My suitcase is empty

My suitcase is sitting on top of my bed
Flipped open
Empty
There is a pile of clothing smattered around the red edges of the case
My eyes are swollen
Red
Rimmed with tears
The phone call came early this morning.
Change your flight
I did
She was in the hospital
She was doing better
She and I spoke on the phone
Yesterday
And the conversation was about nothing
It filled me with everything
I don’t know what changed
She changed
She’s 90
She’s tired
She’s lived
OH HOW SHE’S LIVED!
A life
An amazing life
I’ve lived my life for her
No further treatment at this time
No pills
No drugs
She won’t even eat
Two tablespoons of soup
Today
That was all
She has been brought home to die
On her terms
She will have it no other way
She’s my hero
The phone has been ringing
The calls from friends
The texts
The messages
I thank you
Talk to me about anything
Take this away from me for a moment
A second
Then let me cry
I am leaving
To go home
To say goodbye
And I need someone to stab me
To punch me
To do anything to make me feel
Anything
But this
She is ready
I am not
My suitcase is empty
Because this is not real
I will try and pack
And fill the red suitcase with things which have no importance
And I hurt
But oh how I have loved
This woman
My grandmother
And so I will leave
With a full suitcase
And a heavy heart
I will return empty

Married?????….sheesh!

A few years back, when I was still a smoker, I was driving home from work and realized I was in desperate need of a fresh pack of cigarettes. I pulled into the 7-11 parking lot near my apartment and lingered in my car for a few moments as I gathered my various bits and pieces together.

Just as I was getting out of my car and getting ready to slam the door shut I heard a distinctive ***CARRRUUUUNCCCCHHHH*****

I looked over and the car next to me had cut the wheel too soon and plowed into the back passenger side door of my car.

The guy behind the wheel of the other car just sort of put his head on his steering wheel and seemed to be shaking it in disbelief.

I stood there glaring at him.

He looked up at me and threw the car into drive. Rather than adjust his steering I watched as….***CARRRUUUUNCCCCHHHH***** he pulled back into the parking space taking more of my car with him.

I walked over to his car and gently tapped on the window and said, “Ummm yeah….so I’m gonna need to get your information here…wanna get out of the car?”

He slowly got out of the car, shaking his head and profusely apologizing.

Rather than inspect the damage done to my car he immediately walked to the front of his and started looking at the scratches and dents he put on the front driver’s side of his BMW.

“Hey guy”, I said “I’m sure there’s time to inspect your car but can you toss me your license and insurance information please?”

“I’m so sorry…so sorry..so sorry”, he kept repeating.

“Do you think there is any way we can do this without involving my insurance company?”, he pleaded.

“Yeah, I’m sure there is”, I said, my nicotine edge slowly wearing off, “but I still want to get your info”.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his Driver’s License and Insurance Card and handed them over to me.

“Umm….I guess I need to get your information too”, he said.

As I fumbled in my purse for a pen and paper I sort of shook my head and replied…”Naw, you hit me so I think your info will do just fine!”

I started to jot down his name and other tidbits as he stood nervously near me. Trying to make him feel a bit more relaxed, I commented on the middle name listed on his Driver’s License.

“Oh”, I said, “your middle name is Pasquale. That’s my dad’s middle name. You don’t see that name too often”.

He walked a little closer to me and said “Really!?!? Is that really your dad’s middle name. Wow…so are you Italian?”

I sort of chuckled and said “Yup, sure am!”

“Oh”, he said leaning in closely….”So…..are you married?”

I took a step back and laughed.

“Yeah dude”, I replied…”I think we may have to go through the insurance company on this one!”

Politics with a side order of crap, please!

Let’s take an absolute political moron and make him the spokesperson for this election. Are McCain/Palin so desperate for the “everyman” vote that they will take the “any man” vote?

And here, ladies and gentlemen, we give you Joe the Plumber!

This man, this self-appointed political pundit, is now considering leveraging his 15 minutes into a Congressional run.

http://www.joewurzelbacher2010.com/

 
This is a man who claims that Obama is a socialist yet backs a man (McCain) who has clearly used aspects of “socialism” in his explanations for the government bail-out plan. Perhaps we should send them a dictionary so they can look up the word “socialism” and get a better understanding of the meaning. TRUST ME, neither McCain nor Obama are socialists and any self-respecting socialist would take offense to those accusations! (on a side note – educate yourselves – socialism is NOT a dirty word!)

 
And so we have it….six days before the election…an election which could make or break the very existence of this nation…and we have a mother-fucking plumber as the spokesperson for the nation.

So what do we want, 4 to 8 more years of the Bush Regime (which is what we will get with McCain/Palin) and 4 to 8  years of Joe (the guy who fixes your turd filled toilet) representing the “everyman”?

How apt, no? Politics and crap in one fell swoop!

….or shall we, as a nation, finally stand together and say “ENOUGH!”

