Please Take Him Soon

My grandfather, aged 86 (and, I might add, one of my favorite people in the world), has advanced Parkinson’s Disease.

Over the past 6 years, I’ve watched him disintegrate rapidly. Always super intelligent (and quite the history buff), a little eccentric, and very healthy, it’s been painful for me to watch this. Because the Parkinson’s has taken over his body, and what’s left of him is that man trapped inside a shell that won’t let him connect with the outside world anymore. I can see his mind still working, but it’s literally painful for him to get any words out. He can’t write anymore. He won’t walk anymore. My grandmother (bless her) has tried giving him pads, magnetic letters, you name it, but he’s stubborn, and won’t use them. So, it can take several minutes for him to get one sentence out, even though that clear look in his eyes tells me that there’s a lot still going on in there.

It’s too painful for tears.

All my life, he’s been a vibrant, fun, interesting Irishman who loved to be the life of the party. When I was growing up, he was the only man permanently in our household, with five females (my grandmother, my maternal great grandmother, my mother, my sister, and me). Hoo hah! And with all the seriousness in the house — there wasn’t a lot of humor, I recall — he was always a breath of fresh air. I loved going upstairs to see Grandpa, especially when I had a question about history, because though it was by far my least favorite subject in school, he made it come alive for me. And at the family get togethers, when he and my Uncle Tommy (who’s already passed) would talk about WWII and argue about which was better, the US Navy or the US Army (Uncle Tommy – Navy, Grandpa – Army), I would just sit and listen, because they were so fun to listen to!

I was never close with my grandmother when I was young — she really didn’t talk very much, and when she did, it was mostly to my sister – and my mother wasn’t around very often (a side effect of being a single parent in the ‘70-’80s). My sister is 6.5 years older than me, so she wasn’t much to talk to until we were both adults, and my great grandmother died in 1980, when I was 11. So Grandpa was all that was left. Though he always seemed a little dreamy, a little distant, he was always fun and pleasant to talk to when I was a kid. He seemed genuinely interested in me and what I did.

And though, in adult life, my relationships with everyone else have changed, matured, and vastly improved, I’ve still loved talking to Grandpa. He’s always been so interesting! And almost never sick, until he had to get heart bypass surgery in the late ’90s. Then it seemed to slip downhill from there. He fell on the ice in wintertime and got a hematoma in his head; the doctors think he might have had a ministroke that went undetected, and soon around then is when he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

I will admit he’s quite the stubborn coot! He refused physical therapy in the beginning, which I think started a downward spiral — because he wasn’t using his limbs, but favoring them, so his disability got worse, and so on, and so forth. No matter. Because in the past six years, I’ve watched him go from driving to not, to using a cane, to using a walker, to using a wheelchair, and now, to basically never leaving the recliner chair in his livingroom. And that wouldn’t be SO bad, if he could — would — communicate! My grandmother, at 82, is his main caregiver, and is constantly pulling something in her back, her foot, or other parts because she’s lifting him when he falls, and that’s pretty often. She hasn’t qualified for Medicare-sponsored help to come in, and she refuses to put him in a home (because Lord knows, the Home would take everything they have to put him in there).  My mother lives nearby to help when she can, but still. To my understanding, most of the time, he doesn’t even leave the chair to go to the bathroom anymore — he uses a Texas catheter most of the time, and maybe gets out of the chair once a day.

I was just there this past weekend, and every time I see him, it’s more and more painful. He’s so frustrated because I know those lucid thoughts are still there, yet in his eyes, I see a little boy, scared because somewhere in there he knows he’s not long for this world, and is terrified. At this point, I wonder why. I know he so loves my grandmother — one of the only thing that makes him smile anymore is when he looks at old pictures of them or tries to talk about old stories from when they were younger — and they’ve essentially been together and in each other’s lives for something like 65+ years (save a relatively short period in there when my grandmother divorced him, married someone else, then divorced the other guy and married him again). But no matter how attached he is to her (and she to him, don’t get me wrong), how good is it when he’s just a shell of the man he was, needing 24/7 care, and she’s miserable and terrified at the same time – trapped, as well? SHE barely ever leaves the house, and when she does, she’s in a rush to get back, because she’s afraid of something happening when she’s out. She’s hired someone to tend to him for a few hours once a week, so my mother can take her and my great aunt out food shopping. But, from outside eyes, they’re both miserable. And it’s the most painful kind of misery. Because they’re both afraid of losing each other, yet they’ve already lost each other and refuse to see it. And he’s cranky and sometimes downright mean and inconsiderate to her, and she’s sometime mean and resentful right back to him.

