My neighborhood is filled with people similar to us -- empty nesters. Almost all the children of this small circle have grown. In our old house, we used to get oodles of trick-or-treaters. In this house, we usually get one or two.
We used to attend Halloween parties and/or golf outings. I can't count the many costumes I've made or adapted.
I miss Halloween. Maybe this year I'll don a hooded sweatshirt and sit at the kitchen table eating my bag of candy. I'll be Hangdog a/k/a the Unabomber.
Showing posts with label the Unabomber. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Unabomber. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Dads
The Captain had many reasons to be proud: WWII pilot, engineering career, an enduring marriage with a wife who adored him and more. I wish I had captured the gleam in his eyes when he spoke of his boys.
Today is Father’s Day and I am remembering the Captain/Hangdog/Unabomber. I’m thinking about last year and the absolute joy on his face when his sons or grandchildren called to acknowledge the holiday. We had a dinner, complete with three Roman generations of men. We’ll do the same today but there will be an empty chair.
My father did not get sons. He got stuck with me. Boy, have I put him through the wringer! Yet, he’s always made me feel like the smartest, the most talented daughter in the world.
We’ve all heard the stories and read the statistics. Children who grow up without a father are more likely to:
I’ve always heard that men want sons. It may be about carrying on the lineage and the family name. (You will have to kill me before I stop using the Riley name.)I watched this magician the other day. His trick was to put a bunch of people on a mat and then cover them in a bubble. I thought, “Hah! My dad has put me in a bubble for years.” One of his few quirks is when he’s mad or disappointed in me, he leaves it to my mother to tell me.
Here are a few things about my dad you may not know:
George Jones, George Strait, Willie Nelson and many other country singers will never know the passion of this fan. He forced me to listen to country music as a child and now I find myself comparing songs with him. Many of our father/daughter dates have been country music concerts.
Almost 45 years ago, Paul Riley met a little girl. She had colic and frog legs. She often spent time trying his patience. To this day, she takes him for granted. But, at least she knows it.
My father did not grow up with a great father. I did.
Today is Father’s Day and I am remembering the Captain/Hangdog/Unabomber. I’m thinking about last year and the absolute joy on his face when his sons or grandchildren called to acknowledge the holiday. We had a dinner, complete with three Roman generations of men. We’ll do the same today but there will be an empty chair.
My father did not get sons. He got stuck with me. Boy, have I put him through the wringer! Yet, he’s always made me feel like the smartest, the most talented daughter in the world.
We’ve all heard the stories and read the statistics. Children who grow up without a father are more likely to:
Abuse drugs and alcohol
Suffer in poverty
Drop out of school
Join a gang
Repeat the cycle
I’ve always heard that men want sons. It may be about carrying on the lineage and the family name. (You will have to kill me before I stop using the Riley name.)I watched this magician the other day. His trick was to put a bunch of people on a mat and then cover them in a bubble. I thought, “Hah! My dad has put me in a bubble for years.” One of his few quirks is when he’s mad or disappointed in me, he leaves it to my mother to tell me.
Here are a few things about my dad you may not know:
His childhood was beyond unfair. It makes me cry. He survived.
He describes his first date with my mother as, “Love at first sight.” I think they still like each other.
When my mother got bored with my ineptness, he continued to help me learn how to skip.
As an adult, I’ve never lived anywhere without my father painting, repairing, building.
His word is a bond. It’s ironclad. He’s the strongest (and I don’t mean just physical) person I know.
He doesn’t have to have the last word.
His quiet sense of humor is raw and hysterical.
His hearing may be diminished but he always hears us when we call.
He would get the certificate for “Best Eater.” He’s fun to cook for.
George Jones, George Strait, Willie Nelson and many other country singers will never know the passion of this fan. He forced me to listen to country music as a child and now I find myself comparing songs with him. Many of our father/daughter dates have been country music concerts.
Almost 45 years ago, Paul Riley met a little girl. She had colic and frog legs. She often spent time trying his patience. To this day, she takes him for granted. But, at least she knows it.
My father did not grow up with a great father. I did.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Please Stand Up Straight
My parents were pretty big on posture. In my years of ballet, I learned that you can't perform any of the steps without your spine in alignment. As a result, I prefer straight-back chairs. I rarely recline on a plane. The seat position in my car could be classified as military straight.
I continue to torture the baby. He's an adult (sort of) and he probably doesn't appreciate my poking. To his credit, he does respond.
