infinitum in earlier posts, sitting in the front row next to Paul's wife and sister (my aunts), as though she were a member of the family! That left DH and I (and everyone else who was there to comfort and grieve) with the awkward task of greeting Paul's wife and sister while having to deal with Bea. DH spoke to them all. Then it was my turn. I greeted Paul's wife and sister. I tried to ignore Bea. She kept staring at me. It was so uncomfortable. As I was trying to have a conversation with them, Bea blurted out: "Did you forget me?" I felt like ignoring her. I should have. But I said no. Then she asked how the kids were and if my oldest had gotten his license yet. She doesn't give a damn about my family. She's just a bitch. But I politely answered her. I dunno why. Once a sucker, always a sucker, I guess.
Well, guess what? Bea had already told my father about his brother's death. She went to see him and blurted it out. I have told Bea in the past "leave my family alone". I was dumbfounded. I've never hated anyone so much in my life. She never asked us if we should tell him, nothing. She's caused trouble at every facility he's been at.
Never a godmother...
We went to a wingding for one of the niece's yesterday. It was very nice; she's a sweet kid. We had fun although DH pretty much ignored me and my SIL suggested that we go for "marriage counseling".
9 nieces and nephews, countless cousins and friends' kids, and never asked to be godmother. Never even told "Well, we would have considered you, but..." A lifetime of being an active Catholic in a (mostly) Catholic family.
Some people don't get it. They say "move on", "what's the big deal?" etc. Well, it may not mean much to them but it's a big deal to me. It feels like there's a big hole in my heart. There's a big void.
9 nieces and nephews, countless cousins and friends' kids, and never asked to be godmother. Never even told "Well, we would have considered you, but..." A lifetime of being an active Catholic in a (mostly) Catholic family.
Some people don't get it. They say "move on", "what's the big deal?" etc. Well, it may not mean much to them but it's a big deal to me. It feels like there's a big hole in my heart. There's a big void.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Neighbors
We are the token "special needs" family in the neighborhood. (lucky us!)
As a result, we are the scapegoat for anything that goes wrong in the neighborhood, even though my kids aren't the ones running around unsupervised doing God knows what in the "woods" area.
We had a neighborhood kid who broke into cars, houses, etc. but he was an "NT" (neurotypical) so it was just a case of "boys will be boys". Yeah, right.
Yeah, the special needs kids are all troublemakers and the "normal" ones are all angels, all the time as far as some of my neighbors are concerned. Uh huh.
We finally saved up enough money to do some home improvement on our house - it looks good, thanks to the phenomenal job our friends did - but some of the neighbors still hate us. We'll always be the odd ones out, the special needs family. Ugh.
As a result, we are the scapegoat for anything that goes wrong in the neighborhood, even though my kids aren't the ones running around unsupervised doing God knows what in the "woods" area.
We had a neighborhood kid who broke into cars, houses, etc. but he was an "NT" (neurotypical) so it was just a case of "boys will be boys". Yeah, right.
Yeah, the special needs kids are all troublemakers and the "normal" ones are all angels, all the time as far as some of my neighbors are concerned. Uh huh.
We finally saved up enough money to do some home improvement on our house - it looks good, thanks to the phenomenal job our friends did - but some of the neighbors still hate us. We'll always be the odd ones out, the special needs family. Ugh.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
disabilities
My buddy was talking about his co-workers who make fun of people with disabilities. Amazing. How can people be so heartless?
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Damn...
The frustration continues... all the running around that DH and I have been doing seems to be for naught as we watch our $ go down the drain...
I have always tried to be nice to people but I don't know how to be nice to people who have raked us over the coals.
This is what I get for being nice... stabbed in the back.
I have always tried to be nice to people but I don't know how to be nice to people who have raked us over the coals.
This is what I get for being nice... stabbed in the back.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
it's not all gloom and doom
It's great to see family and friends, especially catching up with those I haven't seen in a while. The gals all look great, they never change. The guys, well, the libations, cubans and couch potato athlete lifestyle catches up to you after a while.
So I had a chat with my lapsed Catholic buddy and we talked about the sex scandal in the Catholic church. Child abuse was and is a heinous crime. The coverups, the shuffling of Father X and Father Y from parish to parish was uncalled for. We both know guilty priests personally and are heartsick about it. It's always on my mind and I'll never get over the anger. My buddy asked how I could still go to Mass, even be active in the church. I told him that I had given that a lot of thought, and honestly, there were times when I wasn't so active and wanted out. No offense, but I just couldn't picture myself as a Lutheran after all these years immersed in Catholicism.
