Three Things From the Last Week

Fork or Chopsticks?

I took Mark out to our favorite sushi restaurant last night. Okay, it wasn't actually night time, but what is called 'rush hour'. While traffic crept by on Peterson Avenue, Mark and I sat and drank wine while noshing on fish and various appetizers. I guess we are officially old now because we made sure we got there for the early bird special. One of the things we don't agree on, is how to eat Asian cuisine. I am fairly adept at using the chop sticks. Mark however, likes to use his fork. So there we were. Me all cool, picking up peas with the chop sticks, while Mark mushed around with an American fork. But it was all good. We enjoyed our food and toasted each other with a glass of wine. Although, Mark sucked his up through a straw.

Rat Trap

I've been trying and trying to capture the elusive kitchen mouse. On Friday I went to Lowes and bought all kinds of mouse poison. I like the green stuff. For some reason the rats... mice, will eat the green poison and die. I used to buy it in loose granules that I could put anywhere the rodents went. Now, I suppose because of kids eating the funny looking tic tacs, it only comes in little blocks. And those little blocks have to be put inside a little mouse house. The problem is, getting the little mouse house open to put the little green poison block inside. I pulled, and pried, and pushed on the thing, but couldn't get it open. So I read the instructions. "Push on the tab with your left hand, while pulling up with your right hand. When the tab releases touch your nose with your big toe and whistle a tune through your anus." Actually, I have no idea what it said because the writing and diagram is so tiny that I couldn't even see it with my magnifying glass. So I just threw a couple of chunks of the poison blocks behind the stove and hoped for the best.

The Handicapped Cart at Tony's

Mark has breathing problems and when we go to the grocery store he uses the electric shopping cart that is provided. At Tony's Market they keep the electric carts up on the second level parking lot. So if we find a parking spot on the ground level, I have to go up in the elevator and get Mark a cart. Which I did last Friday. I unplugged the cart from the wall, turned it on, and drove it over to the elevator. When I got to the first floor where Mark was waiting, I turned it over to him. He sat down and pulled back on the little lever. It didn't move. We checked the on/off switch and tried again. Wouldn't move. So I told Mark to get off and I sat back down on the damn thing. When I pulled back on the little lever it moved forward. Again Mark got on the cart and tried to make it work. It did not work. What we eventually figured out is that the seat has a sensor that can detect when some smart ass kid is screwing around with the electric cart. If the weight is not that of an adult, it does not work. Not taking into consideration that many handicapped people are not fat asses is a problem. Anyway, I grabbed a twenty pound sack of potatoes and threw them on the seat. Then I told Mark to sit on them. Sure enough, that was just the right weight to make the cart go. So if you go to Tony's Market, look for the pre-mashed potatoes. No extra charge.

Hose Bib

I know you can stream Netflix movies, but with the reliability of our cable company not being all that good we order DVDs. It works okay most of the time, although we often get movies I hate. That is probably because of Mark and his insane obsession with X-Men movies. I hate them, Mark orders them. Anyway, once we watch a Netflix DVD, I put the disc back in the mailer that it came in and leave it down by the mailboxes for the letter carrier to pick up. If it goes out with the next day's mail, we can expect another one to show up the day after that. Our regular guy always takes it, but sometimes we get a substitute carrier and they're lazy. That's when Mark goes berserk. Cursing and yelling, talking bad about people from Chicago, and trying to pin the blame on me. So you can see that I have an incentive to make sure the mailman.. er, letter carrier, takes that envelope when they drop off the mail. 

Friday I was out front planting flowers when I heard somebody behind me say my name and ask me "How's it going?" It wasTim, our mail guy. I looked up, gave him salutations, and realized I hadn't put the disc out for him to pick up.

"Oh, Tim. I have a Netflix disc for you to take, but I have to go around to the back door because the front door is locked."

"Okay, Hurry up. I'm not coming back this way. I already did the other side of the street."

"Don't worry. I'll catch up to you."