There seems to be an inordinate amount of young people who have settled into slumping. They also like to wear hoodie sweatshirts with the hood up -- regardless of the weather. I can't guess if they're cold, trying to be incognito or getting ready to rob a convenience store. Since we lost the Captain and his Unabomber costume, I no longer allow this in my house. Again, we bent the rules for the Captain and allowed him to wear a baseball cap in the house. Those days are over; the husband goes a little crazy over this one.
Yes, I am sounding like an oldie. Yes, these are minor things in the general scheme of things. But, if we start with the little things and take it one step at a time, maybe the bigger things won't seem so difficult.
I continue to torture the baby. He's an adult (sort of) and he probably doesn't appreciate my poking. To his credit, he does respond.
There seems to be an inordinate amount of young people who have settled into slumping. They also like to wear hoodie sweatshirts with the hood up -- regardless of the weather. I can't guess if they're cold, trying to be incognito or getting ready to rob a convenience store. Since we lost the Captain and his Unabomber costume, I no longer allow this in my house. Again, we bent the rules for the Captain and allowed him to wear a baseball cap in the house. Those days are over; the husband goes a little crazy over this one.
Yes, I am sounding like an oldie. Yes, these are minor things in the general scheme of things. But, if we start with the little things and take it one step at a time, maybe the bigger things won't seem so difficult.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Unabomber
One of my favorite looks for Hangdog was the Unabomber costume. (Hood tied close.)
It's reasonably warm today and we're headed for Spring. But it's still a little chilly. The baby had a hoody sweatshirt on and for one split second, I swore I was looking at Hangdog.
It's reasonably warm today and we're headed for Spring. But it's still a little chilly. The baby had a hoody sweatshirt on and for one split second, I swore I was looking at Hangdog.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Ash Wednesday
The husband spent most of the day taking his dad to previously scheduled doctor's appointments.
This afternoon, I decided to take the framed photos and pay my own visit. He loves the photos and we had many laughs and tears as we went through some memories.
He was wearing his Unabomber outfit. It made me smile.
Today is Ash Wednesday so I offered to take him to church. He did not feel up to it. So, I offered to smoke a cigarette and smear some ashes on his forehead. (For whatever reason, he finds my humor engaging.) We knelt and said our prayers.
My car must be programmed. It pulled into the nearest Methodist church. It was the middle of the afternoon and the only people were the frantic office people. I have never been in this church in my life but it felt like home. Shouldn't all churches feel that way? I went to the altar, did my business and was leaving when a minister showed up at the door.
(Can't you imagine those office people? 911 to the minister! Solo, crying woman in the sanctuary!)
The very nice minister put the ashes on my forehead. Then he walked me to my car.
This afternoon, I decided to take the framed photos and pay my own visit. He loves the photos and we had many laughs and tears as we went through some memories.
He was wearing his Unabomber outfit. It made me smile.
Today is Ash Wednesday so I offered to take him to church. He did not feel up to it. So, I offered to smoke a cigarette and smear some ashes on his forehead. (For whatever reason, he finds my humor engaging.) We knelt and said our prayers.
My car must be programmed. It pulled into the nearest Methodist church. It was the middle of the afternoon and the only people were the frantic office people. I have never been in this church in my life but it felt like home. Shouldn't all churches feel that way? I went to the altar, did my business and was leaving when a minister showed up at the door.
(Can't you imagine those office people? 911 to the minister! Solo, crying woman in the sanctuary!)
The very nice minister put the ashes on my forehead. Then he walked me to my car.
Monday, December 17, 2007
It Can Always Get Worse
You know how some days end and as your head hits the pillow you think, tomorrow has to be a better day. Then you find out the joke's on you.
Yesterday was dismal.
The mother-in-law was determined to go for a hair appointment. In addition to the fact that she can barely walk, we are still dealing with icy side streets and somewhat treacherous conditions. I tried everything: pleading, guilt, bitchiness. Nope, she's going to go. At least I convinced her to leave Hangdog at home.
Their car was covered in ice and snow so I attempted to clean it off. All the while my back is rebelling. As I'm scraping and brushing snow, the Ice Man Cometh. The Unabomber came out to clean off the car. (Man with a cane, icy patches -- you get the picture.) Then I resort to ordering: Get back in the house!
She comes out marching. Well, as much marching as you can do on ice. Jaw on edge, the stubborn look in her eye. And I resigned myself to the fact that she's going to do what she wants to do. I saw the car headed out of the driveway so I went back to work. The next thing I know, I walked by a front window and I see their car in my front yard. Two very helpful gentlemen who happened to be working across the street immediately ran to her assistance. I ran out with a shovel and get this ... she was waiting for them to dig her out so she could still go!