After news of the scandal broke, I recall one priest saying that the church needs us (the congregation) more than ever. (Translation: needs our money to pay off massive debt) What inspired me was one woman saying that the poor and needy still needed our help, no matter what. We were still called by God to serve. She is so right. It's not about whether you attend Mass or not, what religion (if any) you belong to - get off the couch, roll up your sleeves, be thankful for your blessings and get to work.
I told my buddy that I still believe there are good priests out there, rotten apples don't spoil the whole bunch. Our congregation (like those of other faiths and secular organizations as well) does a lot of good work with the children, poor and elderly. Warts, occasional disagreements and all, we are still a family and I'm happy to be a part of it.
So I had a chat with my lapsed Catholic buddy and we talked about the sex scandal in the Catholic church. Child abuse was and is a heinous crime. The coverups, the shuffling of Father X and Father Y from parish to parish was uncalled for. We both know guilty priests personally and are heartsick about it. It's always on my mind and I'll never get over the anger. My buddy asked how I could still go to Mass, even be active in the church. I told him that I had given that a lot of thought, and honestly, there were times when I wasn't so active and wanted out. No offense, but I just couldn't picture myself as a Lutheran after all these years immersed in Catholicism.
After news of the scandal broke, I recall one priest saying that the church needs us (the congregation) more than ever. (Translation: needs our money to pay off massive debt) What inspired me was one woman saying that the poor and needy still needed our help, no matter what. We were still called by God to serve. She is so right. It's not about whether you attend Mass or not, what religion (if any) you belong to - get off the couch, roll up your sleeves, be thankful for your blessings and get to work.
I told my buddy that I still believe there are good priests out there, rotten apples don't spoil the whole bunch. Our congregation (like those of other faiths and secular organizations as well) does a lot of good work with the children, poor and elderly. Warts, occasional disagreements and all, we are still a family and I'm happy to be a part of it.
They smile in your face...
... all the time they wanna take your place/the backstabbers... (thanks, O'Jay's)
Why is this? I thought the mean girls thing went out in junior high. People that I thought were "friends" pulled a fast one on me. Shame on me for being naive and trusting them, right? The expression is "stabbed in the back" but it feels like my heart has been ripped out of my body. Unreal.
I call my father's accountant and tell her that I'm mailing a copy of the 2008 tax return to the lawyer. Instead of asking "How's Dad?", she reprimands me for not paying the bill, saying we owe her $140. (Like she's really hurting for cash, an accountant in a ritzy neighborhood) I tell her we never got the bill, but I'll send the payment out right away, and she's still nasty. I didn't go down to her level (yay for me), just sent the damn check, along with all the other damn checks I sent out yesterday.
My Dad had opened up a bank account with the little b*tch he tells people is his friend. I knew that was a bad idea, some relatives and neighbors said that you can't trust the little witch with a b. I tried to talk him out of it, as usual, but he did the hand waving thing and the loud "no, no, no" he does. Drives me nuts.
We go to the bank, and guess what? The little b*tch closed it out already. She took his $ and ran. Goody for her, but I don't know how she sleeps at night.
Sadly, today would have been my parents' 47th Anniversary if my mom had lived. They say she's at peace, she's in a "better place", yada, yada, yada. I can't help but think that she must be looking down and crying, watching all the turmoil that is going on, the way the little b*tch befriended Dad and me, and we fell for her act - hook, line and sinker. I know better now, but I can't undo all the damage the little b*tch has done to my family.
I cringe whenever people assume that the little b*tch is my mom. One said "oh, you look just like her". (Translation: short and fat) Geez, thanks.
Why is this? I thought the mean girls thing went out in junior high. People that I thought were "friends" pulled a fast one on me. Shame on me for being naive and trusting them, right? The expression is "stabbed in the back" but it feels like my heart has been ripped out of my body. Unreal.
I call my father's accountant and tell her that I'm mailing a copy of the 2008 tax return to the lawyer. Instead of asking "How's Dad?", she reprimands me for not paying the bill, saying we owe her $140. (Like she's really hurting for cash, an accountant in a ritzy neighborhood) I tell her we never got the bill, but I'll send the payment out right away, and she's still nasty. I didn't go down to her level (yay for me), just sent the damn check, along with all the other damn checks I sent out yesterday.
