The Object of His Affection

He sat in 3F. First Class, that is. Poised, fairly quiet, giant stylish sunglasses hiding his close to 60-year-old eyes. But it was his wearing a suit with a jacket that struck me. Not so many folks dress up any longer. And a pink dress shirt to boot. Now, the dress shirt was unbuttoned further than normal -- probably just about where I'd, personally, wear mine. Just enough to show off whatever happens to be on my chest at any given moment in time. Some giant gold piece of expensive jewelry hung around his neck.

"I'll have a tomato juice with ice and two vodkas, please" he uttered when I asked him what he'd like to drink. Fine. One drink down, another ordered in a fairly short amount of time. Somehow, we got on the subject of where we were from and where we were going -- typical conversation in my business. I reach my slender hairy forearm across and rest his second drink on the stand next to him. He catches my attention and dives into an animated, theatrical version of "Perhaps you've heard of "Listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere.....'." Why yes. Yes, I have heard it. He goes on to tell me that he grew up west of Boston in some proximity to where Longfellow lived and wrote. He is dramatic and looks me squarely in the eyes with his wrist held limp and his arms up in the air a bit -- much like he's performing on a stage.

We get to the uncomfortable time where's he's ordering his third double drink within an hour of starting. Now, that's six drinks at a cabin altitude of around 8,000 feet above sea level. That's like going from zero to sixty in a short amount of time and drinking while you're doing it. And we have, like, four hours to go in the flight ahead of us. He tell me that "I'm planning on being well oiled by the time I reach Boston so just keep the drinks coming." Oh boy. So, I take his third double drink to him and tell him that the airplane probably isn't the best place to become well oiled.....that we are not permitted to let anyone get to that point on a flight. He's very kind about it, thankfully. Many times, people aren't nice to me at this point. He nods to me and sort of waves me off -- not in a bad way but, rather, in a "I know" sort of way. A bit later, he's headed to the restroom and says to me, "If you had a son like I do picking you up in Boston, you'd want to be well oiled too." I tell him that I totally understand -- and that family members can many times be the ones that drive one to drink. He laughs. I laugh. It's all good.

He hands me a section of a magazine that he's torn out and written down some information on: Longfellow's Wayside Inn in South Sudbury, Massachusetts. There's a phone number there too. And it also says to ask for him, by name. A very nice gesture, don't you think? I appreciated the interaction by a stranger. He tells me that I need to stop in sometime.

At that point, he sort of fades out into la-la land for a little nap. Six drinks in an hour will do that to you. I notice that he's sort of almost to the end of his third drink and that it's almost to fall out of his hand while he rests with his head back and mouth open. Next thing I know, his linen napkin is covered in tomato juice. He's obviously spilled the last remaining bit of his drink on himself and had to wipe it up in a napkin that now looks like a murder took place. I remove his glass and napkin from his lap while he's resting peacefully.

He wakes a bit later and orders a brandy. I space it out as long as I can before delivering it to him. And, finally, nearing Boston, I hear him say to me "I'd like another brandy," while I've got my back to him and speaking to the folks across the aisle. That's his last drink. Eight in one flight. Clearly in need of drinking his relationship with his son into annihilation. Believe me, my heart went out to the dude. I'm sure he was gay. And clearly enamoured with me. I was flattered, believe me. But I honestly felt sorry for him. Because I'm sure that his son has given him hell in his life. And that his son has probably struggled as well with this man that I've just spent the last five hours with.

I've still got the phone number and address of the place he said to drop his name at. Maybe I will sometime. Maybe he will buy me a drink this time around.

Sunset North of Michigan

The sun had just gone down and was casting the most amazing brilliant redish-orangish glow in the sky off the right side of the aircraft. It was 2:20pm on my watch, three hours behind actuality. We were passing over the north of Michigan state, my First Class service was complete, and I sat down to read a single sentence in Armistead Maupin's book Michael Tolliver Lives. It's on page 14 if you're interested and it reads: "Some people think we finally become adults when both our parents have died; for me it happened when someone desired the person I'd become." It got me to thinking a bit introspectively about life, death, relationships, growing up, changing, or not changing.

It was then that the captain called me for a pee-pee break which means that I go into the flight deck while he comes out. It was dark up there as my eyes focused on the many bells and whistles and colored instrument panels that lay before me. I always glance at the big screen that shows where we are and which cities we're passing over and which airports are nearest to us in case we ever need to make an emergency diversion. And I saw the flight path which included a direct hit over Albany, New York. "KALB" is how it looks on the instrument in the airplane -- and don't ask me what the "K" stands for. I have no idea. I pour coffee for a living for god's sake.

