Vegass

How do you deal with a grown man that has had one legit job in his life, has a felony conviction and is a tie to the past your husband enjoys??

My husband and I honeymooned in California 23 years ago. We went sightseeing, ate in fabulous restaurants, and visited family and friends. All the family and friends were, are, my husband's. One particular friend, Vegass, Krieger, Al, Alan, Mys Ter Re Al, he went and goes by many names, is weird. He was different then and he is different now.

I always thought he had dead bodies buried in his basement, he gave me the creeps. My husband and father-in-law love(d) him. Once in awhile my father in law would send Vegass money, go to Cali to visit, or meet Vegass in Vegas. Jobs were not detailed by Mys Ter Re Al, because they were not legal. He sold merchandise from a boiler room, ran numbers, worked for a bookie, gambled, and I am positive worked for a short while in the porn industry. He never filed income tax, absolutely smoked a lot of pot, and never married.

Vegass moved back to my hometown seven years ago to take care of his mother, whom I adored and was one of the nicest women on the planet, she died last year. In all that time Alan never once complained, shirked his responsibility, or thought of putting his mother in a nursing home.

He got a job with another friend of ours as a pizza delivery guy a week after moving back, he still works at the pizza shop. The pizza job is the first and only legitimate job he has worked. Vegass is 55 years old, talks constantly, eats every Saturday and Sunday at my house, usually lunch and dinner, and makes my husband laugh. He has come up a few rungs on the ladder of acceptability because he took great care of his mother. But he drives me crazy.

I have asked my husband to limit the all day and night Saturday and Sunday visits, but I only get "Aahh come on, he's Vegass, one of the tribe, the only link to my dad, I have fun with him."

There are no bodies buried in his basement, (I am 99% sure), he makes my husband laugh and they kibitz about the past in a way only yentas can. ( If you saw and heard them you would know why I call them yentas). I do laugh often with them. Alan is highly intelligent, he remembers dates, details, people, events, and especially numbers. He has a criminal mind, always looking for an angle, the easy way to make a dollar, he dreams of working for a bookie again. His felony conviction is the only thing preventing him from going back to a life of numbers. Vegass did not like jail.

He does not look like a thug or a criminal, no tattoos or gold teeth. Only curly soft brown hair, blue eyes, and a contagious laugh. He is a vegetarian, exercises, is looking for a girlfriend, and lives on a pizza delivery guy's wages. He's kinda likable.

So what do you do with a guy like that???

HHHHMMMM

Thank you http://anonomousblogger.blogspot.com/ for the link. This was a fun test. I am as it states.

Whimp

I woke up at 2:34 A.M. screaming, lying prone, gasping, gritting my teeth, I couldn't sit up the pain so was intense. Try breathing slowly, kept going around in my head, each inhale made the pain worse.

My husband after two top of the lung screams from me finally sat up and muttered in his dead to the world sleepiness, "what's going on, what, are you ok?" he asked " are you screaming?"

Gritting my teeth, I apologized for waking him, I knew he came to bed at midnight and had to be on the road for a 4 hour drive by 6am. A gasping moan escaped from me. Then the pain intensified and I let loose with a mouth wide open "FUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK it hurts so bad."

After discovering my reason for screaming my husband put his headphones on and went back to sleep, leaving me to deal with the pain and the now awake and having to go outside pack of dogs that sleep in our bedroom.

This type of pain has been experienced by me before. In my calf muscles, I get charley horses, knots, incredibly painful muscle cramps. Only at night do these episodes occur. I know when they will happen and try to prevent them. During the day once I start to feel my muscles tighten , I increase my water, stretch and try to relax. Sometimes this process works other times not.

Today I am feeling the after effects of last night's episode. My muscles are still tight and cramping, I'm tired, and because of the water intake increase I am peeing every couple of hours. My son is calling me a whimp. Mr. All-County football player, wrestler, lacrosse player, claims he knows pain. OK so he has had broken bones, stitches, concussions, but he has not given birth to a child and has not experienced my muscle cramps.

Yoga class is tomorrow, I hope my muscles are relaxed by class time. I can't take being called a whimp.

Venting

My husband called me at the store, he had to vent. Usually his venting is about the dogs peeing or the kids being lazy. This time was different. He kept saying "Maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think so. Tell me if I am wrong, Kathy ( his office manager) didn't think I was wrong, just tell me if I'm wrong."

"Ok honey, uhh you need to tell me what you could be wrong about."

He said "I know I'm not wrong. That guy is an idiot, I can't believe the company he works for can do that. I'm not wrong." I let him go on for a few more minutes.

