Zipping the doo-dad

Over the years my dad has had many golf buddies. Many of them became honorary members of our extended family. We grew up memorizing their slightly off-color jokes, bringing them cold Buds, and helping my mom make pastrami sandwiches and popcorn for the returning heroes. Sometimes we were acquainted with their families, and sometimes not.

Mom was especially fond of Dick and his wife Pat. Pat was a very gracious hostess, and Dick is a no pretense, genuinely kind and generous human, and a funny low level bull storyteller. I think that storyteller quality is prominent in the long line of Dad's golf buddies.

Dick showed up one of the first nights we were home and grieving. He sat there telling tales of neighborhood escapades over several decades while we ate roast pork tenderloin and sauerkraut. He told of a couple in one of his supper or bridge clubs where the husband was advancing into Alzheimers. After an evening together, the husband couldn't zip his parka, so Dick tried to help. The Alzheimers guy whopped him upside the head, thinking Dick was trying to grab his doo-dad. This story was one that help jump start us out of our numbness.

Another golf buddy and his wife showed up and told us the story of the traveling transgender pheasant. One of their kids that we grew up with turned into a respectable dentist (which is really amazing). When the son bought out a retiring dentist's practice he inherited a stuffed pheasant.

For over twenty years the dentist and his siblings have been mailing and shipping the pheasant across the country for special occasions. The pheasant has been dressed up as a Thanksgiving turkey and an award-winning band director in a custom uniform with epaulettes. It has gone through post 9/11 airline security in a bride's gown, then gone on a honeymoon with the bride's gown and veil in a pheasant-size hanging travel bag. I know it sounds crazy, but placing the image of the transgender pheasant in our mind, and making us laugh until root beer shot out our nostrils was one of the most healing gifts we received.

Visualizing a safe place

Through the stress and loss of the last few months I've had some trouble sleeping. I'm thankful for the various experiences of Twelve-stepping, journaling, counseling, painting, photographing, talking, and sharing that helped me build coping skills. Over fifteen years ago some self-help book or group suggested choosing a place where I felt very safe, creative, calm, and energized to use in centering exercises.

I hadn't thought about the Martin Park Nature Center in years. It's in Oklahoma City west of Edmond where we lived in the late Eighties. I shared the park with my family and with Cub Scouts, but I also spent time there alone when my small children went to Mother's Day Out. I drew and painted, hiked, and just sat quietly on cold stones watching fall leaves float by in the creek. I ate my sandwich and watched a heron catch lunch. My paintings show the anxiety I felt in those years, but I remember a calm awareness of one particular bend in the creek with softshell turtles on the red clay banks. When I went Googling I didn't find a photo of this particular place in the park. Perhaps it is my Brigadoon. When I needed the memory of a safe place this week the memory resurfaced thanks to the practice of a different time.

I hope you have a special safe place to visualize when the time arises.

Fritzi

August 7, 1928 - January 14, 2005

My mother passed away January fourteenth at Mayo Clinic. At some point I hope to fill in more of the story in this blog. Perhaps it will be of use to someone else in a similar situation. Or perhaps it will just help me get through.

Peter, Paul, & Mommy

I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor, and I don't like it very much! I'm feeling overwhelmed and squeezed. And I'm definitely out of balance with the forces of cosmic digestion and elimination.

The kitchen sink is clogged. Both sides are full of creepy-looking formerly turkey soup. While digging around in the freezer this morning for a leftover to reheat at lunch, I encountered a large container of frozen soup that looked especially unappetizing. I upended the container in the sink above the disposal to melt, and asked my son to please run it down the disposal if he stopped by the condo later in the day.

I don't know exactly what he did or when, but now I have this special bonus mess! I see a plumber in my crystal ball, as the Liquid Plumber Foaming Snake isn't doing any good. Oh, gee! He's up to my knee! Oh, heck! He's up to my neck!

Mom's intestines have been a foaming snake for nearly five months. Sure hope a visit from my sister will be a boost for Mom and for Dad, too.

Waste management and celebrity status

I gotta tell you, it's tough being in the public eye all the time. For quite some time now my mom's every stool has been collected and analyzed because enquiring minds want to know. Now she's got dermatologists popping in to photograph her bare midriff like she's Madonna or Princess Di. Seems she's got a rash with a complementary color scheme. Not as good as a grilled cheese sandwich of the Virgin Mary, but still a lead story on a slow news day.

Celebrity media scrutiny has extended to the next generation. I've got people sorting through my trash looking for the Rummy's conscience and Diet Pepsi cans. Yes, indeed, the city's own commercial environmental waste diversion specialists are going to do an on-site evaluation (waste audit) of my trash/potential recyclables. This needs to be done several times since the container contents fluctuate from week to week. A dear demented friend sent one of my email diatribes about the state of recycling in multi-family dwellings off to a college friend who happened to be a city councilman who sent it on to the city manager who sent it to the special services coordinator who handed it off to the commercial diversion dude. And now I'm a member of the Green Team. I hope my wardrobe doesn't malfunction like a hospital gown.

My mom can be an honorary member of the Green Team. She has just completed a 72-hour waste collection study, and the docs at Mayo weren't looking for her autograph to sell on EBay.

I guess my fifteen minutes of fame came just after the birth of my first son in a teaching hospital. Six med students arrived in my delivery room to watch my OB/Gyn embroider my episiotomy. Smile. You're on candid camera.