Albany is home to many of my dear friends. I was headed to Boston, 160 miles east of Albany, for a one-night layover. I haven't been back to this area of the country since last July when we joined all of our Albany friends (and a million other sexy bear men) at Bear Week in Provincetown. What a super great week we had. But we also had a bit of trouble in P-Town. Potentially friend-threatening trouble. Totally skipping every single detail, because I simply cannot rehash it any more than I already have in my heart and soul, I will simply tell you that I got tears in my eyes as I tried to stare out the window ahead of our 500mph moving airplane last night. I was speaking with another friend recently who told me how much he valued me, both Blair and me. How much he enjoyed being around us and how much we meant to him. And that we would always be considered a valuable part of his life, no matter what. I started to cry during that phone conversation (god, is it my time of the month or what). I feel amazingly poorly about the rift, the crevice, that has been dumped into the middle of this beautiful friendship -- and into my life as a whole. So, we passed over KALB rapidly and discretely overhead. I wonder if my friends just happened to glance overhead and see me? Because I saw them.

And that reminds me, it's only a few days until the most thankful holidays of all....Thanksgiving.

Saucy Pirate Wenches

Another of the many interesting readings on the reader board at Pirate's Cove along Sandy Boulevard in Northeast Portland. It's in our former neighborhood but we still pass by frequently. Last Christmas? "No Fruitcakes, Please." I wasn't sure if I should go in or not.

The Rottenness of My Insides

So, I've had this thing nagging me inside for a while. Years, in fact. And it's just not going away. And yesterday my friend over at Lelo in Nopo posted this. About putting out good in the world in spite of the fact that we have a totally messed up world. I read her post and commented on it: "I agree...I really do. I think about this regularly, all of the time. Honestly. But I have such a difficult time putting it into practice. Sometimes I do. Many times I don't. I find myself thinking terrible things about terrible people. I'm trying. I guess I'll keep on doing so. Because I believe in the good, I really do. Thanks for the reminder."

Diving into yoga a year ago has made my thought processes even more pronounced inside of me. And having certain people and situations in my life around me has simply added to my giant fight. The bottom line is this: There are people that I do not like, nor care for, nor like their actions, nor like their choices, nor nor nor nor. That's it. That's the simple, honest, truth. I could hide it and say that I don't have those feelings. I could lie and say that I'm all about this send-good-into-the-world-sort-of-yoga-ish thing. And I am most of the time. But there are plenty of times when I'm not. I have a long list of things that irritate me and send my ire sky-high. At the end of each yoga class, we finish after savasana by saying "We give honor to the good in ourselves and in all others....Namaste." And nearly every time I say that, with my hands folded at my heart, my eyes closed and in silence, I question it. But maybe that's the point, eh? The questioning. The reminding myself of it. The habitual doing of it, over and over. Maybe that's what I need to continue reminding me of my humanity, my frailness, my weakness. Perhaps it will always be the thorn in my side that tries to keep me humble and attentive to the feelings inside. And now you all know what a rotten person I am inside sometimes. And that's my sermon for today.

I Love My Pooch

Hav'ta, Got'ta

I just hav'ta. I just got'ta. Post, that is. I've been contemplating, wondering, looking through some old ideas for posts. And nothing was coming to me. But I'm feeling pretty good this morning. It's a cold, clear morning. Mason and I woke up to an empty house -- Daddy, Papa, Lover Boy -- they had all left me. Alone. Without saying anything. I love to watch Mason as he skips (yes, he actually skips) down the sidewalk. Chasing leaves, commanding them to the ground, and sticking his little white fanny up in the air.

Today, our Human Resource/Benefits people from Corporate are in town for a Q&A on next year's giant medical insurance changes. We can stick with the traditional PPO that we have right now or migrate to a high-deductible Health Savings Account. All of the money you put into the HSA is yours. Forever. The point is that you can use the money in the account to pay for your insurance bills. But if you don't have any medical bills, you just keep the money building up in your account. It all sounds great except that the annual deductible on this plan is $1,200 and only $250 on the lower/regular PPO plan. Makes you think a few times before actually going to the doctor.

