Billions, and Billions....

 

I was watching a television show called Genius, by Stephen Hawking the other day. The episode was titled, "Where Are We?" Meaning, where are we in the Universe. It literally made my head hurt and gave me an upset stomach. That's because I just couldn't comprehend how vast the Universe is and how infinitesimal we are.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about life and death this last year. Five months ago I held Mark's hand while I laid in bed with him all night long until he died. It's hard to understand. He was here and then just like that, he was gone. where did he go? What happened to that life that was in his body? I don't believe in religion or a god that is cognizant of our existence, so I don't look for an answer there. Like I said, all this information about the universe and how we fit in simply blows my mind. So I think I'll stop watching big brainy shows about such things. There has to be a middle ground, somewhere between Stephen Hawking and The Real Housewives. Something that won't give me a headache by making me think too much.

Toe Jam

 

I wish somebody had warned me to take care of my feet when I was young. Now I'm stuck with feet so screwed up that I can't walk barefoot. Not even from the bedroom to the bathroom. It's like I'm walking on bones, no meat at all on the bottom of my feet. Part of it is that I used to buy ill fitting, cheap shoes imported from communist Poland back in the 1970s. The company I worked for was the importer, so it was a bargain that I couldn't pass up. Now I spend all that money I saved back then, buying expensive shoes that fit right. Another big reason not to walk barefoot are my toes. I value them. Stubbing your toe is extremely painful so mine are always protected inside shoes of some sort. Years ago, when I was a kid, my mom and dad bought a dinette set for the kitchen. It was very stylish in that mid-century sort of way. The problem was the pedestal chairs that came with it. They lurked up there in the kitchen just waiting for my sister, Peggy. Evil damn chairs seemed to hate her. Every once in awhile you would hear the wail of what sounded like the Civil Defense siren, only it wasn't the siren. It was Peggy writhing on the kitchen floor holding her toe and screaming. It wasn't only Peggy. Just about every one of us slammed our toe into one of those stupid pedestal chairs at one time or another. But only Peggy kept repeating the toe jam, over and over. I'm surprised she can still walk.

The Delivery Man

 

I'm dozing off in the recliner chair early Wednesday evening when the dogs go nuts. They've both gone out of their minds barking at the window. Scout in her high pitched yappiness, Chandler in his old dog, raspy voice. Something's happening outside so I get up and take a look. It's  the grocery delivery guy stumbling up through the snow, bringing my upstairs neighbor his weekly groceries. Dennis has been doing this for a few weeks now. I initially thought, 'How extravagant, Dennis must have money to burn'. Really, paying people to shop for you and deliver it to your second floor apartment. Must be nice. Then, yesterday, I watched car after car getting stuck in the alley, stuck in the street, trying to park and getting stuck. I had planned to go grocery shopping yesterday, but I do not want to get stuck. From my garage to the street there is about a hundred or more feet of alley. The alley is not plowed, the city does not do that. So we rely upon the city garbage truck to smoosh the snow down as it makes its way through the alley. The garbage truck did not come by this week. Too much snow I assume. So there I was with all the snow in front of my garage removed, and all the snow in front of the garage across the alley removed. I and my alley neighbor can get our cars out of our garages, but we cannot get any further than that.

My grocery delivery is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I sure hope they don't forget the vodka or the Frosted Flakes.

Mom Finds the Cure

 

I was thinking about Mom last evening. I am really hoping that after I get my second vaccination, I can visit her in person instead of in the big plastic box. I know she wants to see us and hug us too. Anyway, I started thinking about all the crazy shit I put her through during the last seventy one years. Seriously, I'm sure there were times she wanted to drop me off in the woods. I don't think I was too bad at first. Yes, as a little baby I pissed myself and pooped my pants. Mom was ready for that. However, as the years wore on it got to be a problem for her. After all, by the time I was eleven years old I wasn't just waking up in a damp bed. It was more like somebody had emptied a bucket of water on me. I still remember the very last time I ever peed in my bed. The next morning Mom went bat shit on me and dragged all my wet bedding outside into the backyard while yelling at me the entire time. It just so happened that there was a gaggle of neighborhood kids out there when she did that. I was horribly embarrassed and I never wet the bed again. Not even later in life when I would come home blackout drunk. I'm sure if Mom had known that would work, she would have thrown the bedding from my crib out there the first year.

Mom put up with a lot of crazy shit from me. She often threatened to send me to the public school if I ever flunked. I actually wanted that, so I spent the entire seventh grade at Saint George Catholic School being a clown. I got to go to public school the next year where I got into trouble just the same. 

You'd never know I was a difficult kid from how Mom treats me now. I might possibly be one of her favorites out of the eleven children she had. It seems that the worse you were, the more she likes you now. Poor Peggy, she was such a good little girl.   

I Slipped a Shiv Into Mom's Apple Slice

 

Went out to visit Mom yesterday. She's doing fine. A little problem with her left foot, but the doctor didn't seem too concerned. Anyway, visiting Mom is quite an ordeal. It's as if she is in prison. We, the visitor, have to sit inside a Plexiglas box that you step into from outside the building. It is cold, it is hard to communicate, and it sucks. On the other side of the Plexiglas is Mom, a little grumpy because she can feel the cold air seeping in from our side of the box. To facilitate conversing you have to call her on a phone. So we sit on one side yelling into a telephone and Mom sits on the other side saying 'What?' a lot. Still, it was good to see her in person. Even if it meant three hours of driving in a light snowfall for twenty minutes of face to face time with her. I feel lucky to have got that much time. About fifteen minutes in she started to roll away from the Plexiglas because she was cold, but we talked her into staying just a little bit longer.

Now about that three hour drive. I should have checked the windshield washer fluid before I left home. I didn't and by the time I hit Lake Shore Drive my windshield was opaque. Fifty miles later I pulled into a gas station to see if I needed fluid or if it was frozen. At this point I still don't know because my hood was frozen shut. I could not get the damn thing open. I drove back home those fifty miles, effectively blind. Thank goodness they paint lines on the highways.