So today, in my solitude while I was working in the greenhouses, I prayed – to God, to the universe, to our spirit guides and to all that help us — to please, please, PLEASE take him very soon. Because I love him — I love both of them — and it’s like they’re both in hell, when they love each other so much. And we all love them. But I don’t want him — them — to be in pain anymore. I want him to be able to let go, and realize that moving on is a beautiful thing — that he will be released of all of his woes, and that he will be whole in spirit again. And even if my grandmother lived for another 20 years, it’s nothing — a speck on a speck of time — before they will be able to be together again.

He needs to know it’s OK to let go. And go.

So I hope *they’re* going to help him over, and soon. Because I think he’s in hell now. And so is she. And no one deserves that.

Is that wrong, for me to feel that way? I don’t think so; I told my father, when he was barely lucid and just completely wasted away from the cancer, that we loved him, but it was OK for him to go. My sister did the same; he died within a week after those conversations. I wouldn’t be able to say that now, because I think my grandmother would kill me if I did.

But I can pray for it.

I love you, Grandpa, and know that you will always be with me, even when you are tired of the constraints of your body’s prison cell that it has become. And I hope you free yourself of it soon.

Get Out of the Fridge!

 

It’s the time of year that, for some reason, we suddenly remember the things for which we’re thankful. In general (except for Scrooge), many of us are a little softer, a little friendlier, a little more “mushy” (and I’m talking emotionally, not physically!  ).

But then, a lot of us also have panic attacks, lose sleep because of holiday-induced anxieties, whether it be shopping budgets (or lack of), or most often…. FAMILY VISITS.

Now, I have my share of crazy holidays with the family memories. But I’m going to pick over them, like leftovers, one at a time, because as time goes by, they stop putting a knot in my stomach when I think about them, and instead become replaced by the ability to laugh and… maybe to be a little  :::gasp:::  nostalgic. Because it’s all a part of who I am.

My father is the basis of many of those hated it/loved it type of memories. He was such a bizarre, off the wall person, and we never fully figured him out. He was very strong-willed, obstinate man, but sometimes had good intentions. In my early adult years (that would be B.C.), it was all I could do to go visit him after he left his condo in New York and bought a house in West Virginia. Usually, my sister and I would coordinate and go together, so we had some comfort and company (and we could commiserate). Later, after marriage and kids, we STILL often tried to coordinate, and we’d go with our families together, so we could all suffer as a family, I guess! There are many memories there, but right now, today, what stands out in my mind (and Lord knows, I’m actually SMILING about it) is my youngest daughter’s first Thanksgiving…that would be in 1998.

My husband, 2 children, and I met my sister, her husband, and 4 children there, from Wednesday through Saturday of Thanksgiving week. The funny part was, though I know my father loved our children, so many people suddenly around him made him both happy and cranky at the same time (especially my kids, who were a toddler and a baby at the time). But, though he said he wanted to have us there, WE were all responsible for making the dinner. So, we did — we made the huge turkey and all the trimmings, all the while Dad complaining that it was going to be too late (for what, I don’t know), we’d better not burn anything, yadda, yadda, yadda. All the while tending to the children as needed. My sister’s kids were a bit older (15, 13, 10, and 9, if I remember correctly), and played outside for awhile, throwing a ball around. And the dinner was uneventful… a nice, big family dinner, amidst the thousands of penguin statues all over the house (but that’s another story, for another day.. though I will touch on it in here).

But after is when the fun began.