So I took off running, or what passes for running these days. Sort of a fast walking shuffle. Down the gangway between the buildings, to the back of the house. About ten feet from the backyard gate I was nearly knocked off my feet and a sharp pain shot up through my right arm. I had run into the hose bib that sticks out from the side of the house. (Hose bib: That thing you attach the garden hose to. A term I learned hanging around my plumber brother.) A loud string of profanities streamed from my mouth as I continued to struggle towards the back door. I had to get that Netflix envelope out to Tim. Because neither rain nor shine, snow nor sleet, or a broken arm will keep this guy from his appointed task, as put forth by Mark.

Lunch With Mom: a rerun for Mother's Day

From only two and a half years ago. Not much has changed other than Maria is no longer Mom's cleaning lady. Mom now has a live in helper. She still zips around in that Hoveround like a mad woman. It's why we won't let her have a dog. She would run it over.

I bundled Mark up yesterday, making sure he had his scarf on, his gloves on along with his hat, and we went out to Tinley Park to visit Mom. Yes, it is fucking cold here in Chicago. Yes, the wind cuts through me like a knife and the icy grip of winter is trying its best to do me in. I will not have it. No, I have made up my mind that warm breezes and sunny skies are no substitute for family and friends. So here I am, along with Mark screaming and kicking, in the cold Chicago winter. I don't care. I get to visit my mom once a week, something I have missed for very many years. Not just Mom, but other family members and my old friends. Being near them is so much more fulfilling than walking my dogs around the block in shorts and a tee shirt. I don't miss Florida at all...  Okay, maybe the shorts and tee shirts in December a little bit.

We get to Mom's house just after noon. I have brought Mom her favorite food. Ribs from Mickey's on Oak Park Avenue. Mom is stretched out on the sofa with her eyes closed, the television blasting and the thermostat turned up to eighty two degrees.

"Ma!" No response. At ninety four years old, nearly ninety five, I get a wee bit nervous.

"Ma, hello, Ma, are you awake?" Her eyes remain closed. Oh fuck. I do not want to be the one here when... Just then her eyes flutter open. Thank god.

"Oh, Alan...  I was resting my eyes."

"Hi Mom. I have lunch for you. Ribs and French fries from Mickey's."

"Oh, okay... "

Mom drags herself up from the couch and plops herself into the Hoveround. Without any notice she zooms away and down the hall towards her bedroom. Fine, I figure she's going to the bathroom before lunch, or maybe putting on some makeup. Mom hates to look bad for visitors. Meanwhile Mark and I sit at the kitchen table and eat our ribs while waiting for Mom. I've learned not to hold up our lunch when Mom zips off like that. After about twenty minutes I go back to Mom's bedroom looking for her and call in there, "Ma, everything okay?"

"Waa.. I..  I'm...  "

"Are you okay? Do you need some help?" I say, dreading that she might say yes and I might have to go into the bathroom and see my mother 'indisposed'.

"I'm... (undecipherable) ..  I'll be out in a few minutes."

So I go back to the kitchen and finish my lunch along with Mark. Another ten minutes go by.

"Alan, maybe you should go check on your mom again."

So once again I go down the long hall, back to my mom's bedroom and shout out to her, "Everything okay in there?" This time I step into the room a little bit so that I can hear her better. Mom is in her bathroom, the lights are on and her Hoveround is halfway in the doorway.

"I... yes... "

"Are you sure? Do you need any help?"

"No... I'll be out in a minute. I have to straighten up the bathroom before Maria gets here."

So Mom was in the bathroom cleaning it. She didn't need any help from me. She was taking care of business, cleaning up before Maria arrived. Maria... Mom's cleaning lady... Maria.

Just in case you don't know what a Hoveround is.