My Dad had opened up a bank account with the little b*tch he tells people is his friend. I knew that was a bad idea, some relatives and neighbors said that you can't trust the little witch with a b. I tried to talk him out of it, as usual, but he did the hand waving thing and the loud "no, no, no" he does. Drives me nuts.
We go to the bank, and guess what? The little b*tch closed it out already. She took his $ and ran. Goody for her, but I don't know how she sleeps at night.
Sadly, today would have been my parents' 47th Anniversary if my mom had lived. They say she's at peace, she's in a "better place", yada, yada, yada. I can't help but think that she must be looking down and crying, watching all the turmoil that is going on, the way the little b*tch befriended Dad and me, and we fell for her act - hook, line and sinker. I know better now, but I can't undo all the damage the little b*tch has done to my family.
I cringe whenever people assume that the little b*tch is my mom. One said "oh, you look just like her". (Translation: short and fat) Geez, thanks.
only child
Being an adult only child sucks.
Ok, let me give you the abridged version of the backstory. (more details later) It may sound a little like Carol Burnett's spoof of "Mildred Pierce", lol.
I was born in a little town...
I didn't ask to be an only child of older parents. I got - and still get - all the nasty comments from clueless people: "Oh, you must be so spoiled!", "You don't know how to share.", "Lucky you! You can have my brother."... and on and on...
I inherited a series of health problems - a mixture of bad genes, mutations, bad luck, second hand smoke, "old" eggs and sperm, etc. (Yes, I hear all the stories about the older mommies and daddies who have babies that turned out "just fine" and I'm not arguing that. Most of them do seem fine. I wish them well. But I think you are playing Russian Roulette when you decide to have a late in life baby. My immediate family wasn't one of the lucky ones.)
Donning flame retardant suit...
Back in the day, if you didn't have Downs Syndrome, which I don't, although I may have Mosaic Downs, who knows?, you were considered to be "slow" or "lazy" and just needed to "work harder" if you had problems socially or academically. It didn't help that every time I cried (God forbid, a child should have they audacity to cry when they're upset) my father told my mother that I was "mental". That's just the tip of the iceberg. Nice guy, huh?
On top of everything else, I was a short, fat, ugly kid with (eventually) acne, braces, glasses and a butt so huge it belongs in the Guinness Book of World Records. I was a clumsy oaf. Ah, the carefree, joyful days of childhood...
If you're saying that "oh, get over it", "move on", "it was years ago" and stop the pity party then perhaps this blog isn't for you. The point is no child - or adult, for that matter - should be emotionally or physically abused. If, through this blog and my other endeavors, I can help even one person feel that they're not alone, if I can inspire them to seek help if they need it, if I can help make them feel somewhat better and that they're worth something, then it's good.
Sometimes some people laugh and scoff because I'm "overenthusiastic" about parties and whatnot. It just feels so good to have some friends and family. I want to savor the moment, even if it's mundane to some of them. Yes, here she (me) goes again with her camera and her cards with the cornball prose. If you see me laughing and singing now and then, it doesn't mean that I don't acknowledge the seriousness of my father's illness and my soap opera (minus the glamour) life. Who the h-e-double hockey sticks does Mary Peck think she is??? Well, Mary Peck is happy for family and friends as they celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, etc. and just wants to share in their happiness and have a little joy in her life. Is that so wrong?
Back to my life with Dad. Well, long story short, childhood sucked (yeah, I know church ladies like moi aren't supposed to use that expression, but too bad - it fits) but there were some good folks I met along the way whose kindness inspired me and will always stay with me. Some fun times and memories in spite of it all.
Mom (who I'll call "Kay") passed away suddenly nearly 11 years ago. She was active in her parish and community, doing charity work and living simply. Several years later, Dad (who I sometimes refer to as "Joe", although that's not his real name. Names have been changed to protect the guilty, lol.) met a widow who I will call the "little b*tch", although I just thought she was just little at the time. For blog purposes, I'll call her "Bea" (again, not her real name). Nearly everyone referred to her as "the girlfriend" (wtf?) although they were just friends.
Bea and Joe went to senior citizen events, played cards and other mundane stuff. Joe became closer to Bea's children and grandchildren than his own, eventually deciding to sell his house for a bag of peanuts to Bea's son, who made a tidy profit on the house. DH and I reiterated the fact that Joe was always welcome to live with us, that we would make every accomodation to make him comfortable and happy. However, Joe chose to move in with Bea and wily Bea found ways to take over most of Joe's savings (he was not affluent by any means, but he was from the depression era and had squirreled away every penny) via a joint bank account, etc. Joe paid Bea $1000 a month in rent in addition to putting $ towards paying her bills. Attempts made by family and friends, including the elder lawyer that DH and I needed to hire in order to try to protect Joe, to show Joe that Bea was not the sweet little old lady she appeared to be were met with angry shouts of "no!" and fists waving in the air from Joe. When Joe has mind made up about something, you can't change it.