Every time my father would make a turkey, he’d make turkey soup afterwards, from the remainders on the turkey frame. And it was AWESOME. I mean, it would put chicken soup to shame! So that evening, Dad made the soup, and we just smelled that pure heaven all evening, our mouths watering at the prospect of lunch the next day. So, the next day, we cooked up the soup with some egg noodles and actually had some moments of true appreciation of our Dad. Until he came in and yelled at us — actually yelled at us, meaning mainly my sister, our husbands, and me — because we ate HIS TURKEY SOUP. It wasn’t like we had eaten the whole thing, though 9 people WILL make a dent in pot, you know!

This stemmed from his belief that everyone should only have one meal a day. He did this, from almost as long as I could remember. He would just drink coffee in the morning, and SOMETIMES (with company) have some breakfast with that sludge, but early evening, he’d RACK UP on eating to make up for the rest of the day.

And from that side note, he didn’t even THINK of us eating the soup, because he was taking us out to eat for dinner that evening, so WHY would we need anything else? Uh, HELLO, 6 kids present, here? And we were going to starve them all day?? Plus, I don’t know about you, but my sister and I (as well as our betrothed) did usually eat breakfast/lunch, as do most people. But I think my father forgot about that. And all we heard, for the remainder of the time we were there, was how we ate most of his soup.

:::sigh:::   It was good, though, and worth feeling like a little, reprimanded kid! 

And then, the big “dinner out.” This is worth mentioning here, because it was (and still is) quite a joke with my sister and me. Our father was the KING of all-you-can-eat buffets. Figure it out — it sort of fit with his eating habits, and when he did sit down to eat, he could EAT. Now, this was a small town in West Virginia, which was definitely not what you’d call a melting pot, by any means (for anyone in WV, I don’t mean any offense, just stating some fact here). Yet, he would continue to surprise us because he’d manage to find a Chinese food buffet (which, no matter where I’ve been, have usually not been that good). Seriously. In Little Town, WV, there were several. Go figure.

So, he took us to a Chinese food buffet in the only mall for miles for dinner. The food was pretty fair (as expected); however, they obviously used MSG on their food, because about a half hour later, I came down with a screaming migraine.

The plans for the group were to go to a nearby park after dinner to go through a drive-through Christmas light display that the town set up every year. It was the first night. However, with my head feeling like someone took a sledgehammer to me, and the knowledge that I was sure I would throw up at any minute (not conducive to car-bound activities), I asked to be excused to go back to the house, so I didn’t bring everyone down from the Christmas light extravaganza. After a lot of huffing and puffing from my Dad, I was excused and went back to the house to hurl. And because of the all-consuming pain of a migraine like that, today I can’t even remember if my husband came back with me or not. I’ll have to ask him.

After 2 rounds of bathroom hell, to my surprise, everyone came back. The people who’d set up the lights obviously hadn’t checked them in the dark, because they turned on the lights, and voila — there was a light out somewhere, or a short, amongst the thousands and thousands, so they had to close down the attraction. So much for my Dad’s huffing and puffing because I was going to miss it!

Fast forward, the next morning. Dad was taking us out to breakfast, making a big deal about taking us to this breakfast spot (also, please note here — my father was a very, very cheap man! He’d been known to drive 10 or 15 extra miles to a store to save 2 or 3 cents on toilet paper; so for him to openly take us out was a big deal in itself, and he let us know it!). But he was telling us that this was a really nice spot, and he went on and on. And on. And lo and behold, when we arrived, we realized he was taking us to a grocery store that had a little counter in the bakery. A grocery store, I’m not kidding. But my sister and I, used to these antics, just laughed, shrugged, and said, “Whatever.” However, my 15-year-old nephew, who was in those terrible teenage years, was mortified. “We’re going to breakfast in a GROCERY STORE??” To which I replied, “You know what? One day, I promise you, you will look back at this and LAUGH at it. Really. Once you get to adulthood, you realize it’s better to laugh at this… it’s what makes family!” And my sister agreed. He looked at us suspiciously.  ”Oh, come on,” I said, “Isn’t it a LITTLE bit funny that we’re going to breakfast at the grocery store?” He still didn’t see the humor.