Obama ‘08….that is the only viable option!

Dumb….like me!

Very few things in this world make me speechless and very, very few things leave me so angry and emotional that I am left not only speechless but immobile and almost incapable of reacting.

Last night I was on the T. I worked a bit late so I managed to avoid the after work rush and catch a nearly empty train home. I don’t live far from my office and am usually on the T for roughly 20 minutes as I have only 6 stops until my exit.

I left my book at home and had nothing to keep myself occupied for the short trip to my station. I was left with the option of either reading the ads on the train or just sort of “people watching” while pretending like I was just staring into space.

I chose the latter.

As I was looking around the train I caught sight of three teenagers in pure fits of laughter. One of them stood up for a second and pretended to sort of limp and drag his leg and then proceeded to fall back into the seat, holding his sides from the pain of his snickering. One of the other teens started to speak loudly, affecting the speech pattern of hearing impaired person. He then started drooling and giggling as he was egged-on by the other boys.

I stared at them for about thirty seconds before I realized what was happening.

Sitting directly across from these kids was a young boy. The boy in question had Down’s Syndrome and he sat there watching as these teens taunted and made fun of him.

I…..I…..I…..couldn’t say a word. I was so angry I was stunned into silence. The train lurched to a stop and the teens guffawed their way off.

——————————————————————————–

I have a brother. I love him with every ounce of my being (and probably more than he is aware).

My brother is mentally handicapped. He is a gentle giant of sorts and I have always likened him to a “Lenny” type from “Of Mice and Men”.

Years ago when I was in my early 20s, I picked my brother up from his job. It was a rare rainy day in L.A. and my mother asked if I would take him home so he didn’t have to take the bus in the torrential downpour.

We drove in silence for about 5 minutes until my brother started asking questions about various bits of my life. At that point in time we didn’t’ see each other very often. I was living with my then boyfriend and he asked “Does this mean you are getting married?”

“No”, I said, “we’re just sort of hanging out and spending time together.”

“Oh”, he said, a bit confused. “Ummmm, do you wanna get married?”

“Someday, I guess so.” was my reply.

This left the door open for some playful ribbing. So I sort of half smirked at him and started in with my line of questioning.

“Well what about you?” I said. “Do you want to get married?”

“YES!” my brother said. “That would be cool. I want that someday.”

I giggled.

“And kids?” I said. “Are you going to have kids?”

“NO! NO KIDS.” he said. “NO WAY!”

He was so emphatic about that. I was taken aback.

“Why not?” I asked, thinking he had something funny to say as a response.

“Because”, he said, “I don’t want them to be dumb like me.”

It was still pouring rain and I just looked at my brother in shock.

I pulled my car over to the side of the road and sobbed.

——————————————————————————–

 
I looked at the young boy on the train, the object of their chortles and jokes. He had obviously been affected by these cretins. I had been affected by these cretins!

I could feel the lump in my throat begin to grow.

Suddenly, the young boy looked in my direction and pointed at the empty space where the taunting teens had been sitting.

“They’re dumb”, he said and then smiled a big, beaming, toothy smile in my direction.

I nodded in agreement and exited the train at the next stop.

I walked slowly to my car, step by step, with too many thoughts in my head.

On the drive home I pulled my car over to the side and sobbed.

Representing the Lollipop Guild

Very rarely does one like to admit that aid is needed. Less so when the person in question has been independent and wholly self-reliant for close to 20 years.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is by no means an admission that past aid has not been offered and accepted. But generally the “aid” in question is of the “I am far too lazy to do this” variety and not of the “I am completely incapable of doing this” kind.

It is no secret that I am a staunch feminist and was raised in environment where the mantra “you can do anything you set your mind to” was repeated daily.

Unfortunately, I have now proven these words to be false because I have found the ONE task that I am completely incapable of accomplishing.

I absolutely cannot change the lightbulbs in my house!

Now before we all start with the “how many feminists does it take to screw in a light-bulb” or any other joke of the sort, I feel I should explain.

This is not an issue of my not knowing how to change a lightbulb nor is it an issue of not necessarily having the tools to do said task.

The issue is purely of the genetic variety.

You would think that in 1972, at my conception, a father who was 6′2″ and a mother who was 5′7″ would be able to create a child with the ability to change a light bulb. Apparently genetics played a cruel joke and reached far back to the previous “little” generations and proudly presented my parents with a daughter who is now, at age 35, a whopping 4′11″.

I stand on ladders, on step stools, on phone books, on any other bits that I can find. I stretch and strain and teeter dangerously close to becoming a 4′11″ bundle of broken bones on the floor!

I CAN’T REACH THE DAMN FIXTURES IN MY CEILING!

Help!!! Bring reinforcements!

I am living in darkness and I am too fucking short to change these damn bulbs!

I am begging and pleading…..anyone over 5′5″……please come…quickly. I am on my last candle and am mired in Munchkin Land!