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| March 23/09 |
| 03.23.09 (1:51 pm) [edit] |
| Approximately 1 PM Sometime yesterday, while the boys and I were out getting water and wood and doing laundry, Eric's go-cart was stolen out of our backyard. His prized possession, the one thing he begged me for every birthday and Christmas for years, until I had finally had the money to get it for him. I possibly wouldn't even have known for days, except a neighbor (J.N.) from up the road stopped Pete and told him that J.S. had tried to sell it to him. J.N. is going to talk to the boy and his parents. Apparently he pulls shit like this all the time. If it's not back in my yard by tomorrow, I'm going to have to call the police. I'm itching to do it right now, because the longer I wait, the less likely I will be to ever see it again (I don't have the $2500 dollars to replace it. I don't even have TWO dollars), but at the same time I'm not looking forward to the ensuing energy-sucking experience of having to put on the proper societal mask to use the phone and talk to the police who will, most likely, eventually show up at my door. Words cannot adequately express what I am feeling right now. Heartbroken comes pretty damn close. I am so upset. Eric SO doesn't need this shit. Today is his 18th birthday. Approximately 11 PM There is indeed a God, by whatever names or concepts you may use. Somebody was smiling on us today! By 2 O'Clock I couldn't stand sitting on my thumbs any longer. I went looking for it. I combed the 4-wheeler trails, on foot for over two hours. The trails should have been ICY, but guess what? There were the carts' distinctive tracks all over the place, and the machine (which was never meant for such rough terrain) had churned the trails into muddy soup. No sign of the cart, so I came home and called the police, and Dick. The police said they were sending someone over, and I'm still waiting, so it'll probably be at the ass-crack of dawn tomorrow. Dick came over and chatted up all the neighbors--he knows them, I don't, and he (unlike me) has no compunctions about accusing someone of stealing without proof. He actually browbeat a confession out of J.S. with the help of the boy's parents, and I discovered that he's been in trouble for stealing before. J.S. shortly came down to my house, apologized, and offered to show us where to pick it up. It's in rough shape--it was never meant to be a dune buggy, much less on such narrow trails--they blew a belt really badly which knocked loose the guard and tore wires out, one side panel is completely gone and the other is smashed to bits, one tire will no longer hold air, the mud guard under the engine is broke in half, and the safety flag on the back was snapped off. There is too much dried, frozen mud on it to tell if the frame was bent or shocks blown. But, it's certainly nothing that can't be fixed, and the kids' family offered to pay for it as they can. The boy's ( I say boy, but age has nothing to do with it--they are both Eric's age and plenty old enough to know better) partner in crime, however, hightailed it as soon as he heard the police were called, and apparently he's ticked off at J.S. for "caving". He wanted to sell it. HIM I may or may not want to watch suffocating to death on his own blood. But because I'm feeling charitable, I may or may not be satisfied with watching him puke it for a few days. So...It's back, and my relief eclipses the badness of it all. And, if that's not good enough news, I got hired at a Tim Hortons (coffee and doughnut shop), starting Wednesday evening. If I said customer service was not my strong suit, it would be the understatement of the millenium, but for the paycheck I can smile and fake it until something better comes along. Either way, I end the day on a high note, if an exhausted one. |
| 6 Comments |
| March 21/09 |
| 03.21.09 (12:49 pm) [edit] |
| Dick used to get work thrown at him on a regular basis. A lot of work. Good jobs paying decent money. He refused 99 % of those jobs because "it isn't what I want to do". He's perfectly content to let other people house and feed him while he waits for the elusive grail. As a matter of fact, he prefers it that way. Me? I can't even get a callback about a midnight cleanup job at a Doughnut shop. Bitter? Who, me? Nah. |
| 0 Comments |
| March 9/09 |
| 03.09.09 (2:52 am) [edit] |
| It's approximately 1:30 in the morning. I'm in the living room sorting laundry and folding socks (hey, I'm a night owl, always have been. Get over it). The boys are long fast asleep, Eric since 10:30 and Peter since 11:30 or so. Suddenly, loudly and clearly, I hear Eric calling me. "Mom?" Except it sounds as if he's calling me from outside my "back" doors, the patio doors off the kitchen, instead of his room just down the hall. Clear as day, as if he had an important question to ask. I say "What?" no answer, so I go to his room, knock (no answer),open the door and shine the flashlight in. He's sound asleep, and I've NEVER known him to talk in his sleep, not even the nonsensical gibberings most people are guilty of. OK, so maybe it was Peter, though he'd have to be yelling...knock,wait, walk in, shine flashlight...also sound asleep. Also not a "talker", though even if he was,I would not have heard it because of where his bedroom is and the fact that while Eric's bedroom has heat ducts from the living room, Peter's does not. I look out the back doors, where I thought I heard Eric's voice coming from. Nothing. I must have imagined it from the sighings of the wind, or in-season cats yowling outside. I go back to my sock pairing, separating holey ones. Within seconds, I hear Eric again...this time, "Mom!", unmistakably Er's voice, addressing me specifically and urgently. It sounded again as if it was coming from outside my back door, which from the living room (where I was) is almost directly opposite me, about 20 feet away. Someone needs something/is in trouble/something is wrong! I shout "what?" thinking my first check was grossly mistaken or that Eric had promptly fallen back to sleep after calling me the first time. No