A little later, while we were eating our breakfast at the little tables set up in the store, with the beautiful view of locals buying their produce, my sister asked that same nephew, “Hey, why did you end up on the floor upstairs this morning…” (where the guest rooms were in our Dad’s house) “… instead of on the couch, where you were last night?”

His response, after a hesitation: “I couldn’t sleep down there. The penguins freaked me out – they were CREEPY, and they were all staring at me!” Which, of course, made us all laugh (except my Dad, who didn’t hear — he was, at this time, mostly deaf and refused to use his hearing aids on most days, so if we didn’t yell it, he didn’t hear). As I said, the penguins are another story. But to put it simple, the man had an obsession with them, and it was a little freaky… though it made for easy gift giving for holidays!

At the end of the visit, as we were all leaving, I (as always) felt a little relieved, but a little sad. You know, when you leave a family gathering such at that, how you know someone drives you absolutely bonkers when you’re with them, but you’re a little sad when you leave them? That’s how it always was with my Dad. He was such a strange, strange, person, and very, very quirky. But I guess I always wished that we could connect a little more, and regardless of how crazy I know we all made him, I could see a little twinkle of sadness, as well, as we climbed into our cars and took off again.

Dad passed away in 2002. I think it’s during Thanksgiving that I think I miss him most, because I’ll never forget that year — just 3.5 years before he died of cancer — and it was just so classic Dad. And as quirky, annoying, obnoxious, and outright bizarre that he was, I loved him.

Happy Thanksgiving, Dad. And thanks for the memories – you’re with us always.

Keeping up with the Nielsens?

So, we must all sit and have a moment in silence for deference to… the TV writers?

Seriously?

First of all, let me just say it right now — TV is generally junk. And most of the shows out there today are pretty much junk, written to lull us into a state of stupidity and superficiality. How much time have you taken out of your life to talk about Gabrielle and Carlos, and how they really belong together, even with all of the (ex-) marriage’s misgivings? Or how mad you are at Shonda Rimes and crew, because they started such a wonderful relationship in Meredith and Derek, got us hooked on Patrick Dempsey and Ellen Pompeo, and she/they have just torn it down to a wasteland of playing with viewers’ minds, giving everyone a glimmer of hope, and then just pulling it away? Yes, I admit it — I’m there, too, to some degree! But the saddest part is, our household is an oddity of today — we don’t ever have the TV on during the day/evening before the kids go to bed (which usually gives us about an hour a night), and only for a few hours every Saturday/Sunday morning, so they can watch the re-re-reruns of their favorite Nickelodeon shows (“Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?…”). And occasionally, a (previewed and preapproved) movie.

So, terrible enough — we won’t have any new shows to watch for awhile (maybe a LONG while). And the terrible part of that is… that we (as a society) might actually talk to each other? Get to spend time together as a family? Read the newspaper, read a book, play a game, maybe (:::gasp:::) go outside or go out and be a part of our communities? I sure as heck know what we WON’T be doing — tuning into the useless, lame, ridiculous reality shows that will continue to plague the airwaves — because THEY won’t be bothered by this strike. Yippee. That means more people will watch the junk that’s there, and then they’ll renew the junk, which turns into the continuing downward spiral.

And I’m sorry, network writers. That I don’t have more sympathy for you. In fact, I find it rather hysterical that some celebrities are out there with the strikers, giving them “support” (these are the people making thousands and thousands of dollars — some hundreds of thousands of dollars and more, even — for every episode they shoot in a series, so what kind of hardship will they “endure” by not shooting a few epis?). So, this is greed vs. greedier? Yes, I agree that the networks have gotten pretty big for their britches, but I’m sorry — the actors, writers, and executives live in La-La-Land:  “I want $2 million dollars for this, instead a measly $1 million, waaah, waaah, waaah…”

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the value of entertainment. But excuse me… can all of that money that’s not being paid to the writers and actors during this time of frivolous disagreements go to the homeless? To rebuild a community? the help aid the disadvantaged? I doubt it!