I took her by the arm and she did the 5-year old arm wrench. Let go of me! As I pointed out every patch of ice, she said with annoyance, "I see it!" She was very angry with me so the happy family dinner I had planned was a little chilly. We had fun with the baby and a yummy meal but conversation was a little stilted.
Today, it became even more interesting.
We were awakened at 5:00am because our doorbell rang. It was a neighbor, out walking his dog, and he was concerned that somebody's grandpa is walking around in the street at the end of our driveway. The husband got him in the house and there was some confusion about where the mother-in-law was. I found her. She had gone back to bed.
Then I looked out the laundry room window and noticed their car wasn’t where I left it. So, I walked outside and found it in the ditch by our mailbox.
Apparently they were trying to go to an 8:00 VA appt. (unbeknownst to us). When the car went in the ditch, she left him outside to wait for the tow truck, put her nightgown back on and went back to bed. He was so disoriented, he was babbling (although making more sense than her.)
She swears she called her insurance company for a tow (????) but when we called they have no record of it. So, we don’t know if she called anyone at all. The husband got the car out of the ditch.
She orders him around and he follows orders. Maybe she did tell him to wait for the tow truck. I honestly don't know. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want him pacing the icy streets for hours. Without my neighbors' interception, he would've followed her orders and stayed. Or fallen. Or had frostbite. Or worse.
What would we do without kind neighbors? My friend and next-door neighbor happened to be outside with her dogs so she can attest that I am not embellishing. The neighbor who notified us came back to make sure we found her.
The oldies are supposed to go to Texas tomorrow. The relatives in Texas have no idea of what is headed their way.
Yesterday was dismal.
The mother-in-law was determined to go for a hair appointment. In addition to the fact that she can barely walk, we are still dealing with icy side streets and somewhat treacherous conditions. I tried everything: pleading, guilt, bitchiness. Nope, she's going to go. At least I convinced her to leave Hangdog at home.
Their car was covered in ice and snow so I attempted to clean it off. All the while my back is rebelling. As I'm scraping and brushing snow, the Ice Man Cometh. The Unabomber came out to clean off the car. (Man with a cane, icy patches -- you get the picture.) Then I resort to ordering: Get back in the house!
She comes out marching. Well, as much marching as you can do on ice. Jaw on edge, the stubborn look in her eye. And I resigned myself to the fact that she's going to do what she wants to do. I saw the car headed out of the driveway so I went back to work. The next thing I know, I walked by a front window and I see their car in my front yard. Two very helpful gentlemen who happened to be working across the street immediately ran to her assistance. I ran out with a shovel and get this ... she was waiting for them to dig her out so she could still go!
I took her by the arm and she did the 5-year old arm wrench. Let go of me! As I pointed out every patch of ice, she said with annoyance, "I see it!" She was very angry with me so the happy family dinner I had planned was a little chilly. We had fun with the baby and a yummy meal but conversation was a little stilted.
Today, it became even more interesting.
We were awakened at 5:00am because our doorbell rang. It was a neighbor, out walking his dog, and he was concerned that somebody's grandpa is walking around in the street at the end of our driveway. The husband got him in the house and there was some confusion about where the mother-in-law was. I found her. She had gone back to bed.
Then I looked out the laundry room window and noticed their car wasn’t where I left it. So, I walked outside and found it in the ditch by our mailbox.
Apparently they were trying to go to an 8:00 VA appt. (unbeknownst to us). When the car went in the ditch, she left him outside to wait for the tow truck, put her nightgown back on and went back to bed. He was so disoriented, he was babbling (although making more sense than her.)
She swears she called her insurance company for a tow (????) but when we called they have no record of it. So, we don’t know if she called anyone at all. The husband got the car out of the ditch.
She orders him around and he follows orders. Maybe she did tell him to wait for the tow truck. I honestly don't know. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want him pacing the icy streets for hours. Without my neighbors' interception, he would've followed her orders and stayed. Or fallen. Or had frostbite. Or worse.
What would we do without kind neighbors? My friend and next-door neighbor happened to be outside with her dogs so she can attest that I am not embellishing. The neighbor who notified us came back to make sure we found her.
The oldies are supposed to go to Texas tomorrow. The relatives in Texas have no idea of what is headed their way.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
A Fall Day
There's something magical about the perfect Fall day: brightly colored leaves and a crispness in the air.
