Ann Shields on Letting Go

The Morning After

The Sleep Study went off without a hitch last night.  Ryan, the father of Lucas, picked us up at 8:15 with his state of the art GPS to guide us to the hidden, under cover, sleep study office.  Very appropo, I thought.    Ryan and his GPSfound it without a problem.  Suggested we should get one.  You think? 

The streets were fairly absent any traffic on a Sunday night in Oxnard,  kind of spooky for my fertile mind.  The office was dark, we rang an outside bell and soon a technician let us in.  I could see by the look that Des and Ryan exchanged after seeing her that she passed the 'guy' test. So we left Des with his bag of jammies, two rice krispie bars and a large print Readers Digest, and he looked almost happy.  I went home to Mitzi and Murphi who looked around for Des.  They love him best. 

Did I mention that I don't like being alone all night?  Des blew me off on that confession.   Me a grown woman. Come on.  Well, I went from my parents' home to a first marriage at 19, single parent at 36 with two teen-agers, and then entered Des before the last kid left.  Never had to be alone except for a few trips Des took without me.  I put on all the outside lights, shut all the drapes and nestled into my cave with my cell phone and the neighbor's phone number at the ready.  Cowardly but I am Italian after all.  What wars did we ever win?

I fell asleep, awakened by the phone at 4:40 a.m.  The sweet technician telling me that she was going to wake Doyle up.  (that's his real name but he can't deal with it).  Okay, I'll be there, I promised.  She said he would be ready in 20 minutes.  Yikes.  I peered out the drapes.  It was dark out there.  Buck up, I told myself, but not before I let the cats in from the garage, made sure they couldn't go outside to torment the birds, got dressed, slunk into my car in the garage and headed out into the dark night, the moon a toenail sliver in the sky.  Translation...truly dark.  Turned on KCET f.m. and soothed myself with whoever talked to me as I headed for the last roundup.

Ran the doorbell and cute technician lets me in, leads me to Des who sat with his night bag on his lap while he let the two technicians tell me what a sweet man he was.  He forced one to give me her email address so she could get my blog.  You should hear how he builds it up, makes me all embarrased and shy-like while I thrust the email address into waiting hands.

Okay, we are now outta there, and he says he is hungry and would like a cup of coffee.  It is 5:30 a.m.  When we get home, I suggest, managing to get lost driving out of this sleep complex.  He spots a McDonald across Gonzales near WalMart.  He is sure they are open, but I am driving straight for the freeway.  He sighs.  Brightens up and suggest Carl Jr's by KMart, I drive into their driveway, only the drive thru open.  I think he considered banging on the door.  Addiction is a terrible thing to witness.

I will fix you breakfast, I promise, and head for home.  We pull in our driveway and even the cats don't make him happy.  Intent on his fix.  It is 5:45 a.m.  Okay, when the clock strikes 6 we will go back to Carl Jr's.  His smile lights up my heart.  I am a pussycat.  We wait for 6a.m as I am yawning pointedly.  No reaction.   I drive back to Carl Jr's and Des orders his usual.  Only one other lonely man sits in a booth.  He probably doesn't have a wife.  Thus endeth the night tale.

One digression:  Today Des is industrious, doing projects, I hear machines revving up, he is in the backyard , in the house, like a little energizer bunny.  At one point he hands me the phone for a call from Donna so I go back in my office for girl talk.  30 minutes later I come upon what looks like a crime scene out of CSI.  He is trying to stem blood from his wrist, and I am yelling what happened.  Turned out the drill he was using to drill something slipped and went into his wrist right next to the vein.  Why didn't you call me I said like any reasonably hysterical fiction writer, and he says,  "well you were busy, and I didn't want to bother you." 

What is left to say after that?  He truly is a sweet man, after all.

So Says Sassy

Rambling through the Brambles

Lately, most of my thinking has been done in fits and starts.  Our calendar is splattered with doctor visit, lab tests, physical fitness routines and intermittent lunches with friends.  Oh yes, also meal drops where the 'center of the universe' lives with his mother, father, one cat and one dog, plus a critter from another planet.  An iguana, I think.

Ocassionaly, I am ruminating on some idea that could work into a blog, but life interferes.  I get these flashes of wonderment.  Like, why is there no elevator in LA Fitness where I work out?  I mean, there are these winding stairs that go up to a sea of treadmills, but you have to walk up there to get to them.

