Hell in a Handbasket, A New Life in Process

A Year, A Change, a Diet

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 20:39:00 +0000

It has been almost one year since the phase of Dad has moved on to other, more capable, non- wanting to kill, hands. It took 4 additional months to secure the condo and now 7 months to get it to a stage where I feel it is now home. This is in great part to a supportive network of family, new friends and crazy co workers.

I have released alot in my life. Some anger, some sadness, some smaller sized pants. I have wanted to venture out of my shell more but am still trying to define my new comfort zone. I found in the 6, yes 6 years, I lived with and roomed with Daddie-o, that most, if not all of my old friends have moved on. With lives, loves, careers and I somehow expected them to wait for me to catch up.

That hurt more than I expected. It felt like my cruise ship years all over again. Only not as fun.

I know what Mom felt like now, when she would yell at me for walking too fast down the street, she with her black "pony boots' click clacking as fast as they could go, but always at least 5 feet behind me.

Get the God Damn pony boots off me man, I want to go faster.

So, former co-workers moved on, friends in NYC, and on ships moved on, extended family dropped off the face of the earth. I don't blame them. My life was challenging and I was not in the most amiable of moods in general. I kinda thought that was part of the life test though, the tough times and helping people through it etc. If it wasn't for Melissa ,Christie and Dr. Grey Goose, I would have lost what small fibers of sanity I had.

So, this too has passed, or is in the process of passing.

I need to learn a new way to live now.

With a new city to explore( Portsmouth and Ogunquit), new people to meet(theater and foodies) and a new body to get used to(fat). I may not look fat to the outside world, but it's all relative. I am heavier than I have ever been and now I have, what appears to be a year long allergic reaction all over. I have removed all scents, etc. from my life and still I am one big itchball.

Chris says I am allergic to dairy.

I would rather die than give up cheese I have said to myself in the past, but now in the era of itch til you are one oozing blub of flesh, makes me reconsider that quote.

Researching the web on all things lactose senstivity, I know in my gut I am.

So ,I have to try to the Avoidance Diet. Remove all dairy from the diet, noting physical, mental emotional changes, and slowly start adding it back in to see what happens. Everything I read says it gets worse before it gets better for a few weeks( the toxins and those that try to fight it, still surging through the body takes time to remove).

This is not going to be fun. At all.

Good thing I went through worse for the last 6 years , so this should be a itchy, gassy, diarrhea, cramping, bloating, depression inducing, bi-polar walk in the park.

To make myself feel better, I shall gaze at my home and be happy I have one, and lots of pretty things (albeit dead peoples hand me overs) to keep me focused as I run to the bathroom, hopefully in time.

Not sure what this blog is now to be , now that I have had a year of away time. Time will tell.

Coldwell Banker can Suck It!

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 13:48:00 +0000

One month into homelessness and I am no closer to settling all this ridiculousness. I am writing this down just so I can remember it for cocktail party conversation later.
Sept 24,2008 formally bid on the Cabot Street property.
mid November, was approved for the Cabot Street property.
Hurry up and sell the Story Street property
Had to move and sell by December 18 into the Cabot street property.
Missed the deadline. Asked for a 9 day extension.
Denied.
Had to rebid , now along with 3 others on December 18 2008.
Sold the Story Street property on January 9, 2009.
Moved to the York Harbor Inn
Stayed 5 days.
Moved to Emily and Wally Caldwell's, co worker at SWK January 14, 2009.
End of January heard that it is between myself and another bidder.
It has been elevated to the investor for processing.
February 10, 2009, heard that the final choice went to the seller to decide.
She chose me, now it goes to the mortgage company to process and been told it will take 7-10 weeks.
Signed paper accepting the terms that if April 10,2009 comes and goes, They are not obligated to something or other.. but neither am I til I get keys and sign papers.
In the meantime I am bidding left and right on other properties, with no luck.
Bid on a nice property listed at 336,000 , but too far from town to walk. They described the property as "energetically priced to fit the adjusting market".
I bid 275,00 to start the conversation going. They countered with 335,000.
I countered with this to my agent,

"Diane( their realtor) can bite me.. they have 3 mortgages , I have money in hand and they went down 1000.00? tell them I will throw in my $50.00 gift card to their restaurant, (Muddy River)for their place I got for selling mine, and I will go up to 276,000.What happened to energetically priced for the adjusting market? Seriously, since they are not going to under 300,000 it is clear.. piss em off at 276,000... I got other choices."
My realtor took that info and rephrased it and sent this...
"Hi Diane, needless to say my buyer (Richard) is not too enthralled with the $1,000 drop for a counter offer. He asked me what exactly is meant by (in the MLS remarks) “priced energetically for an adjusting market”? We have looked at many condos in Portsmouth, many within walking distance to the center of town that are more “energetically” priced. Some larger, some smaller and in all conditions from new to rehab, etc … Anyway, based on our research and the current market and competition out there, he has raised his offer to $276,000.00"

she replies,

"The Sellers bottom line for unit 4A is $330,000- beyond that is short sale which they do not wish to participate in. That is a $100,000 discount from the original marketing prices of a few years ago when we were selling these lovely units. If your Buyer likes the unit and association, I am sure he doesn't wish to decimate the price point before he even moves in. The unit appraised fine at $336,000 just three weeks ago with 30% down. According to our calculations, prices in Portsmouth dropped 1.5 % in Portsmouth in January. If this comes together, we would want to see a larger deposit also. Have a great day!! "
I reply to my agent,
"she is less passive aggressive than jen( the idiot agent of Cabot St).. but still a big bitch. Get the check back and tell her to F off.. I will wander thru when it goes to short sale.. interesting that she brings it up, as if it is an impending possibility. And it doesn't matter if I decimate the price point of others property missy(her, not you), it's the point of getting a good price in this market from a seller that has three friggin mortgages."

