Meanderings

It's been a long while since I've had a moment to sit and write a note.
My days and nights have been filled with other notes and letters.
Filling out paperwork for my late Uncle's estate; typing up papers for the classes at the little College where I'm teaching; writing a letter of resignation to one Hospital and filling out all the paperwork for the new one where I accepted a position.
I told Skipster, I had 4 jobs for about 18 hours at one point. He didn't laugh. Come to think of it; I didn't chuckle either.
I was too frickin' tired.
And all the while, I've been trying to have some sort of home life.
Uhhhh, yeah, right. Believe that one, will ya.
Not happenin'.
I generally am lunging from one place to the next, hoping I don't over shoot the runway and crash into the end fence and wreck what's left of this old bird.
That's me. Picture an old WWI bi wing spiralling out of control, then at the last minute, I usually pull the joy stick back, kick the rudders over, some how pull out of the dive and just pull her over the edge of the precipice.
Nose up and back into the blue. Head for the sun. Until the next clouds appear on the horizon.
This is going to ruin my dye jobs. They are just NOT going to last like they should. And that's gonna really kill my budget.
But, I have made some progress.
I have a little office set up in the upstairs, northwest bedroom. Quite professional, too. Now all I need is an electric kettle and I are set; as they say.
I do hate trotting up and down the stairs to get my tea and coffee. I have the TV and radio/CD player connected to surround sound so all I need is the caffeine. Man, I'm setting myself up, I'm telling you.
Of course, I hardly ever have the TV on when I'm working. Too distracting. But, some good music in the background..... It's lift off Huston. I can go for hours.
And I have the prerequisite exercise equipment. The gazelle. Love it. I like to go and go with no stopping. Well, except that I get sore. And tired. And I'm terribly out of shape.
I'd give my eye teeth if my body would stop when I did.
Jello. It's come to that at this stage of my life.
Ick.
If I could get 20, 000 or so dollars..... Oh, wait there's the pain factor. I think I'll just keep covered up. That's ever so much more comfortable. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'm game for that one.
So as you might have noticed; it's a rambling night. I've just jumped from one subject to the next. No rhyme or reason.
I warned you this could happen. Comes with the exhaustion factor. What can I say.
Enter at your own risk?
Maybe.
But it was nice to type and not care why, after a long wait.
OnceAgain

Francis

This was written by my Grandmother after the death of her first child.
I found it when I was clearing the home where she lived the last half of her life. The paper is so old and faded, the words are soon to be lost. And they are so poignant and sweetly written. They render the heart with their pain.
So, I share them as written. I hope they will be warmly received and treasured.

In loving memory of little Melba Francis Baker
Born June 24, 1917 Died May 16, 1917
I miss you darling baby at twilight,
When darking shadows fall,
I miss you my baby at evening,
When God bids us draw near him.
For my dreams of you, my baby,
come not with the glare of day.
They come with the twilight's soft glow.
And the setting sun's last ray.
I want you, my darling baby at twilight,
When the night flower wants the dew.
When the night clouds want the starlight.
Darling baby, Mother wants you.
And some day darling baby,
Just at twilight's soft hour
When tired of the world I'll be.
I'll leave the ideal and the real,
My darling baby, I'll go to you.

Lota Carr Baker
Born November 19, 1897 Died February 12, 1973 as the sun set surrounded by her husband of 58 years, her children and grandchildren.
OnceAgain