We've been sleeping like poo poo. Stress, I'm afraid. Nonetheless, things have evened out a bit. I'm afraid I'm at that point in my life wherein I need to practice what I preach. All of the powers of positive thinking that I've always claimed to have now need to be a part of my own life. I'm working on it. Albeit very slowly -- and many times not that you'd be able to tell unfortunately.

I'm loving the new MacBook Pro. But transferring my iTunes from my old PC to the new Mac is a real bitch. I followed very length, confusing instructions yesterday. And everything worked out just fine until I actually went to play the music. Nada. Nope. No how. The songs all show up in my iTunes. But they won't play because "the original file cannot be found." Now I'm more lost than ever.

What else can I tell you? I could go on and on about what we've been doing: We saw The Beggar's Opera and Company -- both of which were very very cool. We've been spending tons of time with our new BFF's Mark and Shawn. Our buddy D. is staying with us this coming weekend while he does monthly military guard duty. We're going to Alex and Paul's house for Thanksgiving with my MIL. Our December is starting to fill up with holiday plans -- and we've already decided that we are not going to get inundated with decorating and all of that -- it chills me to the bone to not be able to actually enjoy the holidays. My honey is contemplating a cruise next year with our good friend Alan. We're trying to decide if we will be participating in Provincetown Bear Week 2010 next summer or not. My hair is growing out a bit -- on its way to a whole new doo. I'm liking it most days.

Alright now, so I'm delving into the depths coming up with things to tell you. So, I'll close for now. Stay in touch. I need you!

Celebrity Extravaganza

Whew. I'm exhausted. This old goat has finished a whirlwind 24 hours in celebrity heaven. Totally unexpected. Quite pleased to have met the company of the following folks:

Melanie Griffith -- She and I chatted about her super cool knee-length boots and her tattoo. I told her and her daughter Stella to behave on their weekend in Portland. They promised they would. I just kept thinking that "this woman sleeps with Antonio." Everything was all better then.

Stella Banderas (child of Melanie Griffith and Antonio Banderas)

Neil Sedaka (plus his very handsome Russian traveling companion) -- playing near Vancouver BC tonight. Tells me he does about 60 concerts a year -- "They pay, I go," he tells me as his hand gently rested on my fuzzy forearm. I think he liked it as much as I did. I caught up with him again in baggage claim standing by himself and told him to "Be careful hanging out on street corners all by yourself....people may get the wrong impression." He laughed.

Stone Temple Pilots -- They are beginning a 3-week west to east Canadian tour tonight.

** Dean DeLeo (lead guitar, total rocker dude).

** Robert DeLeo (vocals and bass guitar) -- really handsome man, beautiful smile, and I didn't complain at all about the little hand on my shoulder just before he went back to his seat. Umm. Did I mention the smattering of chest fuzz above his shirt line.

** Eric Kretz (drummer) -- another rocker dude who was more than happy to chat us up.

I really needed this star-studded extravaganza. They were all so friendly, very polite, and quite personable and easy to talk with. Sort of the little fresh breath of air that I needed right now.

Are These The Eyes ??

What I fail to mention in this positive, uplifting and energizing video is the fact that I've had a pain in the chest for about four days now. I don't really think it's related to heart issues -- no other symptoms that would indicate that I need medical help. I think that maybe I pulled a muscle or twisted wrong or something. Either that or my heart just plain old hurts.

Another of Mason's Amazing Uncles

Happy 2nd Birthday Mason

Boo Hoo -- It's Hallowed Weenie !!

Today marks Halloween. The last day of October. It was one year ago today that I marched myself with glamour and glitz down to the 24 Hour Fitness near our home. A nice gym, busier than you know what, and signed up for our monthly corporate fitness rate. I was an animal all winter long. Yoga numerous times a week along with the free weights, treadmill, and floor/core who-hah. Then the nicer weather of late spring and summer arrived and my staring-at-the-handsome-men-in-the-gym-time went to nearly zero. I've been giving a ton of thought to the ins and outs of motivation. What motivates each of us in different ways. The internal versus external motivational factors. What makes one person totally get into going to the gym and what makes others never step a foot into a gym in their entire lives. I have no conclusion here. I enjoyed my time there. A lot. But where is the motivation? What happens inside me that short-circuits my actually getting there. I suppose it's precisely the same as my advice to alcoholics: "Put down the bottle." It's that simple, really. "Get thee in the Camry and drive the 1.3 miles to the gym," is what will solve my not going...right? But, wait, there's a big giant "I'd rather stay home" Monster between me and the gym...........