We had a smell in one of our garages, the one where we have our second washing machine and dryer, only out of necessity. Our kids always have their laundry sitting in the main washer and dryer in the basement. My husband and I opted for a second set, that way we are not in jail for killing our kids. There is also a furnace that heats the in-law-apartment, that is used as an office, section of our house. And that is the garage that my husband uses as warehouse for all his manufacturers samples.

The garage is loaded from floor to ceiling, and from back to front, with samples. A narrow path on both sides of the warehouse allows one to navigate to the washer, dryer, furnace, and the back of the garage. A few times this past week we smelled something melting. Our first thought was the furnace was malfunctioning. The smell was very strong in that vicinity. My husband called our furnace company that we have a contract with. He verified the contract was still good, the cost of a service call, $39.00, and made an appointment.

The furnace man came to the house yesterday, and before he looked at the furnace, before he got his tool box out of the truck, before he got his hands dirty, he saw from the doorway what the problem really was. The unprotected light bulb in the middle of the garage was melting a plastic food service glove. That was the smell. Not the furnace.

The serviceman handed my husband a bill for $89.00. Confused my husband asked why so much, the office said only $39.00. The serviceman replied,"Oh the $39.00 is for a furnace related problem, $89.00 is because it was not the furnace."

Glad I was not home for the explosion. My husband berated the man sufficiently, called the man's supervisor, only to get a voice mail, but left a curt message. After more intense conversation the serviceman rewrote the bill for $39.00.

I told my husband he wasn't wrong.

Valentine List

I was a Camp Fire Girl. Not a Girl Scout or Brownie, but a Camp Fire Girl. Actually, I was first a Blue Bird then a Camp Fire Girl. We had weekly meetings, field trips, camp outs, paid dues, and instead of working towards badges like the Girl Scouts we worked for wooden beads.

The beads were earned by completing projects, learning how to build fires, use a pocket knife properly (my personal favorite, I was a tom boy), tie knots, cook, sew (yuk!), community service, you name it and the Camp Fire Girls more then likely were able to find the subject and associated project for bead earning in the handbook.

No where in the handbook was there a page, paragraph, not even a mention of holiday parties. But that was okay. My troop held them anyway. I especially remember a Valentine soiree. Each individual member was suppose to make, not buy, valentines for each of the other girls. My troop was made up of 13 girls.

To be organized my mom decided we needed to make a list of the girls names so no one would accidentally be forgotten. How horror able would that be if one or two girls did not receive 13 Valentines? Well I was not going to be the one to cast that nightmare upon one of my fellow troopers.

The list was made, and only 12 names were written. I had forgotten someone. Uughh. Who was it? We double checked. Only 12 names. I remember my mom saying " Don't worry about it, the name will come to you, go ahead and start making the valentines." I made all 13 valentines and still the name did not pop into my head. I couldn't believe that I forgot a name. I checked again, saying each name out loud, hoping that saying them out loud would trigger my memory. The trigger did not happen.

I sat at the dining room table, tapping the pencil, trying hard to remember the 13th name. I laid my head on the table and started tapping the pencil on my head. I rubbed my eyes, hummed a little tune to help me unfog my brain. The pressure was on, I could not think of the name. Frustration was getting the best of me. I was about to call it a day, when my mom said she knew who the 13th girl was. She chuckled and said "When I tell you the name, your going to laugh." I just looked at her. She said " Think about it. If there are 13 girls in the troop, and you are one of them, how many names will be on the list?" Oh great a math word problem, like the train in Detroit left at 6pm traveling 60 mph, wait!!!! I get it, I'm the 13th girl, there really should only be 12 names on the list!! Triumph!

Not only was the list accurate, but I figured out a math word problem. (sort of)

Jumbled

There has to be an electrical short in the grey matter located between my ears, under my hair, inside the shell that has mended cracks but still some how keeps that grey matter contained. My brain is full size, it doesn't rattle around in my skull, but something is amiss.

Maybe it's because my mother smoked when she was pregnant with me. Perhaps somehow the smoke from those addictive cylindrical papers stuffed with tobacco seeped into the womb from her lungs. Maybe the smoke found a passage through all the air pockets and past all that mess and globby stuff inside her belly to my tiny brain. I will never really know. Health experts and science masters can espouse all the evils of smoking, but I will never actually have undeniable proof. Supposition at best.

Mother was only twenty when I was born. Thirteen months after my sister, she had a second child. The calico kid I was dubbed. My hair was a multitude of colors, kind of like a patch work quilt. Bits of color everywhere. Maybe her age and the closeness of the births was the cause. Another supposition.

My father was afflicted with the same thing. Another supposition, heredity. He was embarrassed by it, became a wall flower unless he was drinking. After a couple of beers or one potent Manhattan, the unspoken words would fly out of his mouth. Most times causing my mother to cringe, or shrink away to pretend he was not her husband.