I have two other options at this moment. both good price points, but both smaller and will definately have to maintain a storage unit.
both are walkable to town, but my stupid heart is still held to the cabot st property. but both are rented now so it would take 30 days to get the renters out.
dammit.
I may have the option of moving in and renting the Cabot St one, until all is finalized, but I can't move stuff in until mid April or May until I officially sign papers and get keys.
As I have learned, there are no guarantees so do I sit in an empty place for two months with 2 suitcases and a roll of toilet paper?
If I do that, I still have the option of walking from the deal if I find something better. I think ,sadly it is my best potential offer unless something else presents itself.

Jen D. and Diane F. both of Coldwell Banker in NH can take a long hard suck on the crack of my ass.

Take that to the bank and try to cash it, girls.

On a side note, I played a cold and ruthless real estate agent named Caldwell Banker in The Gull's. How it comes full circle and I actually meet my namesake.

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 17:36:00 +0000

I am staying at a lovely hotel, in a lovely town in a lovely state. I am half way to being in a new place. The Essex house closed, finally on January 9th. It seemed a hurry up and wait, race to the very last moment. I am regretful, guilty, sad, happy, confused, overwhelmed, lonely, less stressed, not fully realizing, and just basically in limbo.
I go to work, I go back to my great hotel with jacuzzi tub. In theory it sounds glamorous. But I find there is a definate difference between staying at a hotel while on vacation, where you have a timeline, and staying at a hotel not knowing what comes next and when. I can't seem to enjoy it like I should.
The jacuzzi tub is an experience. It is surrounded by marble and being a person of average height, ok, short, when straddling over to get into the tub, being naked, cold marble is a rude ,rude but zesty feeling. People should work on resolving this issue. What people, I don't know, but people should be fixing this designing error.
I hope to hear today or tomorrow that I got the condo on Cabot St. in Portsmouth NH. If I don't get it , or I don't hear, then I start at square one and look and bid and inspect and etc, etc, etc.

I got nothin

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 01:55:00 +0000

Seriously, I got nothing. No energy, no desire, no time, no healthy food.... no place to move to, sex, love or flirter.

I got guilt , I got back log of bills, dirty clothes, piles of stuff to be packed and lots of dirty ice.

I got Dad's friends that are unaware, work that is tentative, life that is on hold and did I mention no place to move to yet.

I had a place to move to. really I did. but I missed the window of opportunity to buy it buy lost I cuz I didn't have a buyer. Now I have a buyer and I had to rebid..... now along with 3 others, dammit, to buy the condo I wanted. I have a few days freedom to luxuriate before I have to rent a Super 8 until further notice because I have no place to live.

I have no desire to write, blog, read, watch TV, pack, clean, or talk to Dad.

I have 3 more days with Dad before he moves to my sister's. God bless her. If she didn't take him, I would have been dragged off for patricide or elder neglect or abuse.

Its been 6 years.

I am thankful for these years, but much more aged than the 6 years it has been, for it. I am ... what... in major caretaker burnout. I mull all the way to work.. wish I had time in the day to make plans to move during work

and am on the verge of tears, realizing I missed another 12 hours of what might have been joy with him as I drive home., but probably would have been wishing I was having another out of body experience, other than where Iwas if I were sitting there with him.

Ever since the house has been on the market, I have been having weird experences. I love sleeping late, and can sleep through alot.. but I have been awoken several times to a distinctive smell... always at 5:15am. Seriously .

I woke to the smell of smoke, cigarette smoke.. I threw on my robe and ran down stairs... nothing . Everything still. Dad asleep. The following week I woke to the smell of popcorn. Again, robe, run, search, nothing.

This morning, I smell mom making french toast.

I am more aware.

Lie there for a while. Awake.. still smell it.

I get the robe, walk downstairs knowing I will find nothing.

Again, nothing.

But this time its something I can actually recreate.

I wake up again at 7:30am and make Dad bacon ,and raspberry stuffed french toast. I bring it down to him at as , as he is pouring rum into his glass. .8am

Mom died in the house at 5;15am. She , I hope is saying, it's ok. I am doing what she could not do. Sell the house, the history, the ghosts.

It's a tough transition for him.

He wants status quo.

We can't keep it up.

He moves on the 27th.

I move on Jan 9th.

I heard him tell Gladys last night on the phone, he was leaving here in a couple weeks and gonna be staying at melissa's for a couple weeks before going back to live with me in Maine.

My stomach hurt when I heard this.

He just doesn't retain it.

I really don't want to write.. but I know it is so important to remember it, because I too will not retain it.

Ask me about the picture later. that was just before Thanksgiving. It was a long night involving police( for both of us) an ambulance , a scavenger hunt, and everyone with the best of intentions, but the worst of results.

Issues

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Tue, 07 Oct 2008 13:26:00 +0000

I got issues.

Many issues.

I shall vent the present ones so I don't kill anyone.

Its been a long, ok, too long time, since I have blogged.

I am tired, I am lazy, I am overworked and underpaid.

I am happy at my job.

I am guilt ridden I can't be home more.

I am mad my precious Essex house won't sell.

I am worried I have to shell out( with the help of Dad) 15,000 to shore up the basement.

I am pissed others will try to get the price down further and I will have to give in.

I am longing for my own place in NH.

I can see it in my mind.

I even put a bid on it and have heard nothing since.

I am so sad that I may sell Vermont to simplify my spending and such.