Two weeks ago we saw Company. A Sondheim musical. Honestly, we've been together 12 years and have seen very little live theater. And that's weird because we both love it. We've never even made time to see the Oregon Symphony which is something we'd love to do. Company starred our longtime friend Andrew. He was amazing. Perfect. And I was able to add Company to my list of things I've done in my life.

Since we live in a condo building where the trick-or-treater component is absolute zero, we decided to go and see Portland's version of The Beggar's Opera tonight. Another good friend Stephen is the director of it. I know next to nothing about opera. I've seen exactly, precisely, one opera in my life -- Mozart's The Magic Flute in Prague....in the very theater that The Magic Flute was performed at in the late 1700s. And the very theater that Mozart himself directed it in. A very very exciting night, to say the least. And, so, tonight.....Portland's Beggar's Opera.

MIL continues to be fine, not great, but at least functioning alone semi-well. You see, in spite of whatever physical issues she has going, her emotional instability plays into the physical easily, quickly, smoothly. She has been prescribed both antianxiety and antidepression medications. But she doesn't take them....well, "unless I need them." She allows her emotions, high-highs and low-lows to take over her body and drag her physical self right down the tubes. She cries wolf. She doesn't ask for what she needs but, instead, makes up little stories and plays games so that everything is a watered-down, clear-as-mud mess when it comes to figuring out exactly what she is saying and needing. The connection between one's emotion/head games and physical ailments is closely knit. A minimal physical ailment can be turned into a full-blown hospital stay within hours......And it's hard to for this type-A guy to play into that crap.

Lover Boy just ordered me The Conscious Cook by Tal Ronnen after I saw him on the Oprah show. "Delicious meatless recipes that will change the way you eat," is his claim to fame on the front of the book. I glanced through it last night and fell in love. Although I do have to say (and this would be as good of time to do so as any), that as a nearly-vegetarian guy, I am not overly in love with a couple of the foods that typically find themselves into vegetarian recipes: Tofu and Mushrooms. I mean, they're okay....but they are not my favorites. And it seems that they are in a high percentage of veggie recipes. So, I'm going to dive in to the book and see what happens (well, not actually dive into the book....but you know what I mean.....don't you????).

Also, as a side note, it will be four years ago tomorrow (November 1) that we embarked on one of our favorite vacations with our good friends. We flew from Portland-Chicago-Krakow, Poland. We visited Auschwitz and fell in love with this perfectly old and beautiful Eastern European city. We took the train from Krakow to Prague where we saw the The Magic Flute (mentioned above) along with the Czech National Symphony Orchestra. We left Prague on the train for Dresden, Germany, and had a ball in this city that was nearly totally destroyed in one single bombing raid during WW2. So, in spite of the fact that it looks old today, it actually isn't -- it's been rebuilt to visually look old. Weird.

This crap's gone on long enough for today folks. I've got a bad Halloween attitude to deal with......gotta run (and, please Mary!, could there be any more links in this post.....for god's sake, give it up with the links............)

Pride, Arrogance and High Powered Attitudes

Woops....that's about the only way I can describe this picture. You can't see it overly well...but you can see that the route went to the right (east) of MSP before it made a few turns and headed back. It's the flight plan for Northwest/Delta flight 188 last Wednesday, October 21, when it was supposed to have landed at Minneapolis but, instead, decided to burn up a little more fuel before it made its way back to MSP. The pilots were, apparently, in a heated discussion about their company's pilot scheduling component. And, having heard such discussions many times in my 15 years in the airline business, I can only imagine that it was, as they said, "heated." Airline employees in general, and especially pilots and flight attendants, are quite passionate about their jobs, their schedules, their seniority, and what they believe they "should have" and what they "shouldn't have." It's nearly always a constant battle between union and company -- employee and management.