My first memory of it was having to tell my sister's fourth grade teacher that my sister was sick with a stomach ache and would not be in school. Why my mother did not write a note I will never be privileged too. It was cruel. I didn't want to sound like a baby, and tried to come up with something else. I couldn't so I told the teacher my sister had a tummy ache. What can a second grader do?

The next memory is my worst. Ms., not Mrs. not Miss, MS. Miller my third and fourth grade teacher. I didn't like her and she made it clear she was not fond of me. The agony and fear, I still feel in the pit of my being, the belly butterflies can occur at the mention of her name. Every opportunity was taken by her, reading out loud, writing at the chalk board, spelling bees, it was all a game to her. The meanie.

She threatened to leave me behind in the classroom, by myself, if I did not get it correctly. The chairs were pushed in under the desks, all the children lined up with their lunch boxes and bags in hand, the classroom lights were turned off. The door was opened, and finally I blurted out ALUNIMUM. No that wasn't right, ALNAMIN, no, not correct either, ALMUMNIM. Nope not correct yet. Any other trys??? I couldn't help it. Try as I might, I could not pronounce the word Aluminum.

I get tongue tied. Multi-syllable words are difficult for me. To this day I can not pronounce archipelago, I have to take my time with aluminum, and say each syllable slowly. Stomach ache, is two words, but I could not say it when I was 7. Ms. Miller knew I had difficulty and would force me to read out loud, write the words at the chalk board and then try to pronounce them, she humiliated me during spelling bees and purposely gave me the most multi syllable words in the fourth grade repertoire.

Words scare me. They are in my head, I can say them silently, but when it comes time to speak. Forget it. The brain dictionary just is not up to Webster's standards. Maybe the New York Times would be interested in my brain, for the Jumble.

Milestone

Have you ever reached a milestone that you did not think about? Something that gave you pause to reflect and realize a milestone was reached? It happened to me last week.

I am a coffee drinker. Strong, robust, bitter with coffee flavor, not burnt but bitter with coffee flavor is my favorite cup of Java. A cup of Joe that I will wait in line for, drive out of my way for, walk an extra mile for. Black, no sugar, no cream , no fancy flavoring. Just strong, robust, bitter with coffee flavor. My father convinced me to make and drink it that way. "Drink it like a man, it will put hair on your chest." Obviously he was kidding about the hair on the chest part, but I got the idea. Pure coffee, no additives.

Coffee was a bond my father and I had. If I was up early enough we would share a cup or two before he went to work and I went off to school. On the weekends we would share a pot reading the newspaper, waiting for the other family members to come to the kitchen and complain that all the coffee was gone. I was an adult when I drank coffee with my dad. I don't know if he realized it, but I did.

Well that is what happened to me last week. My daughter came into the kitchen and asked if there was any coffee left and if I would put it in a travel mug so she could drink it on her way to school. That simple request caused me to pause and realize a milestone had been reached. My daughter is an adult. Her age should have been a clue, and her maturity, or maybe the fact that she is on her way to financial independence, that she has been making choices in her life that I have not had to worry over, but the coffee request is the moment that I realized she is an adult.

I have always know that both my kids will become adults, it's just that I was not looking for that occurrence just yet.

The unexpected moments in life that cause an epiphany, realization of a milestone, are pleasant causes for reflection that can make you smile.

The yellow bowl

My mom made the best birthday celebrations when I was a kid. We never had money for birthday parties that would include friends or extended family members. No aunts, uncles, cousins, or grandparents, no classmates, neighborhood kids, maybe one best friend, but that was it. The celebrations were the best, because of the cake. Angel food with Cool Whip frosting. A real treat and only made on birthdays.

To this day my mon is the only one that can bake the yellow bowl birthday cake. It was, is, her specialty. A secret that was developed through necessity. Not having a baking pan suitable for an angel food cake my mom decided to leave the batter in the bowl and bake it. It worked. The yellow bowl birthday cake became "THE" birthday cake in my family.

The bowl, white on the inside and yellow on the outside,was the largest bowl in the Pyrex nesting bowl series "from the oven to table ", that was very popular in the 1960's. That bowl is the only surviving one. I do not know what happened to the other 3. Maybe they broke, chipped, or were left at some one's home after a "bring a dish to pass" gathering of family and friends. But the most important one is still in the cupboard, under the counter, near the phone, on the top shelf left hand side. That bowl has been stowed in that spot for 35 plus years.

I have asked my mother for the bowl several times. The answer is always the same. No. "You can have it when I die." Great, that makes for a happy time, I'm really looking forward to that day.