Bea continued to give Joe her sob story about how she was a poor widow with no pension, had to pay the mortgage, etc. He made her a beneficiary on an annuity. Joe's health worsened, and last September he had triple bypass surgery. DH and my kids lives were literally turned upside down as we visited, prayed, met with doctors and struggled to find a way to pay Joe's bills. He had some insurance, thank God, but it runs out and he hadn't made any provisions for long term care - i.e. Medicaid. (Don't make the same mistakes! I'm warning you!) Every time in the past that I had tried to talk to him about such complicated issues it was the old angry I don't wanna discuss it thing.
As the priest came in to the hospital to give Joe Last Rites, Bea came in to ask Joe for $10,000. (I swear I'm not making this up.) She called me asking for the money and told me that "one hand washes the other" (I guess she thought one should get paid to be a "friend") and "you know, I don't have a pension". I just said uh huh and got on the horn to our elder care attorney who explained the rules for gifting money to others, that giving Bea $10,000 was a no-no, that Joe, if he survives, will need the $ for his long-term care. I explained all this to Bea, thinking that would be the end of it. (Silly me; she's still asking for cash. Now she wants "gas money" so that she can visit Joe.)
More complications ensued, and eight months later he is living in a rehab/nursing home facility, often refusing to try to get off the ventilator, often refusing to eat and becoming dehydrated, often refusing to attend therapy and try to do all the things that may help him get better. His savings are being depleted.
I should note that, after consultation with the elder care attorney, I promptly paid Bea $1000 in rent each month even though Joe was hospitalized and not living there (can you say "sucker"???). DH and I cleaned his room out so she can rent it to another sucker. Also, Bea's son that bought Joe's house lives a stone's throw away from Bea and goes on vacation every month. Bea's other son also has a good job and call well afford to take care of mother, so Bea doesn't need $ from Joe.
Shall we go on Jerry Springer?
And so, how was your week?
more drama to follow...
I digressed from my original theme about the pitfalls of being an only, but whatever...
Ok, let me give you the abridged version of the backstory. (more details later) It may sound a little like Carol Burnett's spoof of "Mildred Pierce", lol.
I was born in a little town...
I didn't ask to be an only child of older parents. I got - and still get - all the nasty comments from clueless people: "Oh, you must be so spoiled!", "You don't know how to share.", "Lucky you! You can have my brother."... and on and on...
I inherited a series of health problems - a mixture of bad genes, mutations, bad luck, second hand smoke, "old" eggs and sperm, etc. (Yes, I hear all the stories about the older mommies and daddies who have babies that turned out "just fine" and I'm not arguing that. Most of them do seem fine. I wish them well. But I think you are playing Russian Roulette when you decide to have a late in life baby. My immediate family wasn't one of the lucky ones.)
Donning flame retardant suit...
Back in the day, if you didn't have Downs Syndrome, which I don't, although I may have Mosaic Downs, who knows?, you were considered to be "slow" or "lazy" and just needed to "work harder" if you had problems socially or academically. It didn't help that every time I cried (God forbid, a child should have they audacity to cry when they're upset) my father told my mother that I was "mental". That's just the tip of the iceberg. Nice guy, huh?
On top of everything else, I was a short, fat, ugly kid with (eventually) acne, braces, glasses and a butt so huge it belongs in the Guinness Book of World Records. I was a clumsy oaf. Ah, the carefree, joyful days of childhood...
If you're saying that "oh, get over it", "move on", "it was years ago" and stop the pity party then perhaps this blog isn't for you. The point is no child - or adult, for that matter - should be emotionally or physically abused. If, through this blog and my other endeavors, I can help even one person feel that they're not alone, if I can inspire them to seek help if they need it, if I can help make them feel somewhat better and that they're worth something, then it's good.
Sometimes some people laugh and scoff because I'm "overenthusiastic" about parties and whatnot. It just feels so good to have some friends and family. I want to savor the moment, even if it's mundane to some of them. Yes, here she (me) goes again with her camera and her cards with the cornball prose. If you see me laughing and singing now and then, it doesn't mean that I don't acknowledge the seriousness of my father's illness and my soap opera (minus the glamour) life. Who the h-e-double hockey sticks does Mary Peck think she is??? Well, Mary Peck is happy for family and friends as they celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, etc. and just wants to share in their happiness and have a little joy in her life. Is that so wrong?