I love my job, don't get me wrong. And I've got a long list of very valuable friends in every single position in the industry from management to front-line customer service personnel. They are people typically given to good times, laughter, and enjoy their jobs. But not always. The recent turbulent history of the airline industry has lent itself to a growing dissatisfaction of pilots and other with their jobs. They don't like their salaries, their management, their hours, their meals, their hotels, their schedules.....oh yes, their schedules! And that's where this particular story takes us. Apparently they were discussing their schedules. Remember that Delta and Northwest Airlines have merged. Northwest, as we've always known it, will go away. It will become Delta. And these were two Northwest pilots -- they are going to be merged into the Delta airlines pilot seniority list somehow -- no guarantees, they may actually lose seniority, may have to start over at a place that they aren't today....it may not be pretty. The first part of next year, there will actually be combination crews of former Northwest and former Delta pilots and flight attendants on board. And their schedules may definitely be affected. Remember, these are folks who have typically devoted a giant chunk of their time to having been educated and trained to be in charge of a multi-million dollar airliner with the lives of passengers at stake every day. It's tough -- very much so.

You must understand that the pilot in command (PIC) has complete authority of any given flight. If he doesn't feel right about any particular portion of the fight (unruly passengers, freight, weight and balance, safety issues, fuel, cabin customer service components such as lights, etc.), he has the total authority to say "No, I'm not going." He or she can, single handedly, do essentially what they want. They may have to answer for it but rarely so; but in this industry, anything blamed on "safety" will rarely be questioned. And, anything can be blamed on safety, believe me. Anything. Pilots have no direct report....no direct supervision or person to whom they report. Pilots, and flight attendants for that matter, can get a little crazy sometimes with the freedom that they have. They can come across as police enforcers. They can make decisions, or statements, that will not always be questioned. They have giant latitude in making decisions on their own. And that freedom of authority can, occasionally, get out of hand. And, believe me, I'm not pointing fingers -- I've been there and done that myself, sadly.

I've seen some of the best pilots in the world. And I've seen some of the worst. I've questioned pilots when I genuinely believe that I've needed to. But when that happens, I'd better be prepared with a damned good excuse for asking. In fact, I recently questioned a pilot about why in the world he failed to notify the flight attendants about an inflight mechanical failure of a nonessential component that resulted in an eight-hour delay for us. He wasn't happy and we got into a bit of a tiff about it. The delay isn't the issue. The failure to communicate is. His response? He claims that I was acting unprofessionally by questioning his authority and judgment. And he claims that since it was nothing that concerned me, that he chose not to say anything. I call those sorts of judgments errors. Big errors. It's the sort of thinking that got Northwest/Delta 188 in trouble. Thinking they know it all. In fact, just this morning, I overheard three pilots chatting about this little issue on the employee bus as we made our way from the employee parking lot to the airport terminal. Guess what? They justified the pilot's actions! If there hadn't been three of them on the bus this morning, I'd have spoken up -- I'm not known for being a wallflower or overly demure.

There are pilots that are pleasant, friendly and always speak to me. And there are those who will never say a word. (And, to be fair, there are flight attendants who do the same.) It's much like a doctor -- they are GOD. They hate to be questioned or asked to explain their decisions. They have the ability to make your flight, your day, your life, as easy as pie. Or like total hell. It's like any other job in the world.....we get so used to doing what we do that we lose touch with the harsh reality that today is a new day, new faces, new opportunities -- and that we still have to be diligent to pay attention, double check all that we need to, and make it the safest flight possible. Pride, arrogance, and high powered attitudes don't count. Especially in this industry, that remains essential. This isn't a "bash the pilot" post. It is, however, a reminder to all of us to remain engaged and active in our jobs, our lives, our families and responsibilities.

So, when I hear about pilots who accidentally go 150 miles beyond where they are supposed to because they were having a heated discussion about their management and their scheduling, I am concerned. I don't care what they were doing in the flight deck. It matters not whether they were eating, sleeping, on their laptops, giving head to each other, or reading a newspaper. I don't care if they like their jobs, were happy, or hated their management. What does matter, unequivocally so, is that they failed at being the pilots in command of a flight. They failed at receiving and responding to radio and text calls. They were not coherent or in control. A coherent person would have not only heard the radio call, but actually responded to it as required. They failed at being in charge of their flight. And it took a flight attendant's interphone call to remedy that. And for that, my friends, they should be fired.

(De)Fragmented Friday Fineries

Momma in law is home as of yesterday afternoon. We had her entire apartment cleaned as best we could and rearranged so she could move easily with her walker without tripping. Her refrigerator and freezer are stocked so full you wouldn't believe it. She seems to be in good spirits now that she's out of the place she hated so much. I have one thing to say: If I ever end up in a hospital or rehabilitation center, I hope that I treat other people pleasantly and appreciate others for what they do for me without griping, complaining, and flying off the handle at them. Enough said.

