The scent of breakfast permeates the air well before 8. The kitchen is on the floor above my room, but it’s like she’s brought coffee and sausage and muffins downstairs and has been walking them outside my doorway with a fan. When I finally manage to get out of the ridiculous waterbed, flipping half the covers off the other side in the process, I go upstairs to find my place at the table ready with a coffee mug, silverware, a survey from her recent doctors visit and an ink pen.

I recognize it as the survey she showed me briefly yesterday, saying it was the 2nd one they’d sent, so she figured they really wanted her to fill it out, even though they didn’t really want her to fill it out, because she didn’t have anything good to say about them and they must know it. This must be some subtle hint that she’d like assistance filling it out — help me, or no breakfast… or something like that. She does allow me coffee before telling me what to write for her on the comments sections. I do so, then go back and fill in all the circles she has put a tiny check mark within. She notices — “Oh, I was supposed to fill in the dots?” she asks me. Yeah, I said, it says it here, and even shows a picture, then again on the back, but it is no big deal. She comments that it must be a nightmare for me to have to deal with someone as stupid as she obviously is.

Here is where it begins to dawn on me the the mood she is in. It is Sunday morning. We, at some point this day, will leave, and she knows it. It’s do or die time, nothing to lose, so she’s going to at last say and do all the things she’s been afraid to, lest we leave earlier than Sunday. I try to brace for it, but I’m on little sleep — and for a moment wonder if I’d dreamt the 3:30 wakeup.

She puts a plate in front of me, and then asks me if I’ve ever just sat outside in the mornings and listened to the birds. She sometimes takes her coffee out there, and it just feels to her like they’re talking to her. Do I know much about what kind of birds make what sounds, she inquires, and as I’m about to mention that James is actually pretty knowledgeable about that sort of thing and she should ask him, she stops me by continuing to speak. There’s one bird, she is saying, who just says “She’s weird. She’s weird.” and she’d like to know which bird that is. The others are nicer, though. Some just say “He misses you, too.” 

She is still talking, but I am running through a kaleidescope of conflicting thoughts: laughing to myself because she thinks the birds call her weird, and sad because I know who she misses. Then of course concerned that she seems fairly serious about the birds talking to her. Then part of me just relaxes and thinks — you got your insane imagination from somebody, and here it is in your mother. Sure she may never have really learned how to express herself well, but she’s got the same crazy worlds spinning inside her head, imaginings of paths not taken, what ifs, and this is clearly her trying to share something meaningful with you. I’ve spent too long in thought, though, and she has stopped her story, sensing something from me. She laughs, and calls herself crazy. The birds are right.

It’s come up several times in this short visit that it’s been nearly 10 years since Dad died, and she’s just again mentioned missing him — so where her thoughts are is apparent to me when she next asks if I remember the song “In the Arms of the Angels.” Sure, I say, but she reminds me anyway that sis-in-law Donna had asked someone to sing that song at Dad’s funeral — the mother of Donna’s son-in-law, Adam, she says. I vaguely remember someone singing, sure, I tell her. She then goes on to ask if I’ve noticed the song being played in the animal abuse ads on TV now, and with only a quick aside about how she knows there are people even where she lives who are just that cruel to their animals — she proceeds to tell me she now has mixed feelings about Donna because of that song on those ads. I guess I’m trying to lighten her mood a little as I point out to her that it doesn’t seem right to be upset with Donna because she chose a song that would 10 years later be in animal cruelty ads. She does laugh at herself there, then goes on to say that Adam’s mother seems to be looking well after 10 years. Oh, you’ve seen her lately, I ask? Sure, mom replies, then asks again whether I’d seen the animal cruelty ads, because they show the singer in them. That’s Sarah McLachlan, I tell her. Sure, she replies, then adds, “Isn’t that Adam’s mother?” No, no it really isn’t.

I would feel better about any of this if she would ever actually laugh at herself when these things are pointed out to her, instead of just smiling awkwardly. I still turn it over in my brain whether she really thought that only Sarah McLachlan could sing that song and thus Adam’s mother must be Sarah McLachlan, or whether it was some sort of weird attempt at humor. If it is her sense of humor, she doesn’t seem to make herself laugh, and these “incidents” just make us awkward for a bit.

She goes on to tell some stories of yard work, and of Joyce’s spy — the neighbor across the street, whom mom actually likes very much, but is certain has no life except to spy on her and report every weird thing she does to my sister. At least, every weird thing she does outside, because, of course, Pete has put hidden cameras throughout her house on the inside. She hasn’t found them, but knows Pete is good with “the technology” and since he installed her security system, he must have put in cameras, too. She is bolstered by the fact that Joyce once said to her “We know more than you think, mother” in some context that has long since been lost in a faraway phone conversation — but can only mean she has spies. The neighbor is a pretty good actor, mom says, because the other day when he went for his mail mom asked him if he’d seen the turtle she tried to help across the road and he said no. She knows he did, though, and that after they spoke he went straight in to call Joyce with an update.