Yesterday was a Fall day around here but it wasn't the good kind.
I stopped counting after the fourth fall. As I watched the mother-in-law weave, bounce off walls and whack her head on the way down, I almost lost it. Instead of picking her up AGAIN, I truly considered just falling down myself. When I finally got her back in bed for the umpteenth time, I started speaking to her like the dog: "Lie down and stay!"
There were people here for the first fall and I know she will be horribly embarrassed when she remembers this fact. (I haven't talked to her yet today but I did go into the dungeon to make sure she's breathing.)
You know those moments when you think -- I just need to sit down for a moment. I was headed there when I heard the Unabomber in the hallway asking, "Any way a good-looking man can get a sandwich and a cup of coffee?" This is why I do not own firearms.
Today I can barely walk. It's not due to being hit by a car on Sunday; it's due to lifting her repeatedly yesterday. She is not a big woman but she's bigger than I am. I can't do it.
When my uncle was very ill, my aunt (who is tiny) dealt with many falls. He was a big man and there was no way she could lift him. She became very chummy with the 911 EMTs. This is my future.
The oldies are supposed to travel to Texas in 8 days. I can't imagine but I'm still hoping beyond hope that the trip will happen. We're supposed to go to the doctor today. That's a really good idea except I don't have a clue how to make it happen. I am in pain and there is no way I can maneuver both of them. Plus, if one of them falls, I'll just have to step over him or her. I couldn't pick up a potato, let alone one of them.
Yesterday was a Fall day around here but it wasn't the good kind.
I stopped counting after the fourth fall. As I watched the mother-in-law weave, bounce off walls and whack her head on the way down, I almost lost it. Instead of picking her up AGAIN, I truly considered just falling down myself. When I finally got her back in bed for the umpteenth time, I started speaking to her like the dog: "Lie down and stay!"
There were people here for the first fall and I know she will be horribly embarrassed when she remembers this fact. (I haven't talked to her yet today but I did go into the dungeon to make sure she's breathing.)
You know those moments when you think -- I just need to sit down for a moment. I was headed there when I heard the Unabomber in the hallway asking, "Any way a good-looking man can get a sandwich and a cup of coffee?" This is why I do not own firearms.
Today I can barely walk. It's not due to being hit by a car on Sunday; it's due to lifting her repeatedly yesterday. She is not a big woman but she's bigger than I am. I can't do it.
When my uncle was very ill, my aunt (who is tiny) dealt with many falls. He was a big man and there was no way she could lift him. She became very chummy with the 911 EMTs. This is my future.
The oldies are supposed to travel to Texas in 8 days. I can't imagine but I'm still hoping beyond hope that the trip will happen. We're supposed to go to the doctor today. That's a really good idea except I don't have a clue how to make it happen. I am in pain and there is no way I can maneuver both of them. Plus, if one of them falls, I'll just have to step over him or her. I couldn't pick up a potato, let alone one of them.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Numbers
I love numbers. (Self-diagnosis: Mildly autistic.) I count constantly, especially when I'm trying to get my brain to stop spinning so I can go to sleep.
Newspaper headlines or magazine cover lines immediately get my attention if they include a number:
I'm thinking about writing my own series. Here are some of the headlines I'm considering:
I'm not sure to whom I'll pitch this. I'll have to get my sources in order. Lucky for me, they're all around me.
Newspaper headlines or magazine cover lines immediately get my attention if they include a number:
10 Steps to a Healthier You.
One Out of 12 Live in Poverty.
Five Legal Documents You Should Complete.
20 Simple Ways to De clutter Your Life.
Six Sex Tips No One Ever Told You.
Eight Ways to Update Your Little Black Dress.
Seven Dinners in Seven Minutes or Less.
I'm thinking about writing my own series. Here are some of the headlines I'm considering:
Fifteen things the Dog Ate or Destroyed.
Only Six random pills discovered on the Floor -- When You know it's a Good Day.
Disaster Alert! When You Get Down to Five Pounds of Butter.
Ten Fun Ways to Celebrate Your 10th Fire.
18 Things You Never Knew You Could Bleach.
25 Things You Never Considered Frying.
150 Things You Forgot to Worry About.
Four Ways to Wear the Unabomber Hood.
Five Different Ways to Fall.
Seven New Guilt Trips You've Never Tried.