I loved my time there, and have no idea where all the stuff will end up.. most will stay.. but not my kitchen stuff, dining room table, art, dishes and doll house furniture that had a slight respite there.

I am furious that I no longer have patience with Dad.

Until that is, he demands it.

Until he drinks himself silly while I am away and becomes a mueling baby.

Until I have to roll his naked and urine soaked body across the floor to get to a solid object so he can struggle to lift himself up.

So he can forget all he just went through.

So he can continue to spiral in confusion and his loops.

So he can madden me and worry me and guilt me.

I am happy people want to rent my Vt house, but fearing the worst when I walk through the doors again and see my things damaged or missing.

It's one thing to rent to a friend, it's another to rent to a stranger.

I shall try to get up there and hide everything.

It had been my hiding spot for the staging of my Essex house crap.

I am afraid of the heat turning on.. in this house, the little house, the Vermont house. I will be seeing the money flow out.

I am annoyed at my inablility to be free about who I prefer in the election.

I am told I should not like who I like.

I am shamed into silence when told I will lose all I am if I like who I like.

I would rather be safe and have a place to live.

If neither of these exist, it doesn't matter who I love or want to love.

I get the grander issues, really I do, but I can only fight the little battles and want the big guys and girls to fight the big issues.

I have a water feature in the basement to try to flip and a bowling alley, run by squirrels or mice, in the attic over my bed that begins league bowling at midnight.

I have to feed the father.

I have to med the father.

I have to keep him warm.

I have to keep up on my laundry.

As Bonnie Hunt is saying on the TV to me right now, "Life is really hard." Really, she just said it, about some guy on Amazing Race.

I love you Bonnie, but Suck it.

I know it gets hard.

guck

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 14:16:00 +0000

The house has been on the market for 1 week now. I am very excited at the possibilities of leaving Essex and moving on.. With life, with love, with a new space to make mine, and not live in a museum of our family history. I don't mind the things.. but the things plus the walls, ceilings floors, art, yard, neighbors all reek of the past. I need to not be beaten over the head at every turn with the past. Family past. My past.
The open house on Sunday was, by my real estate agent's account, a huge, surprising success. She expected 4 or 5 parties wandering through. We got 16 parties. 35 people. Wow. 4 parties seemed very interested. Time will tell.
I am working on clearing the cellar. How disgusting is that. Its the materialization of all my phobias. Mold, guck , bugs, pure white spiders that run fast and jump. puddles of... stuff. Darkness. Two broken chairs are now kindling. A great old chest that is literally mushing away is attempting to be kindling. I gave dad permission to burn today. Trying to keep the house spotless.

Burning in Hell

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 14:22:00 +0000

I got to sleep in til 9 am this morning.. yea!!!. A hot muggy morning. The hottest of the summer so far. Close to 90 degrees already. Gonna be a scorcher. I went downstairs to continue on with staging and fixing the house up for and August 1st goal date of getting it on the market. I plan to move closer to work, either in NH or Maine.
Gas prices killing me.
House killing me.
Bill level killing me.
I also need to rent the Vermont place out in the winter to bring in income.

Anyway, I walked downstairs to get tea and a screwdriver, the tool not the drink. As well as sand paper and the bathroom closet doors I took off because I hated them. Cindy the RE agent says I should put them on to deflect from the pink tub and sink. I forgot to mention to her that the doors are pink too, but I went searching for them.
Downstairs, I smell smoke. I look down to dads room. He's starting a fire in the wood burning stove.
"Dad.. WHAT are you doing????"
"Burning trash"( read tin foil, old underwear, styrofoam)
"Dad... its 90 degrees out now, its gonna be over 100 today.. why would you start a fire today. "
"I'm cleaning up."
"Couldn't you do that on a cooler day???"
"Why? "
"Because it friggin hot in here and its not gonna get any cooler!!! "
"I didn't realize it was hot until you told me. "
"What??? Are you having another stroke?"
Silence and a blank stare.
"Fine" I say, and walk away.
Let him stroke out in the hot house. He wants to start a fire on the hottest freakin day of the year(I'm sweating as I am sitting , not moving) then let him.
Whatever.

Lists and Memory, and Lists

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Fri, 04 Jul 2008 13:13:00 +0000

Met with Cindy my real estate agent yesterday. I now have two books full of CMA's comparing and contrasting this house to others in the area. She did alot of friggin work. I am very impressed. Overwhelmed but impressed, depressed, impressed.
My goal is to be ready to put it on the market.. or not, or make a decision by August 1.
The market sucks. The house is falling down, but this house is very special. The important thing is its all about the first 2 weeks. You get an offer then or you will be left hanging for a very long time.
New topic
I now need to stage the house , fix cracks, sagging, mold, moisture. Sounds like the dating scene too.
We walked through the house and every room she talked through the staging. It is exactly like grandmother had it for 50 freakin years... all my choices were wrong. Swell.

Work is amazing. It if fulfilling, exhausting, fun, different.... worth it.

The company seems poised on the precipice? to explode to a bigger level. The company seems very pleased with me, so I am hopeful that when bigger and better positions become available... I will be first on many lists. District Manager? Open stores when they happen?
Who knows.
I hear none are ridiculous possibilities.

I wish I could get all those I love from WS over to here.. I know.. the money and travel is not worth it.. but if you had the flexibility to do so..

I hear divorces are happening, great relationships are still great, people are spontaneously falling and loved ones have gotten bad bad news with their health. And all within my one last store. I am happy for the good stuff.. but on the health front, that was devastating news. I don't want a new cycle of awful to begin.. I am willing to away.

So sorry I have been silent. I have been working and travelling too much. I actually go out and sit at a boy bar once in a while and have a drink.
Now to actually talk to someone.