Another why:  Why did my fitness guru quit last week to work for a totally out off the wall outfit dealing with automobiles?   Not fair. I have this irrationally feeling of having been dumped.  I complained about this to my husband who gave me this odd look.   

Another thing.  How come, just as I decide to get a library card and save money from my addiction to Barnes and Noble, when I read that they are think ing of cutting libraries in my town?  Well, not totally, but making some cuts.  Seems like I always come to the party too late.

Kind of reminds me of my penchant for catching on to the new fad, when it suddenly goes cold.  LIke when I finally went to mini skirts and fashion police decided to lower the hemline to midi's.  Not trendy enough, I guess, which when you realize that I once had a column on fashion for a very brief period in the L.A. Times, Ventura Section, may explain why that whole section got dumped along with the columnists.

Here's another puzzle.  Who are the mapmakes that give you instructions to a sleep center in Oxnard that you need to hire a private investigator to find?  My husband is scheduled for tests at a sleep center tomorrow night so we went for a trial run this morning to find the place.  Only got lost three times.  I can only imagine the nightmare of trying to find the place in the dark at 9 p.m. when we are to drop him off.  I say we because I have drafted Ryan, the father of the 'center of the universe' to take us to the center where we will dump 'Des the sleepee'  and where I will retrieve him on Monday morning at 6 a.m.

Reason for the aforementioned test is to see if he has sleep apnea.  I personally doubt it.  But I am considering slipping a tape recorder in his pajama pockets because his monologue during sleep is pretty interesting, just not intelligible.  Believe me, I have tried.  I finally gave up the night he said I was growing a tree trunk out of my back.  Never mind the psychological implications here.

To get serious now, I attended a memorial service this afternoon for  a church member who died after a four year struggle with ALS.  I came away with my faith soaring from the rembrance offered from his widow.  She must have been surrounded by angels holding her up while she stood on a celestial ladder.  Her eloquence, dignity, humor and solid faith in the face of her loss  was beyond awesome.  She is my new hero.

Now, I have to end this rambling and gather up a few things for my husband's sleep over.  I'm getting lonely already. 

So Says Sassy

 

Happy Birthday, Dad

My father would have been 100 years old today.  Sadly, he never made it past 64.  I think about all he missed in those intervening years.  Most shocking to him would have been to get a birthday greeting from President Obama.  He would wonder how come an Italian never got to be president when an African American made it.  He was pacified that JFK made it though, a good Irish Catholic guy.   He did gripe that I never brought home a nice Italian boy as a suitor.  Sorry dad.  I was partial to blue eyed blonds in those days.

He would have loved to meet his granddaughters, partial to the girls in the family.  He would always tell my daughter that someday she would be queen of the Rose Parade.  He was the male figure in her life who built her up, cherished her.    Well, at the same time, he would slip her some money not to tell my mother  that he sat in the car when they came to visit in order to listen to the race results coming from Santa Anita. A flawed guy. 

He was proud of his grandson, the first grandchild.  But he liked to tease him and sometimes his teasing could be on the mean side.  He wasn't good with boys, never had one, and happened to hate his father.  Good , meaty stuff for a psychiatrists couch.

On to the family tree, he missed knowing great grandkids.  Two girls, 3 boys.  And going into the next generation.

I am sure he would have gone crazy over Lucas who would have been his great, great grandson.  Luke would have won him over in a heart beat.  One happy grin and he'd be putty.  Lots to miss up on, Dad.

Too bad you didn't live to learn that you weren't a weak guy after all, not the no good SOB you you labeled youself in the aftermath and remose of a gambling fallout.  Addiction is what you had, like so many other 12 steppers, you might have learned about it, overcome it.  You were a great guy when not trapped in the secret life and frenzy of gambling.  Everybody loved you.  Good time Johnny.  How you loved to hear Bonnie Baker croon O' Johnny, O'Johnny, how you can love......"  My mother usually made a tart quip about that.

And, all in all, I know how much you loved my mother.  Your last words in the hospital in San Fernando Valley were about her.  You said you were worried about her, and I, in glib fashion, didn't comfort you with words like, Don't worry dad, I'll take care of her.  Instead, I said, 'she is strong, she'll be fine.'

Too often, we regret the words we never said.  Life is like that.  Lots of regrets.  But this one thing I know.  You loved us, you were kind to us and you wished you had done better.  But, don't we all.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  Your soft brown eyes always could melt my heart.

So Says Sassy