So, writers, go at it. Bring the greedier network execs to their knees. It might actually allow everyone to become de-mesmerized by the “Idiot Box” (as my father always called it) long enough for us to start paying attention to things (really) more important than if Meredith and Derek will ever get together… such as world events, the war, the upcoming presidential elections… and our kids/each other. Hey, if you must watch TV, anyway, rent “An Inconvenient Truth”!

OK, so stay with me here… What I ALSO find interesting is that this Hollywood writers strike is very coincidental to another looming eventuality in U.S. TV — the changeover to all digital, I think due to be put into effect by the end of 2008.

I know, I know — that’s a whole year away! But the last time the writers went on strike, in 1988, it lasted for more than 5 months, which takes us more than halfway to that digital eventuality. And preliminary projections say that this strike may last… well, awhile, anyway.

So… conspiracy theory???

Nah, I really don’t think so. But that’s something else we should all wake up and look at. Do you realize that after such a date, the industry is going to FORCE us to change over to digital, or — even worse — PAY to keep analog TV? Yep, you heard it, boys and girls — you will have to PAY to be able to use your existing non-digital TV sets. The question I have is, will they also continue to make you pay for digital TV, too? The way they make you pay to have BASIC stations, because there’s really no such thing as using bunny ears anymore?What a racket! They just love to hypnotize us, and slip this stuff in!

And for everyone who doesn’t think this “hypnotizing” is actually happening, there are many, many studies that have shown that the soporific effects of TV actually temporarily lower viewers’ IQs.

Hey, if you really want some irritating giggles that make you think, watch the movie “Idiocracy.” On the surface, it seems dumb, dumb, dumb, but it really says SO much, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought, you know, it could happen…

Seriously. Watch it for yourself! Hey, after the holidays, there won’t be any new shows on for awhile… and this will make you think…. about the fact that maybe TV shouldn’t be so central in everyone’s lives.

Who Gets a Present This Year?

It’s THAT time of year again!

No sooner than we get past the glow of Halloween fun, costumes, and candy, do we wake and realize… the holidays are upon us! Well, it’s not just then… I would say it’s about October 1st, when we walk into the store to start thinking about Halloween, and there, competing with the Halloween items on display are … gasp… Christmas decorations!

 AAAGGGHHH!!!

I ignore it all, though that’s really about the time I get a knot in my stomach, because besides all the festivites, here it comes again… the DREADED FAMILY PRESENT DRAWING.

Don’t know what that is? It’s when families put names in a hat, and everyone picks out one name, and instead of getting presents for everyone, that’s the ONE person for whom they have to get a present.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It does get ridiculous in large families — if there are, say, 5 or more siblings, it can get rather spendy, especially when adulthood makes it exponential, with spouses and children. Since I have but one sister, that was never an issue — even though she has 4 children. If anything, the rule was, children first, since they enjoy the holidays so much more.

Now, let’s flash to my husband’s family. He’s the youngest of 3 children (so, do the math, 2 siblings, vs. my 1). Still manageable in my book. But I remember back in B.C. (before children) days when  they were pushing, pushing, pushing to do a drawing. That just never made sense to me. My family has always been big on Christmas, and very generous! Even when I’ve been dirt broke (especially in the first years of adulthood), I would find SOMETHING to hand make, which I think is much more meaningful as a gift, anyway. One time in ancient history, I think when I was around 21 or 22, with my above average creative abilities, I made hand-painted sweatshirts for EVERYONE (except for the children), painting something that was personally relevant for each recipient. For example, my mom had 2 cats that she adored, so I painted her cats for her (she had that shirt for years — maybe 15 – and just recently gave it back; my children use it for a nightshirt). So, all I spent on gifts that year was the cost of a plain Hanes sweatshirt (which I got from an overstock catalog, if I remember correctly, so I could order in bulk) and the material paints. And everyone got something personalized, and it showed that I spent time actually THINKING about what they would like.