Dad and I are having tough relationship moments.
He is testing me, saying hurtful side comments and pushing the love limits.
He actually said to me the other day, when I was trying to explain why I harp on him for taking his meds, that I don't want to do it, I just want to keep him around for as long as we can... he responds with "You just want to be wanted."
If it weren't so true It would have been funny.
If it wasn't such a struggle to be kind to him these days, it wouldn't have been so ironic.
I have many moments through the day when I say I am done.
I don't want to care for him, or anyone at all.
I need to care for me. Then there are the moments when I feel I still can do it. Not as many as the former, but I still have them.
I have done 5 years.
I want to go back to caring for me.
We did have a good conversation yesterday, about, when /if the house sells, where he wants to go. He said anywhere,.. would't commit.. I threw out two options, the new place further north with me or Melissa's. After 45 minutes of pushing him to give a damn opinion, he didn't seem to care either way. I tried to stress.. it makes a difference as to the type of place I buy next. Dad accessible etc. He said he could get into anyplace that I chose. I told him I couldn't pick a 3rd floor walk up if he was coming with.
wouldn't budge on an opinion.
It gives me hope that he could be happy with me or with Melissa.

I am losing weight. Thats good.

I am gaining white hair and wrinkles at an amazing rate. That is not good.

I think I will wander the house and make lists of what to do for each room and take before and after pictures.

Where the hell am I going to put all the extra crap?( Yes, I feel your pain Christie) I gotta get boxes. Spackle and boxes, and the floor leveled out.. and bathfitters.
Pink tubs don't sell.

Random thoughts, trying to catch up on words.

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Sun, 11 May 2008 21:55:00 +0000

Random thoughts.
I love Stonewall Kitchen. I love the quality of product of personel, of passion. It makes me want to go to work there everyday and go home.
The school opens on Thursday. I am getting nervous. The stools and tables should be shorter. They should not have put carpeting in.
I should not have spilled coffee one day after getting carpet.
They should have bought a better monitor system.
All said, its gonna be friggin great.
Dad is status quo. we have our conversations and repeats. I bring in a barrell or two a day of leaves, and he burns them. He consistently forgets to take his afternoon pills. Even with the voice reminder system. I am casually looking for condos closer to York Maine as a possible relocation for Dad and me.
I broached the topic with him a while back.
He didn't get it.
He thought I would go there and come home on weekends. I had a good conversation today with him. I told him I looked at a place in Hampton... the place was good the town sucks. I expressed my feeling on what I want for both of us.
A level floor.
Two bathrooms.
A nice town.
Closer to work.
The ability to get back to visit dads friends easily.
I think he got it.
He agreed this house is too much for us/me/us. That this house would take alot to bring back to a better level.
I told him I am in no rush to sell buy.. but if the right place comes along.. or the market gets better, I would like us to consider the option.
I think that the house would sell fast, especially to a neighbor.. this house has not been on the market since 1959. All the neighbors covet the house... I would be surprised if I didn't get an offer. One that will pay off the mortgage and pay for the new place is another story.
Insurance, I think is going up 1000. Just when I finally got it back down, the age of the house is a concern to the insurance companies.
Tax lady messed up my and dads taxes.
Finally got payment on undelivered cord of wood 11 months later. David Dunn sucks. He is of Cousin Lee mentality... not all there.
I can tell its spring. Its in the air. Love lust wishful thinking.
lilacs are going to bloom this year, first in 10 years. threatening them DOES work.
Just got call from obtuse man. Going to dinner again...fine. its food. Maybe we'll talk about 22 year olds and I can get pissed for unrequited love. whatever. its food.
(Update, even worse, while sitting with him at a bar having a great dinner and conversation, he tells me he needs to hold on the conversation for a moment while he watches this guy that is leaving that he has been making eyes with all night)I just stare at him incredulously. He doesn't get it. At all. I don't need food and company that badly that I am willing to put up having my self esteem chipped away at.

Short story

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Sat, 12 Apr 2008 01:42:00 +0000

I love Stonewall.

Long story... I love Stonewall and its fun and challenging and so much bigger and better than even I anticipated.

Construction is going fast and furious and they are investing in some amazing stuff... unlike a faux Gucci bag and matching pink "workout suit" that makes a 50 something portly woman look 50ish and desperate for a name. ( I know.. low... true , but low).

I hear amazing tales of penny pinching at WS and that fast spiral of corporate and the lack of money, and I am not even asking about it... people call and email and even visit me at work.

Unnamed important people here at SWK have named WS.. 'the evil empire' for their lack of bill paying, for product made. They even have the audacity of lying and telling SWK billing they didn't agree to the price being billed( even though signed papers are in front of them. )

MCAD opinion is still out.. that can't bode well for WS.

No merit pay raises at WS until August(at the least)???? Seriously? That is unacceptible. I don't know how they can expect to keep the few good people theyhave left.. or is that their plan? Get rid of the bigger money people.

I know they know it, but I will work to find jobs for anyone that wants it at SWK... the money is not as good, but the satisfaction of working for a smaller company that has huge faith in its employees goes a long way to making me want to give my best and produce great results.... schedule comes out next week for the cooking school.. Its a jam packed schedule. Hope to see everyone there.

P.S. Yes, I am aware I am fatter than I have ever been.. less food and more movement might erase the 15 I gained at home these last 6 months.