Back to my life with Dad. Well, long story short, childhood sucked (yeah, I know church ladies like moi aren't supposed to use that expression, but too bad - it fits) but there were some good folks I met along the way whose kindness inspired me and will always stay with me. Some fun times and memories in spite of it all.
Mom (who I'll call "Kay") passed away suddenly nearly 11 years ago. She was active in her parish and community, doing charity work and living simply. Several years later, Dad (who I sometimes refer to as "Joe", although that's not his real name. Names have been changed to protect the guilty, lol.) met a widow who I will call the "little b*tch", although I just thought she was just little at the time. For blog purposes, I'll call her "Bea" (again, not her real name). Nearly everyone referred to her as "the girlfriend" (wtf?) although they were just friends.
Bea and Joe went to senior citizen events, played cards and other mundane stuff. Joe became closer to Bea's children and grandchildren than his own, eventually deciding to sell his house for a bag of peanuts to Bea's son, who made a tidy profit on the house. DH and I reiterated the fact that Joe was always welcome to live with us, that we would make every accomodation to make him comfortable and happy. However, Joe chose to move in with Bea and wily Bea found ways to take over most of Joe's savings (he was not affluent by any means, but he was from the depression era and had squirreled away every penny) via a joint bank account, etc. Joe paid Bea $1000 a month in rent in addition to putting $ towards paying her bills. Attempts made by family and friends, including the elder lawyer that DH and I needed to hire in order to try to protect Joe, to show Joe that Bea was not the sweet little old lady she appeared to be were met with angry shouts of "no!" and fists waving in the air from Joe. When Joe has mind made up about something, you can't change it.
Bea continued to give Joe her sob story about how she was a poor widow with no pension, had to pay the mortgage, etc. He made her a beneficiary on an annuity. Joe's health worsened, and last September he had triple bypass surgery. DH and my kids lives were literally turned upside down as we visited, prayed, met with doctors and struggled to find a way to pay Joe's bills. He had some insurance, thank God, but it runs out and he hadn't made any provisions for long term care - i.e. Medicaid. (Don't make the same mistakes! I'm warning you!) Every time in the past that I had tried to talk to him about such complicated issues it was the old angry I don't wanna discuss it thing.
As the priest came in to the hospital to give Joe Last Rites, Bea came in to ask Joe for $10,000. (I swear I'm not making this up.) She called me asking for the money and told me that "one hand washes the other" (I guess she thought one should get paid to be a "friend") and "you know, I don't have a pension". I just said uh huh and got on the horn to our elder care attorney who explained the rules for gifting money to others, that giving Bea $10,000 was a no-no, that Joe, if he survives, will need the $ for his long-term care. I explained all this to Bea, thinking that would be the end of it. (Silly me; she's still asking for cash. Now she wants "gas money" so that she can visit Joe.)
More complications ensued, and eight months later he is living in a rehab/nursing home facility, often refusing to try to get off the ventilator, often refusing to eat and becoming dehydrated, often refusing to attend therapy and try to do all the things that may help him get better. His savings are being depleted.
I should note that, after consultation with the elder care attorney, I promptly paid Bea $1000 in rent each month even though Joe was hospitalized and not living there (can you say "sucker"???). DH and I cleaned his room out so she can rent it to another sucker. Also, Bea's son that bought Joe's house lives a stone's throw away from Bea and goes on vacation every month. Bea's other son also has a good job and call well afford to take care of mother, so Bea doesn't need $ from Joe.
Shall we go on Jerry Springer?
And so, how was your week?
more drama to follow...
I digressed from my original theme about the pitfalls of being an only, but whatever...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Bienvenue a blog!
This is about the 600th time (no exaggeration) that I've started to write a blog. This time I'm sticking with it though, you can hold me to that. Feel free to comment; keep it civil please. Thanks.
I hope that we can all support each other and share ideas. That would be just dandy.
Today my series of misadventures continued. Long story regarding DH and I having to meet with our attorney. On top of that it rained. I'll fill you in with more details later.
I hope that we can all support each other and share ideas. That would be just dandy.
Today my series of misadventures continued. Long story regarding DH and I having to meet with our attorney. On top of that it rained. I'll fill you in with more details later.
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