I miss my hubby this morning. For the second time in the recent weeks, he's found his way out of bed in the middle of the night because of an inability to sleep. It's been very stressful being the sole caregivers for the aforementioned MIL -- No other family members here to run errands and take her to appointments and no family helping reimburse us for the mounting costs of helping her maintain her life. We've had little time together, no gym time, and a busy work schedule. And we've had very little Mason and home time. So, neither of us have been sleeping well. We've been trying to find time for a trip to the Oregon Coast -- it's only 1 1/2 hours away and we haven't been there in more than two years. But, there's no time. And I need a trip to Boise to see my mom and sis.....and there's no time for that either. So, all of that to say that we need to get better sleep and regain some sense of normality.

Did you know that most (all?) schools nowadays have a zero-tolerance drug policy -- and I mean no aspirin, Tylenol, no nothing. So, one of my family members in 8th grade found that out the hard way. She found some sort of pill underneath a school desk and split it with a classmate. (I know, I know....very very silly.) She's a bright, educated, smart, intelligent and beautiful young lady and it surprised me more than you can imagine. So, another classmate watched them do this, turned them in to the school officials, and they were both suspended immediately for a minimum of five days while the school Board sorted out the issue. That's how it works. No questions, no nothing .... you get expelled .... no matter the drug, the story behind it, nothing. She went to the ER and had a drug test which showed no narcotics in her system. Then she is required to go before the School Board and plead her case, just like in court. The fine for actually being the "distributor" of the drug? The remainder of the semester off....until January! Fortunately for her, the School Board believed her story and allowed her to return to school with a requirement to attend some sort of drug classes. So, be warned, zero tolerance means exactly that.

My increasingly slow Sony Vaio laptop is bugging the hell out of me. I do all of my regular scans for viruses, run the defragmenter, clear the cookies, and all of that.....but it's not all that much better. I mean, I click on something and it's like I don't even know if it's registered the click or not...I wait, and wait. Dial-up speed (remember the OLD days??). Nothing appears to be wrong, and I can't find a definitive answer. So, I'm not sure what to do. It's just one more thing to add to my list of life's annoyances right now. So, after we climb into bed last night, hubby appears to be asleep when I see his eyes closed but his mouth say, "Aaaapppplllleeee." And then, "Maaccc Booooookkkkkkk." And then pretends to be snoring. I rolled him over and pry his eyes open to look at me. He said, "Just make sure they save one more for me because I want one too." I guess we both have a hankering for a Macbook. He tells me that he won't be surprised to see one on my desk when he returns from Seattle today.

And one more little teeny tiny thing: The Northwest Airline's pilots that accidently overflew their destination a few days back? You know, the ones that went 1:20 without radio contact? The ones that said they were having a heated discussion about company policy in the flight deck and were distracted? Fire 'em. Now.

Brutal Harshness of My Frail Humanity

I'm not quite sure where this is going. But I do know it's going to be honest. You've been warned. If you're the type of person who can't deal with straightforwardness, I'd suggest grabbing the Sunday comic section from last weekend's paper. I've had it. And not just today. It seems to be happening on a day-to-day basis. I keep on saying to myself and my partner, "I've had it." I'm edgy, irritated, upset, and angry and the slightest, oh say, driver who doesn't signal or people who stop at the bottom of escalators in spite of the fact there are a hundred more folks coming right behind them. Even taking the dog for a walk is getting on my nerves. Those are the sorts of things that are like pouring gasoline on a small fire.

As you well know, my MIL has been in the hospital and now in a rehabilitation center for two weeks. She's a horrible patient with even worse patience. It's always like dealing with a child in an adult's clothing. Yeah, okay, so I can sort through that on my better days -- I've known her long enough. But what I can't deal with is the effect that her actions, words, and thought processes continue to have on me, us, both of us. She has officially set "Wednesday as the day I'm going home." Oh, really? No doctors have been consulted, no social workers have advised, no home care has been arranged, and she can't even walk more than around 20 feet at a time. At home she's got an aging dog with breathing difficulties, has to cook and clean for herself, and her apartment is filled with so much furniture that you wouldn't believe it -- all things that we've tried to get rid of for years in an effort to simplify but are all things that she just has to have. She lives in a senior apartment without assistance or care. By herself. I told her yesterday that her going home has a giant mental heaviness that sits on my head because we are the only two responsible for her -- that I'm concerned for her being by herself and that it's us that have to deal with her continued issues. It's like talking to a doorknob. She doesn't care. "I can do it -- I just have to get out of here," she says with that wild-eyed, throw-caution-to-the-wind sort of look in her eyes. Um, yeah....okay, we'll see how that goes. And all of this from a woman who, in a fit of rage and anger, told me several years ago to "Get the hell out of my house and don't ever darken my doorway again." Makes it really tough to even want to help out. And it's not like I don't think she doesn't appreciate our caring....it's simply that I don't think it just doesn't make any real difference many times. It's never quite good enough. (Note to self: Remember this paragraph when we get a phone call in the middle of the night......)