Picture it

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 19:19:00 +0000

3rd grade.
Mrs. Ottavi.
South School.
We had to draw who we wanted to be when we grew up. I lost it totally and had a melt down when I couldn't do it. Mrs. Ottavi came over to comfort me and ask what the matter was.
I told her "I don't know what he looks like?"
"Who?" She asked.
"Jesus."
"Jesus?"
"Yes , I want to be Jesus when I grow up."
Lord, what a letdown I was in for, if that was what I was aiming for as a role model and aspirational goal.
I remember it, sort of, but came across an essay I wrote, I assume to go along with the drawing during the school's open house.
The essay is precious, if slightly innacurate in its facts.
Thought I would share it.

On the cover is a picture of Jesus off the cross walking away, and at the base of the cross it says

Jesus

Born in 1512

Died in 1911

The First Christmas

Long, long ago, there was a little town of Hamilton. There was not many families but alot of animals. There was one family that had a mother a father and a son. The mother was going to have a baby. If it was a girl, she would name it Marie. If it was a boy, she would name it Jesus. It turned out to be a boy. His father was a carpenter. He helped his mother and father do things. He grew and grew until he was a man.(Seems I was getting tired of plotline) And then one day he died. The End.

Simple and to the point.

Brain Full.. in the good way

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 01:09:00 +0000

Its been a full week at SWK and it has been the best week in a few years. I m a part of a great group, a group that has high expectations, high level of skill and professionalism that far excels what I have become accustomed to. Williams Sonoma was great and fun, and at its best, a wonderful company to work for, but the divide between those that have and know and those that work for, was immense. With SWK, everyone is invested, prepared and 100 percent in. From the woman that cleans, everyday, to the men and women on the production line that lift 900 pounds of sugar manually a batch of jam every day. The women that run the forklifts in the immaculate warehouse, the people that answer all the calls from catalog down the hall, the men and women upstairs that create what we will sell in a month, year and sometime in the future,to the part time sales people on the floor of the store. They are all on the same page, they all have the same goal and it is nothing but being the best. Its not just a job, its an adventure, a career, a passion. Everyone is on board with Jonathan's dream.

Wow.

I have spent time on the production line, in Guest and Premeire services, in the Wholesale Division, Human Resources, the Store and walk by my new School everyday, seeing the progress.

Until a few days ago, there were no walls. Now we have walls and windows and the doors went in yesterday. We are selecting the LeCreuset pans to use, the cutlery to work with, the Viking pans to order, menus to finalize, chefs to sign, and much more will be put on the list for next week when I, finally, am able to work with my boss, Patty. This Sunday we do our first food show of sorts at UNH.

Should be fun.

Yea.

Happy is so much a better place to be.

Dad is fine.

He and I are getting a little snippy at each other, I gather, because my brain is on fast forward of work and then I come home and it grinds to a halt and I have to pick up the script and begin reading the same damn scene I do every day. Every day. Every.

This was the one that worked.

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Sun, 16 Mar 2008 18:09:00 +0000

Last night was the last night of Medea. It was a great run. It was fun to work with the Gold Dust Orphans again. I wish I could continue to do so, but I have to prep for my new job on Tuesday at Stonewall Kitchen in Maine.

I am very excited.

I have chosen to move on with flirting too.. need a new man hobby to focus on, one that will be in the game to play too.

The present flirt, I was proactive, fun, funny and honest.

He was aloof and unaware.

I gave up a week ago of getting anywhere with it. A few days ago he comes up and kisses me and tells me we need to go out to dinner sometime.

I'll wait by the phone. ( to be read dryly)

When I stop showing interest you are then intrigued?

Nope.

Not going to play that game. I want an adult that is able to accept interest and show it in a timely fashion.

I'm 40, not 23.

I have shown all my cards and none were taken by him.

His turn to shuffle the deck and do all the chasing.... and mean it. Still like the guy, but not chasing without a hope.

Next topic.

Sister made corn beef and cabbage and potatos, apparently for the Irish Catholic family of 12 across the street, yesterday, for Dad.

I can barely close the refridgerator door.

She does not cook numbers appropriate dinners. So 23 pounds of cabbage, that at best, when boiled, smells like sweaty ass, sit in my fridge.

New Topic.

Last night, a lamp on Dad's desk went out. They tried everything to get it going.. new bulb , different plug etc.

Nothing.

So, this morning, his desk was pulled out. I caught him before any damage was done.. I switched out an identical lamp from another place in the house( the kitchen) and took the dead one up to fiddle with.

Then I hear tinkering down in his room.

I wandered down thinking he was taking apart the newly switched lamp to try to fix it.

Nope.

He was taking apart the perfectly fine lamp behind his chair to see if he can figure out what type of part he needs to get, the next time he goes out to the hardware store.

I try to explain, if he wants to take apart a lamp, let me bring the broken one to him.. no, he wants to see what the good one looks like..

But why take apart one the works? I ask.

The argument was not winning him over.

2 hours later and alot of tinkering. The lamp is completely dismantled and destoyed.

It was a perfectly fine, working lamp.

I managed to tighten a wire on the broken one and it is now working.. but we are still down a lamp... and didn't need to be.

Its totally mangled.

And because my kitchen smells like ass, I am including a picture of the back of my sisters head, looking good. She needs to learn a portions control lesson. Its Tough Love baby.

The Gods Have Smiled... Finally. Thank you

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 20:25:00 +0000

After 1.5 years of stalking.. they finally found a spot for me at Stonewall Kitchen. I will be working on the New Cooking School to be opening May 1 2008. They are building it now, as I type. I can't stop smiling. I am excited at the new challenge ahead of me, I just hope that the challenge at home will be a manageable one. Dad and I have talked. I expressing my concerns about leaving him alone for so long during the day, how he will get meds, meals, appointments. He dismissed them all.
Said he can handle it all... he did before.. there is no difference, he just had a cold.
He could have a point.
I mean, each time I told him I got the job, he seemed suprised and happy for me. What would lead me to think he can't handle the pill taking process, even if he can't find or read the clock anymore.
I start on the floor of the store on Tuesday.
I can't stop smiling.

http://www.stonewallkitchen.com/

Today should be the day..