Uncle William

I've spent the 2nd of two weekends essentially, for all intents and purposes, destroying the life, of a man, I dearly and truly loved.
And why would I do this?
Because I had, too.
He's gone. Left. This world anyway.
A short recap.
My sister phoned me just as I was walking out the door for Shift, ( I pull 12 hrs. at a time at my Hospital), to inform me of Uncle William's passing.
He had died that morning at my old Hospital. Of a stroke I would later learn. And, I would also learn, he'd been ill for 3 days.
Not one call, not one notification. Nada. Nothing.
Just the call to let me know, "he's dead."
Well, there you are. What do you say?
For me. There was stunned silence. My Uncle William was supposed to live forever. I had it planned. All neatly and quietly drawn out.
Had to go and spoil it did-in-cha?
Thanks alot.
And I'd just scored that teaching job. The one that was just going to make you so proud and knock your socks off.
Fink.
Instead, I had to drive into work, snuffling and trying to hold it together and act like a grown up. Then dash into Huntsville after Shift and teach until noon.
Then it was home and hit the shower and fall apart. Shatter like glass into a kazillion pieces. All the while, telling myself it was just a bad dream and when I woke up, boy, were we gonna have a conversation about THIS one.
Then I called my Girls to tell them. Kel my oldest went on the net to get the details of the Funeral arrangements so I could arrange to attend.
No contact from the Family again.
Friday at 1100 a call demanding I come down and sign papers so the Family could, "write checks for expenses."
Hmmmmm. Yep, I'll get right on that. You who never call unless you need something and haven't let me know anything about anything? Ssssuuuurrrreeee. Jumping up and running on it wrat neeooowww.
Turns out I'm the Executor. And the Family isn't too happy about it.
It's been along 3 weeks since January 21. Long time. Gotten ugly a few times, too. I've found out about greed and featherless vultures. How people that quote the Bible to you, forget that 'coveting," is in and of itself a sin. Big one, if I recall correctly.
And I've been made responsible for tiding up the long life of a dear, honorable man who would be devastated over some of the actions of these idiots we have to label, "relations."
The 1st weekend I slogged my way through the kitchen. It was ... a disaster. Let's leave it at that. Although I can not understand for the life of me how the neighbors could always help him and I could help him when I was down visiting, the sister and brother that live in the same area couldn't help him.
This 2nd weekend, my husband came with me and we went through the rest of the home. Sweeping and dusting and throwing out and sorting.
So much. So very much.
And heart breaking.
The mice had gotten into everything. Yeah, hadn't mentioned them until now. They'd had the run of the place and taken over. You couldn't move without seeing evidence of their existence; of their traces; of their having been across a surface.
And apparently his eyesight failing as it had been, he only had one eye to begin with, well, there you are. He'd lived in this ... mess, this absolute state of filth.
It had not been so the last I'd been in the home. But, it had come to this. And no one had intervened.
And so today, the last day, I finished with my task. I threw out more than a lifetime's mementos and keepsakes. They were ruined. Some chewed, some just so ... degraded.
What I could save, I did. But how heart breaking to see the elementary grades earned, now to a trash container, of a life I loved. And for him, they were so much a trophy. But, chewed and ruined, only handled with gloves.
I cried into my mask until I couldn't see.
It was the same throughout the home. Pick and choose and do what you could. Feel your heart crack, take a break, wipe your tears, blow your nose and then back to work.
Last weekend was easier. Then it was just grit and dirt and mold. Last weekend was elbows and aches. This weekend was hearts and rends.
And the Hell of it? The house will probably be razed. The home where nephews and nieces raced about playing under the pines. Where the Clan gathered for Grandmother's Sunday dinners and Thanksgiving feasts. Where Christmas trees were shiny aluminum with a color wheel and blue ornaments.
It was the house he built for his parents. The house he sacrificed everything for, so that they would be secure and have a haven. Everything in his life was always about another.
Today, I took the 1st steps in its destruction.
And I could feel him there. I could remember the times, from way back until more recent times.
The weight was heavy and oppressive. Not blame, that wasn't his style, his way. Just that terrible sadness. All those years and now this. Was it worth it?
Yes. Oh, yes.
If I did anything, I tried to convey anyway I could, that any of my childhood memories that were good, they stemmed from that place, the one he created.
Without that home there were many times, I wouldn't have had one.
And that's the reality of it all. That good, good man who gave so much to so many and ask for so little probably saved my life during my maternal parent's crazy years and provided a haven.
He was always providing a haven for one of us lost lambs.
And now by writing this, I can pull it together. The house was just the shell. He was the haven.
And maybe as I picked and sorted and tossed and chose; I wasn't crying so much for him; than as for me.