Of Mouse and Man and Hot Dog

About three months ago I noticed a small black blur run past me along the baseboard in the kitchen. Despite wanting to deny what I saw, it was a mouse. Since then I've tried everything I could think of to get rid of it. Mark has seen it wandering around in the kitchen twice. My upstairs neighbor has seen what I hope is the same mouse, a number of times. And the dogs go insane every once in awhile, barking at something under the stove. Dennis the upstairs neighbor, says it boldly walks around his living room as if he owns it. So I've tried the sticky traps with what I think are delightful treats placed in the middle. Nothing. I've tried the traditional, snap shut trap. Nothing. No matter what treat I put in the trap I cannot entice the little rodent to bite. Cheese, bacon, bread, peanut butter, a cracker, barbecue sauce, and recently cake frosting. Chocolate cake frosting. And it was really good cake frosting, I wanted to lick that trap myself. I have even put out rodent poison but that hasn't even been touched. So now this beast has been living inside our house for over three months and I cannot catch it. I keep wondering, what is it eating? What is nourishing this mouse? Just the crumbs that Mark drops on the floor every time he goes into the kitchen? Anyway, as long as it wasn't in our cabinets or on the counters, I was able to deal with it. Until now. I went to have a hot dog for lunch and when I picked up the bag of buns, I noticed that there was a half eaten bun inside. Then I looked more closely. There was a hole chewed in the plastic bag. I threw out the bag of buns, saving one for my hot dog. I really had my heart set on a hot dog.

You can get anything you want at Menard's

"Hello, Menards? Do you have those electric shopping carts for handicapped people?"

"Yes, yes we do. We have two of them."

I'm very glad I called. Just nine days ago we had a snow storm that covered my yard and sidewalks with a slushy mess. Now it was nearly eighty degrees out in my back yard and Mark wanted to go shopping. I normally prefer to do my shopping during the week, when the stores are less crowded, but I had got the spring fever too. I needed bags of dirt for the garden and a few other things, so I loaded Mark's electric cart in the trunk and off we went to Menard's. I did not trust that there were two handicapped shopping carts available, so we brought our own. Sure enough, when we got to the store the parking lot was ninety nine percent full. Luckily for me, there was one handicapped spot left. Inside the store there were about five thousand shoppers wandering around with carts full of flowers, tools, groceries, appliances, and maybe even some liquor. I love Menard's for what it is. A competitor to Home Depot, but with even more. Seriously, when we were checking out I noticed that Mark had some flaked coconut in the cart. It was right next to the lawn mower fuel funnel that I had thrown in there, sitting on top of two bags of garden soil. I never did see any shopping carts for handicapped people, but I did see a man with two sheets of plywood, an air conditioner, and three boxes of Frosted Flakes at the checkout counter.

Road Trip

I used to love road trips. My niece Laura and her husband, have been on a big time road trip to the west coast and back the last couple of weeks. It reminded me of some of the road trips I have taken. Unfortunately, as I get older, road trips are not as much fun as they used to be. If I drive for more than a couple of hours I start seeing double and I dearly want to close my eyes and go to sleep. The trip out to Mom's house every week takes about forty five minutes one way and that's starting to get very boring. The only reason I can tolerate it is because it gives me four hours a week away from Mark. Not that I don't love being with Mark twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. It's just that sometimes I need a break from a man who likes to talk, and talk, and talk. I have left the room while Mark is talking and when I return he will still be going on as if I had never left. Anyway, I have a plan for a road trip. Not in the near future, but maybe like two or three years from now. I will have to hire a baby sitter for Mark, and I plan to take my dogs with me because leaving them with Mark would mean certain death for them. What I want to do is buy a drivable, Ford Model A car. Not some trailer queen that has been restored to  pristine condition, but a driver. I would then like to take it on a road trip through parts of Illinois, Indiana, and Michigan. Maybe a few hundred miles, and only on two lane county roads, avoiding all busy highways. It would be like a trip back in time. I think it would be a lot of fun and I could blog along the way. Think of the stories of me and the dogs in a ninety year old car, out in the middle of nowhere. Seriously, I can't find any flaws in my plan at all.