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 13:58:00 +0000

that I hear from Stonewall Kitchen, once the internal posting of the new job opening comes down, whether or not I got the position. I have been The Secret-ing for over a year about this company, as well as stalking the relentlessly for a year and a half. I think it paid off... and I feel very confident about it.I can even see myself walking through the corporate offices to our new kitchen, papers and tools in hand, I bought a file carrier and white out and pens.. ala first day of school. I have never been so confident I got something. I just need that one phone call to tell me yes.
Come on.
Call.
In the meantime, I am going to my friend Laura's new home in Salem to help her paint her livingroom. This will keep my mind distracted. I 'll take pictures... not that you care...but I haven't posted pictures in a while. This site needs some color.

Great.

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 14:58:00 +0000

They said everything but yes. The smile, the hugs, the conversation, the confidence all told me I finally got the job at Stonewall Kitchen. The only thing they forgot to say difinatively was YES, Welcome to Stonewall Kitchen. I will say with 100% confidence that I have the job. I just need the official papers sent to me and a start date. It is going to be a great new job, a great new challenge a great new start. I have been stuck in Dadland and having the life force sucked out of me. Not that I won't be when I work with SK, but now I have to work on getting home health care several times a week. Also, As soon as I get my approximate schedule, I will judge from there if I can fit in the new show in Boston, or wheter I need to step away.
Medea is going very well. Great crowds, Great audience response. I even got a compliment for my non speaking role. Great.
Today's word is great.

Good and Bad

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 23:14:00 +0000

Lets start with the good and then turn back to reality, just in case I got a good and fuzzy feeling in my gut. Yesterdays interview with Stonewall Kitchen, in my opinion, went friggin amazingly. I felt we were talking back and forth really well and on the same page on what we are looking for. It is for either the assistant to the director( full time), or a lead( part time) , both within the new division of SK's cooking school. She showed me the blueprints of the new wing for the school. It will have cameras and microphones, 2 huge flat screen tv's, a gorgeous cook top, of my dreams... it looks like a friggin television set. They have big plans for this venture, and have big names lined up, or soon to be.
How fun.
They want me to come in for a 3rd interview, but gave me the strong impression I was very wanted for this new venture, to begin mid to late March.
Came home, talked with Dad, relaxed, and headed for bed around 10 pm.
But before I did , I went in to see if Dad needed help getting into bed(as he was still in his big blue chair).
He said no.
I asked several times, but he declined.
I went to bed.
This morning I come down to find him half in the chair, half on the floor. He never made it to the bed.
He couldn't.
How bad do I feel?????
He is there in his geck and smells, stuck half way between...
He just wanted to get back in the chair.. but I couldn't get him there. I could only get him to the floor, where I got him to pull himself up on the porto potty, then up to the walker. I told him to just stand there, so I could strip and clean him.
I was so awful I was dry heaving.
I wiped off what Dad thought were scrapes and cuts(dried poo) from his ankles and legs, got hot wet washcloths and told him to clean up, got him into new clothes, sat him on the porto potty, let him go.
He eats so little again and is coughing alot.
He has no energy and is getting sore. He is quite loopy today.
I called Dr. Smith to try to get some antibiotics for both of us.
He wants to see us Friday.
I told him, if I thought I could get him into the office I wouldn't be calling for meds.
The nurse made me feel like an incompetent boob.
Like I don't know to try to get Dad to hydrate, etc.

Stonewall... Round II

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 17:41:00 +0000

Today. 3pm. York Maine. 2nd interview. New Division of Company. Me. Them. Talk. Yea. Can I make it work, if offered, with the new reality of Dad and I? I have my concerns.
Get the offer first, then make choices from there.Thank you, Universe, for hearing my desires and keeping them on the burner. I know you would not present them to me if it was a situation I could not handle. Now to believe it in my brain as well as my heart.

Medea, reviewed by the Boston Globe.. Yea! Cudo's Orphans

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 16:40:00 +0000

Our SHow was just reviewed by the Globe... ok, was placed on a pedestal and encased in glass for all to admire... could not have been a better review.

Thank you Ms. Kennedy for your kind words.