I'm the sole driver in our family -- neither she nor my partner drive. And her other two sons don't live here and have minimal involvement on any sort of productive, essential level in her day-to-day care. Remember, you never know exactly who is going to be wiping your ass at any given point in your life. And if you're looking for a "thank you" from those that you should be receiving a "thank you" from, good luck with that. Caregiving is a real bitch sometimes. And I've honestly really had to sort through that in my mind for years now. And at times like this, I don't do a very good job at it and realize the brutal harshness that is my frail humanity. The pressure's on and there a lot of extra things that have to be done right now. I am solely responsible for anything that requires driving -- her trips to the grocery store, to get her prescriptions, to take her to doctor's visits, to get dog food when she runs out, and and and and........ and, again, I've reached my limit. I don't have the luxury of saying, "No." Occasionally I do. But I feel badly for knowing that I've denied an elderly person their sense of well being and that I'm not being nice. But I just have to draw the lines sometimes. I just cannot do it all.

Whiner? Perhaps. I'm not above confessing and sorting through my shortcomings. Just serve me a nice Brie with the whine, would you please? And a glass of chilled pinot gris would be lovely as well. I do it rarely but I'm afraid that I'm about to be doing it more and more often. These are issues that started long ago and battles that I've waged in my own head and soul for many years. And the feelings have not been resolved. And it's these pressure cooker sort of times that bring out either the best or the worst in folks, you know. I'm an organized, straightforward, logical, common sense thinker sort of guy. I get things done. A mover-and-shaker sort of dweeb. I do not do well at playing games, living with drama and the same old tired stories that I've heard for years. And that doesn't play out well in the land of Oz -- where fantasy, dreams, wishes, and hopes rarely come true.

I wish I were more like my own Mother sometimes. She's quite the woman -- always putting herself second and others first. I consider her and my long-passed grandmother frequently. They both had that innate quality of beauty, consideration for others always, and the gift of providing for others at all costs without complaint or the bad attitudes that pervade me today. I wonder if I can buy, purchase or even steal a better attitude? Either that or somebody's going to strangle somebody.....I swear it. I'm looking for duct tape, bed sheets, and razor blades as we speak.

Whose Going to Wipe Your Ass ?

Seriously. Whose going to wipe it? When you can't. When you are too old to do it, or your hands can't get down there the way they are supposed to. Have you thought about it? Probably not. But if you're demented like I am and try to do now what you're supposed to be so that your future years have as few problems as necessary, maybe you have considered it.

My mother in law has been in the hospital and now a rehabilitation center for nearly two weeks now. She lives alone since my father in law passed away more than a year ago. It's not the first time I've given this ass-wiping ceremony some thought. I've had more than my share of illnesses in my family. But who in your life right now, today!, will be by your side to clean up after you, cook for you, buy your groceries for you, take you to your doctor's appointments when you can't drive, pay your bills for you when you are living on straight Social Security and can't afford them, and yes, wipe up your bottom properly? Will it be your children? If you have none like me, then you can shoot that idea right out the window (maybe I should adopt a handsome young 18-year-old for these purposes??). Maybe a neighbor will help out. Or a friend. Or someone in your church, club, or little group. Or, perhaps, a combination of all of the above. I do know that you can't truly depend on anyone in particular -- children move away and have nothing to do with their parent's day-to-day care any longer except for an occasional obligatory phone call ..... husbands and wives and partners die or move or divorce ..... friends and family come and go. I'm not sure that anyone can truly be counted on for those end-of-life years that really look better on paper than in real life.

So, go ahead, push that call button that's been clipped onto your sheets -- push it and just wait....wait and see how long it takes for someone to show up to help you get onto the toilet. Or who shows up. I wonder who it will be. Let's see now, where is that call button........