Okay, so it’s Saturday night, New Year’s Eve, and yours truly has yet to write her blog post. I have a ton of excuses, most of which are legitimate. Now don’t get me wrong; I won’t burden you with them.
But, realizing time is running short in 2022 (in fact, it’s just 6 hours till 2023), I’m posting a recap of the holiday and its accompanying hustle and bustle. I suppose you know by now I won’t be out celebrating tonight. So here goes:
It always starts (except during the height of Covid) with my tree decorating party/dinner. This year there were 10 of us who gathered at my home to eat, drink and be merry while I had them decorate my tree. Clever, huh? And may I say they did an excellent job, as I only had to hang one ornament.
I still remember that fateful afternoon. I was 8-years-old, walking home from school with my 10-year-old sister, when I learned there was no Easter bunny. She divulged it as if simply commenting on the weather.
In disbelief, I ran crying all the way home, anxious for my mother to dispel that awful lie. She tried, but to no avail. Once I allowed myself to reason, doubt crept in. Continue reading →
Did you have a happy Thanksgiving? Personally, I had a selfish one and enjoyed every minute of it. Yes, I opted to spend Thanksgiving alone, if you don’t count my 10 pets. Now don’t get me wrong; I realize I sound uncaring saying that about a day when we gather to celebrate who and what we are most thankful for. And I passed. Shame on me, right?
I’m busy. You’re busy. Everyone’s busy. And for me to get a day where I don’t have to leave the house is essentially nonexistent. Pretty much daily I either trap feral cats, visit properties to re-home them, receive calls, texts and emails about them, or take them to and from the vet. Ferals, ferals, ferals…
Last week I had occasion to visit the neighborhood where I grew up in Santa Venetia, also derogatorily known as Scabo. I’m not sure what that stands for but since it’s an ugly word, I’m guessing it wasn’t known as the most desirable place to live. But I beg to differ.
Kids don’t know they don’t live in a mansion. I certainly didn’t. We had 4 bedrooms that weren’t much bigger than some large walk-in closets and closets not much wider than a refrigerator. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t care one bit. I had what I needed and that was enough.
Our little house
To me, our Doughboy Pool was the bomb (better known as groovy back then). Other neighborhood dads helped my dad install it. That’s how it was; neighbors helping neighbors. On summer afternoons, being in that pool or playing ping pong on the patio were my favorite places to be.
Now don’t get me wrong; I realize it’s shocking to lead with that, especially since this is supposed to be a humor blog and death isn’t funny. Spoiler alert: there will be a happy ending. Sort of.
It started 3 days before my birthday when I called Vicki to see whether her doctor contacted her with test results from the previous week. At 64, she’s lived most of her life with debilitating obsessive-compulsive disorder, is developmentally and physically disabled and now has a muscle condition forcing her to use a walker. Life has not been particularly kind to Vicki.
Me, brother Bill and Vicki at Tahoe circa 1960
Vicki sleeps late and doesn’t have a cell phone or computer. I can only contact her via her home phone. She often can’t reach it before it goes to voicemail so I leave a message and hope she calls me back. But this time she didn’t. I figured she’s probably out getting dinner and will call me later. But no.Continue reading →