'Medea' revival is a dazzling, campy romp
By Louise Kennedy, Globe Staff February 23, 2008
Imagine, if you will, a crowd lined up on a freezing night to push its way into a revival of a classic tragedy. People grab a drink, then rush to get the best seats they can as the house fills with an excited buzz of anticipation. The lights dim, the music swells, the curtain opens, and the crowd roars with delight.
Toto, I don't think we're in Cambridge anymore.
But we are, indisputably, in a theater, and in a lively and thrilling one at that. Don't let the bar fool you - the Ramrod Center for the Performing Arts, as Ryan Landry affectionately calls his part of the basement in the Fenway nightclub Machine, is keeping theater alive in a way that larger and more staid institutions only dream of.
Case in point: "Medea." Yes, the play by Euripides. And, yes, it's been freely adapted by Landry, in the wretched-excess, glitter-drag, hysterio-serio-comedo-tragic tradition of his Gold Dust Orphans. This was the Orphans' first production on a porch in Provincetown, more than a decade ago, and now it's back - this time in the relatively professional setting of Machine. And it's brilliant.
At first, devoted fans of such recent Gold Dust hits as "Silent Night of the Lambs" or "The Plexiglass Menagerie" may fret that "Medea" doesn't start off with as relentless a series of laughs as the troupe's usual outing. Yet while this show is indeed a surprisingly faithful retelling of the old Jason-dumps-her-so-she-offs-his-brats tragedy, it also contains some of the most cathartically funny scenes imaginable.
And I mean "catharsis" quite seriously. Landry and his troupe reenact the witchy Medea's horrific crimes - the aforementioned kiddiecide, plus a golden gown that bursts into flames when Jason's new bride puts it on, and a couple of other treats - with gleeful gusto, pushing each moment so far over the top that it comes screaming down the cliff. You find yourself gasping at the awfulness of it - the little limbs! the spurting blood! - and then, helplessly, laughing harder than you've laughed in months. If that's not cathartic, I don't know what is.
Some of the best moments depend partly on the joy of surprise, so let's not go into detail here. But it is worth noting that Landry makes a remarkable Medea: regal, ridiculous, and blazing with comic fury. All that, and a shower scene, too. (Don't bring the kids.) Afrodite infuses the Nurse with a tremulous passion, while Mark Leahy makes Jason a wonderful beefcake buffoon. And the costumes, by Scott Martino, are particularly delightful this time out, with plenty of gold, swirling chiffon, and even a white pantsuit to die for - or at least to kill a small family for.
The Gold Dust Orphans' "Medea" is rowdy, raunchy, and completely excessive. And that's exactly what makes it irresistible. Without focus groups, marketing consultants, or major donors, the Orphans are doing what theaters should do: pulling in a crowd, filling it with a wild and creative spirit, and sending it revitalized into the night.

On a totally different note, I can't seem to get the image of my dad in a diaper, Lucky Charms T Shirt, sitting on his blue barc o lounger watching Teletubbies, picking his nose, out of my mind. I'm still under the weather, he is in the big flu puddle now and has hit his low point. God I hope so.

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Fri, 22 Feb 2008 14:34:00 +0000

Oh my lord.
I got home at 11:05pm, right after the show in Boston(Medea with the Gold Dust Orphans).
Fun, fun show... but thats not the point of the story.
I was wiped and glad to be home and curious to see how Dad got on, being alone and sick. I went into his room thru the garage and found him not in the blue chair or bed, but in his desk chair by his bed, feet on the bed.
I asked how he was.
He said "Fine".
I asked "Why are you was in the chair?"
He told me "I was trying to get into bed, but I, for some reason was too weak to get in."
I told him "I'll take my coat off and help you. "
I ask him "How long have you been in this position?"
He said "4 hours."
"What???"
"I just wanted to see how you would react."
"No, seriously how long were there?"
"10 minutes or so."
"Really????"
"Not too long.. "

I am splitting the difference with the time. so about 2 hours or so. He takes his feet down, I help him stand and pivot.. very weak , left side more so, and plop him into the bed. He needs to pee. I help, and am, once again baptised in the glory of golden showers, as is the floor. I get him tucked in, clean up and hand him the bell.

This morning he is very weak and phlegmy...No appetite. Not alot of coordination. I think the flu is really starting it's second phase. Should be fun.

Open Letter to Linda Weltner of the Boston Globe

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 03:34:00 +0000

In my stress in finding a God Damn bell for my Dad to use when he needs me, I found a pile of articles. All one author. All yellowed with age and dust, and probably, tears and pee. They were all Linda Weltner articles from the 1980's Boston Globe. They were Mom's. Mom was a lover of words. Not everyone's words. She was very particular. Linda's words must have done something to stir her soul. The article I picked up was dated March 4, 1983, Just a few years after she lost her best friend/sister and in the throws of caring for her mother. I wsh I could condense the article and type it, but alas, I need to type the whole essay because it is sooooo relevant and a sign from Mom and God, that they know what I am going through and to just keep on keepin on.

The Essay is titled

At the Impatient Edge

The patient lies in bed.

He is recovering from surgery and still uncomfortable despite the medication. Or she has a slipped disc and cannot turn over in bed without assistance. Perhaps your child's asthma is worse. Or your father's reaction to chemotherapy is severe. Your daughter's hepatitus may leave her jaundiced and utterly exhausted. Someone in your family has MS, is recovering from a stroke, lies helpless in a body cast.

You are the caretaker.

There are meals to be prepared. The patient must be assisted to the bathroom, or perhaps cannot get there at all, leaving you to cope with intimate matters that blur the boundaries between mother and child, husband and wife. You've performed beyond your ordinary capacities, holding the invalid's head during bouts of nausea, standing in your underwear in a shower, supporting a child too weak to stand without help. Your read aloud for hours, lose at Monopoly, play endless video games. You are always there when needed.