While I finish eating, she excuses herself to get her new cellphone so I can give her one last lesson in it’s use before we leave. We went over it yesterday, but when she brings it, she slides it to me, then starts to take my dishes. I point out that I already know how to use the phone, so why doesn’t she have a go with it while I deal with dishes and just guide her.

She takes a couple pictures, and is happy at having a phone with a camera. Then she reads off names to me to prove she’s found the contact list. I’ve put in entries for My Home Phone, My Cell Phone, and My Email — because she told me people ask her for them and she can never remember so she tries to look them up. She gets to the entry “My Home Phone” and says it as “Your home phone”, then asks, “Is this how I call you at home?” Read it again, I suggest. Whose home phone is that? She decides to call it; her home phone rings. At last she gets it, and again laughs at herself.

“Why don’t you try calling Joyce to see how she is feeling today”, I suggest. I’ve come back to sit by her, so I can watch what she is doing more closely. On the screen are five names at a time in the phone list, with only one highlighted. She is scrolling down, and as soon as Joyce’s name appears, she stops and asks me how she tells it to dial. The entry two above Joyce is actually highlighted, which happens to be James — who is still asleep downstairs, so I stop her from hitting the green phone button she has discovered on her own. I point out which name is highlighted — and she laughs about having accidentally called James before probably by doing that very thing.

She passes me the phone and tells me to call Joyce, at which point I get up to go get dressed. “If you can’t figure out how to use that phone I guess you’ll never find out how she is,” I say. She manages to call, and as she is talking to Joyce, I have finished my coffee and am walking to put the mug in the sink. I hear her tell Joyce how mean I am, and that I’m wearing a jacket in the house on the first day of August, and aren’t I ridiculous — then she says “oh, if Kim hears me say that she’ll get mad.” I’m 4 feet in front of her at the sink, she is facing me, and this is what she has said. The birds are right.

We’re on our “annual” trip to my Bluff City hometown, and once again took the route up through the Carolinas and over the mountain. Damn, that is a nice scenic stretch to welcome you home. Someday I’ll actually stop at one of those overlooks and take a picture.

Seems it’s been exactly a year since our last visit, which was unintentional, but just the way things worked out. Likely we’ll be up once more this fall after James’ niece gets relocated from Chattanooga to Johnson City for school. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason she chose ETSU, but I can’t help thinking she’s pulling, well, a me — where there’s a perfectly suitable, affordable college just down the road, but it’s just a tad too close to home. I went the other direction, relocating to Chattanooga. She’s moving from Chattanooga to here, but she’ll be burning up the same asphalt going back and forth for a while that I did. Strange how that trip gets shorter and shorter — note: xmas gift for Rachel, radar detector? =)

Spent a cherished Friday evening with my niece and her facebook hubby, patio Mad Greek, general hanging out, general catching up, then on to random bad-pool at Borderline before we lost them to zombie slayage on the X-box. Strange behavior for me after 20 years of not keeping in touch, I managed to text an old school bud and hang out with him Friday night, too. Not exactly sure how I let myself not do that for so very long. I’m sure it’s a contributing factor to only managing to visit once a year now.

Saturday has been mom day, and overall good. She’s been hovering near the brim of my tolerance on a couple of our usual issues, but I think we’re both managing to keep it reeled in and be on our best behavior with each other. Strangely, it doesn’t seem weird to me that mom and I fight so much, but it would be nice to make it through this visit without one.

She is thinner — and I’m sure it’s her budget/eating habits catching up with her. I can see why Wayne was so freaked. She has a new doctor’s office story, where her BP was actually normal for the very first time, like ever, in my lifetime. This trip we’ve meandered down some back roads and talked about nostalgic things (Johnson City airport, anyone?), made an attempt at finding some new clothes for her thinner frame, and even went out to eat at a place she’d never been. It’s been almost pleasant.

At least until we got home this evening with full-bellies and good-moods, and decided to tackle a little yard-work in the cool evening. When the city recently topped a line of mom’s trees in the front yard they claimed were too near the utility lines, they did such a poor job that she actually went into a pretty deep funk for a while. She devotes so much energy to her yard, that they had might as well have cut her leg off as butchered those trees. We’d only heard tale of them by phone, no pictures, but they were really just as bad as described — so James jumped right in to try to finish the job they city should have done.

That’s when we learned that this yard is actually a cursed, angry beast — it’s hungry, and it wants toes. Mom just about cut her big-toe off a couple months ago doing yard work, and still hungry, tonight the yard tried for James’. It drew blood, but we don’t think anything is broken. With  me in my vulnerable flip-flops, toes just asking to be eaten, and the light fading,  we all decided to retreat to the safety of the house.

Don’t know what tomorrow’s plans are — besides the long drive home. Perhaps we’ll do research on cleansing rituals to help ensure the safety of future toes on the lawn here, or perhaps we’ll just make a trip to buy actual shoes suitable for yard-work. Definitely another lesson for Mom in how to use her new cellphone. Maybe one last attempt at a different store to find mom some pants that fit.