OK, OK, off my soapbox and onto another one. Anyway, I thought it was the funniest thing when I was first with my husband and his sister and brother decided we would do a drawing. What, 1 instead of 2 people to get for? Is it THAT hard? So me and my big mouth said that we’d prefer not to, and we wanted to get for everyone. And, since my brother’s sister is the Queen of Organizing for the three of them (do the math: she’s the oldest and the only female, so she always ruled them, for sure), she sort of took offense to it, and pushed, pushed, pushed, and I think we did it for like one more year, and then I pushed to put a kabash on it. Fast forward: about 12 years later (which would be about 3 years ago), when between the three siblings, there were 3 spouses and 8 children, my sister-in-law waited until just the right moment… and sprung it on us again. And I think we fought it for one more year, until the year when I quit my corporate job to start the company. And then, it was so passive aggressive, I couldn’t stand it: We were TOLD in an e-mail, in about July! So, now with a fledgling company and money flowing out like water to get established, I was more than happy to comply with the Queen’s insistence (though I never told her that, we just never answered the e-mail). And this year, I NAGGED her to get us the drawing names, so we could get started on our 6 presents early.

Now, here’s the funny thing. There are a LOT of family politics around this. And if you’re going to do a drawing, then just do a drawing.

I must digress a minute here, so you understand a little bit about my in-law family politics (to which I’m convinced NOONE in this world is impervious). Way back in ancient history, when I was first with my husband and then first married to him, there were never really any issues. However, as time went on, a few things became toxic:

• The Christmas I was first pregnant with my oldest (1995), we were flying out to Minnesota to tell the family, because she was a surprise, and we hadn’t yet been trying. I was 2 months pregnant at the time, and though never nauseous (I was blessed), I was pretty tired most of the time. Now, we had told everyone the first day we were there, so they KNEW of my condition. On Christmas day, after dinner, I was so tired I could drop. After I ate dinner, I went out to the livingroom and sat with my husband, his brother, and my mother-in-law’s companion at the time. Apparently, this was a HUGE offense to my sister-in-law, who just COULDN’T believe I wouldn’t be in the kitchen helping “the women” clean up. HAH! Are you kidding me? First of all, I have never been of the belief that THE WOMEN exclusively should clean up after dinner, and the men get to go play and do whatever. What kind of nonsense is that? Secondly, I was a guest in that house, and I was always taught growing up that you take care of your guests; if they volunteer to help with something fine, if not, that’s OK, too, IT’S JUST NOT EXPECTED — I don’t expect it in my home! Thirdly, for God’s sakes, I WAS PREGNANT. And tired. They were lucky I wasn’t nauseous, or I would’ve been throwing up and elsewhere, too!!So, you might ask, how is this relevant? Well, the Queen (to recap: my sister-in-law) found this so offensive that she didn’t talk to my husband or me for something like 4 years. I’m not kidding. She made a huge character judgment call on me for that. And even funnier: She never TOLD either my husband or me that she was mad about that particular incident until 4 years later. Can you spell psycho, boys and girls? My husband sort of gave her a break: She’d been in a car accident shortly before I’d met him, and had some minor residual brain damage, causing epilepsy and severe mood swings, so he just shrugged it off as mental, anyway. Plus, as he was never particularly close with her, it really didn’t phase him too much.
• When my husband married me, any remote chance (in their minds) of him moving back to Nowhere, MN were eliminated, as I came from Long Island, NY, and knew I would never survive for a MONTH without killing myself in that town of less than 1000.  For goodness’ sake — MY HIGH SCHOOL had more people in it than my husband’s home town did!!!! Here’s his dirty little secret (which I made him relay to them at multiple points over the last 15 years, but they never really got it): A large part of the reason he joined the US Navy instead of go to a nearby college is because HE WANTED OUT OF DODGE. He had no motivation whatsoever of living his life in that area, because the only real available life was as a farmer, and noone ever seemed to actually GO SOMEWHERE — that is, besides the Black Hills in South Dakota (which weren’t all that far away, since the town was about a half hour from the SD border). But no matter what he’s told them over the years, I’M the reason he never went back to the small town life. And to them – especially his sister - I’ve basically become the anti-Christ because of it.
• I’m strong-willed, independent, and I have no problem speaking my mind. That’s completely opposite of small-town Minnesota life, where no one really TALKS about problems — much more so the weather and how the corps will do this year. Really. It was actually documented in the HYSTERICAL book, How to Speak Minnesotan, which my father-in-law gave me one of the first years I was with my husband. Now, THAT’S  good gift, see what I mean? Just a little thought behind it… I loved it! It helped me to understand that sub-culture very well.  Anyway, as the Queen is the Queen, she didn’t like SOMEONE ELSE with the potential to be Queen with one of her brothers, because that just decreased her power. My husband is sometimes a chameleon — “OK, whatever, I don’t agree, but I just don’t feel like making waves” — especially with his family (and it’s much easier to be that way when you’re halfway across the country), so it’s been me speaking for the both of us for these years. So, I guess I’ve become the naysayer.
• My brother-in-law (my husband’s brother) has always been fly-by-night, inconsistent, and changes his mind like the wind (but when he’s stuck on something, it must be HIS WAY). Thus, his 20-year stint with the US Navy was perfect for him; he had a solid, regular paycheck, and was excused for being all over the place. Plus, the Queen absolutely adores THAT brother (as my husband has always said, since they were adults, he’s always remembered her following after her OTHER brother like a puppy dog, no matter how crazy his scheme, yet barely given my husband the time of day). Yet, he had a shotgun marriage the first time around, had 2 children, got divorced, and married his current wife the year I met my husband. And let me say here, I absolutely ADORE her! We hit it off from the first time we met, and she has been my sanity in the family when I’ve started feeling like I’m crazy! Her biggest downfall: she’s a mushpot, and has usually put my brother-in-law’s crazy whims above her wants. But she has done a WONDERFUL job over the years putting up with his crazy ex-wife and his unfortunate first 2 children (they now have 3 of their own, today making his branch 5); she’s been reminded over and over through the years that she’s just the nasty stepmother, though now that those 2 children are adults and living near THEM, the relationship has seemed to mature. Anyway, those two children, as they were moved to Iowa with their mother, and went to stay with their father during school breaks wherever he was living, have sort of been a little bit of an enigma from the rest of the family,
• My husband’s sister has always been uncomfortable with my relationship with his brother’s wife; I think she feels like we have a little club or something, and that she’s excluded. Now, though I will deny that to some extent, what about the “little club” she has with her OTHER brother, and has virtually ignored my husband all these years?