The house is full of troubled sounds.
The television drones nonstop, grating on your nerves. Visitors move past you with little more than a nod, speaking of only one topic: "Is she feeling better?" "How is he?" You hear the bell ring from the bedroom. You hear the voice call from the second floor or hear the metal spoon banging on the pot top, the broom handle thumping on the floor, the crying muffled in the distance. The house pulls at you like a whirlpool with the patient in the center, sucking up all your energy.
The patient is in pain.
He is discouraged, angry, indignant that this should have happened to him. The person in the bed is filled with self- pity, fear, despair. Helplessness has made her a tyrant against her will. Sheer courage has made him a hero. Her smile is breaking your heart.
The nights are very long.
They pass in minutes that should be measured in hours. In the silence you can feel the pain through the walls. You can hear the labored breathing of the person lying next to you. Alone in the dark, you think about a future irrevocably changed by this illness, about the failure of love to wake you from this nightmare of helplessness. You sit beside a child who cannot sleep and practice smiling.
It is impossible to leave the house behind, even when you are away. You are aware that the patient cannot turn on a light, feed himself, answer the door. Her condition might worsen, the doctor might call, the person you love might suffer a relapse. You are needed at home, you feel responsible, you feel guilty that you did not prevent this from happening. You find yourself walking around in a rage you cannot express because officially, you are the caretaker, not the patient.
You feel like running away. You want to scream, to pound pillows, to cry hysterically. You would give anything to spend a week by a pool in Jamaica, but you cannot tell the person who is ill how you feel. He needs to believe in your strength. She is too grateful for your patience. You cannot burden you own parents; they are worried enough already. it is unthinkable that you should admit to a single soul how desperately you hate this renunciation of your own wishes.
You discover you are not a saint.
You feel sexually deprived, lonely, unsupported, falling headlong out of control. The floodgates open and find you screaming at the patient, "I am not a servant. You may not be feeling well, but I'm not doing so great myself." You pick up the phone and implore the person at the other end to come over because you can't take it anymore. You sob in the arms of a friend, allowing her to hold you, hand you tissues, make small cooing noises into your hair. When your spouse comes home late from work, you throw yourself at them in a fury, shouting, "You can't leave all this in my hands. I'll kill you," and for one brief explosive moment, you mean it.
In the aftermath of your outburst, there is relief. The anger has spilled away, creating a pathway for the caring to re-emerge. the person in bed, your partner, the children, have seen the reality of human limitation, the boundaries of self sacrifice, the patient in every caretaker which cannot go untended for long. They share with you the knowledge that there are some situations too grevious to be borne without rebellion.
And the a voice calls, need reasserts itself, and the miracle which is love carries you upstairs.

Thank you Linda, for giving comfort to my Mom, that she was not alone in her horrible thoughts, for giving me new insight into why she was the way she was during this time, and for giving me Mom's love and reassurance to keep me going when I just want to sell the house, put him in a home and run away. I won't. I want to. But I won't. Now to find a Goddamn bell so I don't have a restless night like I did last night on the couch.

Gaddddammmitt

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 03:03:00 +0000

Dad is doing the, now, slow/fast slide into sickness again as he caught the horrible, horrible flu I got doing Medea. It was just a matter of time, but the slide from somewhat independent is one little step. I hear him coughing in the night.. through the day, etc. I can't leave the house for fear he will need me.
Today is Wednesday.
Tomorrow starts a 3 night cycle of my needing to be out of the house from 4pm til 11pm. Christie is on the fast slide to hell with the flu as well and Melissa's back (Chris thinks from the week she stayed here on slanted floors) is out of whack and can't travel.
I got to find a babysitter and an excuse.
Having just put Dad to bed, and by put, I mean PUT, to bed. I helped him to get out of the chair and get to the pee pot, where he missed all but two ounces of the pee, to cascade on my socks and feet. He pulls his pant up, still peeing and hobbles to bed, surprised that he is still peeing. As I clean up the mess, change his shorts, get him tucked into bed, I realize I need to find the gaddamm bell. We had a friggin thousand of them, now I have combed the house and find none. I need one.
He needs one to get me.
His voice is not strong enough for me to hear.
My hearing is totally plugged from the flu and the space heater hum and the heating system hum and my coughing etc. I found an article... it will be my next blog

The Rubix Cube Bed

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 17:01:00 +0000

I just passed thru the worst 48 hour flu I have ever endured.. I only wish this on my enemies. Lord Help me, it had a soundtrack and everything... things I hadn't thought about for literally decades came flowing back, names, faces, events, music(might have been original but I wouldn't know) , there was a superhighway outside my bedroom window(in the country),and a Rubix Cube bed. I knew it was a hallucination but I could seem to work around it, so I decided to work with it. The simple theory behind it is that this is a new bedding that challenges the body and mind at the same time and when done correctly, provides restful sleep. When turning in bed, everything is numbered, every fold every pillow every pattern on the blanket, every body part. You had to maneuver them all in the proper order(not necessarily sequential) in order to get to the next comfort zone. Occasionally it worked, but most times it was a test of frustration.
I remembered entire cast lists and addresses from shows I did in the 1980's( anyone that knows me, knows I can't remember last year, but the 80's came rushing back)
Thank God Christie came and took care of Dad and me these last two days. Dad would have been dead.

Taxes

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 15:01:00 +0000

I woke up cranky and late today. This morning I have to take all papers over to have my taxes done and sneak over Dad's stuff. What he hasn't burned, stapled or torn has disappeared. He keeps asking for the checkbook and wants what papers I have, so he can compile his taxes. I keep lying to him this morning that I compiled them and am bringing them over so Beverly can process them. If there is something missing, she will call. This all began when I had the bright idea to put all important papers in the safe deposit box. I thought it would be easy. Since then he has gone through all his files and burned most and shredded(accidentally ) the rest. So, no important papers are left but the small pile I have on my desk. Today will be the frustration day I am sensing. Aargh.

Addendum

noreply@blogger.com (Richard) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 02:35:00 +0000

What 24 hours can reveal.. this should be an important lesson.I will print this out and put it on my wall to remind me. I am not ruling the last blogs emotion out.. but time leads the mind to take control of the situation and for the universe to reveal pertinent info. I did not ask any questions(out loud)( I thought them,but didn't verbally express them). I was told, just out of the blue that said person from the previous blog has
a) a boyfriend
b)that he lives with
c)goes for young
d)and hispanic

I fit into none of that equation.
Was it , in fact, just dinner and drinks? Thats fine, but how did I misconstrue it so?
Was I that delusional to think it was flirting?
Wish it really was, but now I just confused myself.

All this could be incorrect, but A and B give me concern. I can do nothing about C and D.