answer. Check kids again and go out back door, straining to hear something, ANYTHING except wind. Wind refuses to sound like Eric or make any noise that resembles "Mom". I KNOW Eric is not calling me, nor Peter (Their voices sometimes sound quite similar) I grab the flashlight (I'm rather nightblind most of the time), run to the back door again and peer out, looking for tracks, something, anything, and, seeing nothing, take the flashlight around the house again. Nothing. Nothing but high-power elemental wind. Not even a 'yote singing in the distance to break the wind noise. There are several explanations for this occurrence. Drawn from my own personal knowledge and experience, the most reasonable one is that I experienced a brief and (hopefully) transitory auditory hallucination. It would be my first fully auditory. While most likely, I'd rather it not be a hallucination (or "an" hallucination to you backward American folk who think 'h' is a vowel or something) The second one is that Eric's pour soul needs more nurturing than I am providing. and is calling to me from sleep, which makes sense, because he's so worried about our financial situation that he's having panic attacks and has become so hypochondriachal that I'm having a HUGE time not just being annoyed by it. The odds that the wind could sound exactly like Eric, specifically calling me, TWICE, are incalculable. And, while I believe in spirits and "ghosts" (though my definitions are probably very different from yours) That wasn't it. It was not angels, and certainly not demons. All that is left is me, I think. |
| 2 Comments |
| Garbage garbage garbage burn burn burn Mar 6, 2009 |
| 03.06.09 (2:34 am) [edit] |
| Going through my living room. Going through my closets and drawers. Haven't yet tackled the two bookshelves, except to stack his crap and my books and (truly important) papers to make a little more room, but that'll be next, along with the shelves that hold photo albums. Keeping stuff I know he'll miss tomorrow or three years down the road, burning the rest. And there's a LOT of it. I've only done most of one room so far, and I've burned about two garbage bags full of old bills, receipts, packaging and CRAP. I've put about two regular-sized grocery bags full of this stuff in my woodstove every day for a week, and I haven't even finished my living room, which is about 12 x 20, including my front entranceway. I am reading every old bill, ticket, receipt, notes, jotted phone numbers, magazines, notebooks etc. one by one to sort into a "send to dick" pile, a "necessary or wanting to keep" pile and a "burn burn burn" pile. The burn pile is winning 1000/1. I stunk out my neighbour today burning this shit. He actually came over and complained, and he NEVER complains. He is the most tolerant, easygoing guy you could ever hope to meet. Old magazines smell much worse than a chunk of maple or elm apparently, and give off ridiculous amounts of smoke, especially, I suppose, when you burn three at a time along with a few random Q-tips and some odd packaging bits that never got thrown away for some strange reason. If I had an incinerator, this would be faster. I can now get into my coat closet for the first time in three years, and we've been here less than five. Don't get the wrong impression--it's not just paper junk that was cluttering this place up (a lot of that was mine, but if I don't need it for reference or taxes then burn burn burn purge purge purge) it was boxes of parts for a boat that will never see the water, bits of machinery and electronics that will never work, boxes of candy dishes and books about real estate law, boxes of baby things that he was given and deemed too good to give away, boxes of (LP) records that we already have, sometimes in duplicate or triplicate, all things kept because he "might use them someday" or "they might be worth money someday". A floor-to ceiling stack of non-functional stereo equipment, because he will 'fix' it someday. Gone today, from the one room. Today, the living room mess is mostly gone, since he picked up a trailer load today. He "tried" to adhere to my "front to back" rule so that I can at least tidy and fix a room at a time, but, the main bedroom is looking even rougher than normal...I discovered the floor on the south side has sunk almost 4 inches and will need to be shored up, as my nother would say, "the touter the suiter" (from the French tout de suite, meaning fast), and I never would have discovered that if dick hadn't moved out his boxes o' crap and never-used desk from that side of the tiny room. The kitchen looks pretty rough too, as one mess is displaced to get another one out the door. He collects old appliances, anything silver plated and art glass among other things, namely pretty much everything. But, sooner or later, it WILL be out the door, or burn burn burn. I've heard more than one comment about my house being disgusting, smelly, untidy; mostly, ironically, from dick's family. Pretty hard to vacuum around 10 boxes of SHIT, but the messy house was always MY FAULT 'cause I've got a twat, I guess, and couldn't bother to dust a bazillion items that were never meant to be in a house in the first place. Funny, that. Last month, as the END of my 20 year marriage started to sink in a little, I felt as if someone close had died. It got bad enough that I wanted to die myself. Now? This month I want to PURGE. It's taken and taking all I've got not to throw EVERYTHING out into a huge pile in the backyard or onto the creek and light it on fire. I want it gone, and I want to watch it GO. NOW. I feel like I should be sad or something. All I can feel is elation that I can see my walls and floor and doors (at least in the one room) again. Today, I feel better than I have in a long time. Tomorrow, today may well smack me upside the head. Experience has shown me that although I feel relief RIGHT NOW, I will pay for todays physical and emotional journey in spades. But, either way, this stuff needs to be sorted through, outta here, garbaged, burned. It's 2 in the morning and my neighbour is asleep, so burn burn burn |
| 0 Comments |