So, those are the basics, anyway. I could go on and on (and I will, sometime in the future, I’m sure), but I think this is enough of the original subject to relate my point.

We have never been present to these drawings, so I don’t know this for sure, but I really think the thing is rigged. How is it that every year we’ve done this, my husband and I – the outcasts - in one form or another have gotten his brother’s first 2 children as part of our drawn names? Probably the ones we know the least. And when we ask what they like, we’re always told, “I don’t know. Get them a gift card.” Since I like to give meaningful presents, that just makes the whole thing sort of a bummer. Because I think every time we’ve done that, especially in the past few years, we’ve just gotten them a gift card to Best Buy or Barnes and Noble, and that was that.

Not that I’m complaining about our niece and nephew; it just seems that we would like some variety, and it really does seem that every year, we get them both! And it seems my sister-in-law’s younger son gets his preferred choice (though, of course, I could never PROVE it). I really like getting for the kids, and really miss out that I can’t get for them, as it won’t be long before they’ve outgrown the fun. So I’d like a variety, and different people every year, which is part of what that drawing is supposed to be about.

What a hassle. I really, really hate family politics. Seriously. Can’t we just love each other, accept each other for who we are, and enjoy one another? I love to laugh at ourselves, but so many just take offense to it.

Like the Thanksgiving we broke down and went to Minnesota, and my brother-in-law got the notion that wouldn’t it be GREAT to have Thanksgiving dinner in the BOWLING ALLEY he managed at the time (for a very short period)?

But that’s another post, on another day…