I'm not sure to whom I'll pitch this. I'll have to get my sources in order. Lucky for me, they're all around me.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Losing Touch
When the daughter was in high school, she had many friends that were the center of her life. Sometimes other things, like studying, took a backseat to whatever was going on with her friends. The husband was the voice of reason and explained that she wouldn't know or keep in contact with most of these people within five or ten years. I agreed with him but I had a hard time with these conversations because two of my dearest friends have been in my life long before high school.
Not that I don't have experience with losing touch with people.
I grew up in a neighborhood of friends. I probably wouldn't recognize most of them today. I had a core group in college and we were inseparable. I haven't seen many of them in years. My life is rich with friends but there are some other people that have disappeared and I miss them.
In a magical twist of fate, this blog has rekindled a friendship with some.
The oldies moved here from Mississippi. The first year, they received constant calls and letters from friends with juicy updates about their town, etc. This year, the notes and phone calls are dwindling. She's noticed and I can tell it depresses her.
Just like marriage, friendship takes an effort. In some ways, it takes more of an effort. It has to matter to you.
So, I've been trying to reach out a bit. When it works, the years fall away. I was in New York earlier this year and had dinner with a friend from college. We're making plans to visit again. I had lunch with another college friend and we shared laughter and tears. We spent a lot of time saying, "Remember when we all ...?" I'm a little jealous, he's done a much better job of keeping in touch with our college gang.
The Unabomber has lost touch with reality; the mother-in-law has not. She watches the comings and goings of our life and she misses her friends.
Not that I don't have experience with losing touch with people.
I grew up in a neighborhood of friends. I probably wouldn't recognize most of them today. I had a core group in college and we were inseparable. I haven't seen many of them in years. My life is rich with friends but there are some other people that have disappeared and I miss them.
In a magical twist of fate, this blog has rekindled a friendship with some.
The oldies moved here from Mississippi. The first year, they received constant calls and letters from friends with juicy updates about their town, etc. This year, the notes and phone calls are dwindling. She's noticed and I can tell it depresses her.
Just like marriage, friendship takes an effort. In some ways, it takes more of an effort. It has to matter to you.
So, I've been trying to reach out a bit. When it works, the years fall away. I was in New York earlier this year and had dinner with a friend from college. We're making plans to visit again. I had lunch with another college friend and we shared laughter and tears. We spent a lot of time saying, "Remember when we all ...?" I'm a little jealous, he's done a much better job of keeping in touch with our college gang.
The Unabomber has lost touch with reality; the mother-in-law has not. She watches the comings and goings of our life and she misses her friends.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Master Manipulator
I'm sort of an "out there person," to borrow a phrase from my Aunt Cess. What you see is what you get. You will know my mood in one minute. Experience has taught the husband to figure it out in five seconds. He reacts accordingly. Well, most of the time. Sometimes he just says, "Get over yourself." I'm not a schemer. I'm stubborn and I want things my way but I will be in up front and honest about it. Yet, I'm pretty good at compromise or negotiations.
I live with the Master Manipulator. I watch and I vacillate between awe and repulsion. She's good. She's damn good.
She somehow gets her way every time. She does it with the Unabomber. She does it with children and grandchildren. Every once in a while, Big Daddy will say to me, "Do you think she's manipulating me?" Float there for a minute. "Yes, and she's doing it well."
Manipulation is not something I aspire to. I prefer to duke it out. I prefer to walk out of the room or grab a whacker and thump the offending party on the head. I don't like to guess when you're angry with me or what I could do differently. Just tell me. Let me defend myself or ask your forgiveness.
I had an email from the daughter this morning. No pretense -- just something that's bugging her. I will fix it. She is right; I am wrong. It's so refreshing to deal with an issue and tackle it head on. Thank God, she missed the gene of manipulation.
I live with the Master Manipulator. I watch and I vacillate between awe and repulsion. She's good. She's damn good.
She somehow gets her way every time. She does it with the Unabomber. She does it with children and grandchildren. Every once in a while, Big Daddy will say to me, "Do you think she's manipulating me?" Float there for a minute. "Yes, and she's doing it well."
Manipulation is not something I aspire to. I prefer to duke it out. I prefer to walk out of the room or grab a whacker and thump the offending party on the head. I don't like to guess when you're angry with me or what I could do differently. Just tell me. Let me defend myself or ask your forgiveness.
I had an email from the daughter this morning. No pretense -- just something that's bugging her. I will fix it. She is right; I am wrong. It's so refreshing to deal with an issue and tackle it head on. Thank God, she missed the gene of manipulation.
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