I did discover there’s something called Jake Legg’s Lost State Bus Tours around Johnson City that sound interesting — though I don’t know if they’re really currently operating. It’s a crazy bus that’s been converted to living room seating and tables, offering a couple-hour, humorous “Lost State of Franklin” tour and is BYOB. We also talked about Bristol Caverns, because I haven’t been there since I was a kid, but it occurred to me that I’ve never actually been into nearby Appalachian Caverns, which opened in 1991 after I’d already moved away. If not this visit, maybe later in the fall on the next trip. Definitely want to think about bringing appropriate attire for a wild-cave tour or some hiking next trip, as well. Yay for actually having things to look forward to for a return trip!

Johnson City Airport pics for Joyce & Angela. I cannot believe how much time we spent in the summers in that little room that looks like it was awkwardly set onto the top of the building. I think this was the first time I’ve ever been there since I was old enough to make the drive myself.

I think I totally scored on cooking duty, with sandwich stuff, salad stuff and a potato casserole made beforehand as my responsibilities. Felt like such a slacker, we volunteered to make a Saturday morning grocery run for some beverage refills. The beer might have lasted longer if people hadn’t kept dropping their open bottles into the hot tub — apparently when you’re all steamy and sitting in bubbles (and it’s not your first adult beverage) glasses and bottles are difficult to grip.

It was a bit cooler in Blue Ridge, but still the south, so still miserably humid and in the 90s. A/C in the cabin was rocking, and after dark, the hot tub was more than bearable. Friday night we rocked out the hot tub and ran through the beverage supplies so well that it could not be repeated on Saturday. We made a mild attempt, but Saturday night was made for booze and bad pool… and celebrating engagements. The Sniper-Couple can tell the story best, but the rest of us were just happy to have been there for there for the news.

Instead it is 2010, we are seven years married, and have recently had another one of those big State of the Union relationship talks. The conclusion overall is that we’re still good and heading in the right direction together. Thankfully, we’re not just together because we think we’re too insane for anybody else to want — but it is always funny to realize we both sometimes think that about ourselves. There is, as usual, always room for improvement, but in general we’re happy and still on the same page and path.

I can’t say it hasn’t been weird sometimes, especially lately. There  has been so much talk about kids among our friends and family, and those upper 30 birthdays are running out, so I think the whole “biological clock” thing keeps coming up. We still really don’t want to have kids. We are enjoying spending occasional time with them, as we always have, but more now that time leads to inevitable conversation. I do wonder if, when my time has passed, will I regret not having had children–but I hardly think that’s a reason to do it. I sometimes wonder what our kids would have been like — but as even now I hear the familiar “screaming at the video game on tv” voice of JamesT “enjoying” himself downstairs, I suspect I wouldn’t really want to know. We may be shallow and self-centered, but that’s all the more reason we shouldn’t be held responsible for the care of anyone else.

The biggest issue is, like most of America right now, financial woes and I do mean whoa! On the bright side, this should do wonders for my diet! I need a skill, a motivation, and perhaps a break. Having done really nothing for a living for so long is not much of a marketable skill. There’s no real update here. Same shit….

Oh yeah… I have realized that I do actually want kids, but I need them quick. I need somebody else to hand the phone to when “people” call me with their random computer problems — because I obviously know everything about computers since I have used one every day for years. I couldn’t be happier to remind these people that I’m pushing 40 myself, and thus all my knowledge has evaporated, and here’s a handy 4-year-old I can refer you to. Having a kid would just make them handy when needed for such phone calls. Perhaps there’s a rent-a-child service? Ooh, wait. That’s what nieces are for. I’m looking at you, Sarah! Get ready to be in our “oh noes my internets are broke” speed-dial!

Well, almost two hours later, maybe this entry makes some sense. My head has been bursting the entire time I’ve tried to write it — it’s all part of the “ignore the pain” therapy I learned from sis. Figured it just needed a good braindump to clear it out, but I guess that wasn’t the ticket. Time for a trip to the liquor store I guess.

I am clearly just old. Otherwise I would understand why this 12-year old just stares at me when I ask him a question like I’m not speaking English. Or why the 14-year old wonders why I quit asking after four times, when she actually meant yes even though she said no four times.

Firework shoot jobs are no fun for the under 18 who can’t help, but until they’re old enough to drive themselves to the show they are just going to have to deal with hanging out in the rv grandpa set up for them, in the a/c, with the ps3 and all the snacks. It’s a hard life.

The unusualness of the day actually started on our trip up, though. Cashier at the Subway where I was waiting to grab lunch puts up with about 10 minutes of condescension and annoyance from the man with his seven kids which were in front of me, then says “screw this” and walks out.

We joined James’ dad, stepmom and brother for the wedding and hung out with them the whole Saturday. James’ dad has always had a habit of disappearing in his truck for some errand or another at strange times, which we are pretty used to, but we hadn’t expected his need to leave the reception so early. We’d both wished we’d come in our own car so we could have stayed longer — to at last talk to the couple, officially meet the groom, maybe say anything before they moved away to North Carolina on Monday. But anywho…

Maybe my next phone will take better pictures, or next time we’ll take a real camera, but it was weird going to a wedding and reception we didn’t have any hand in — been a long time. Anywho, here’s a bad photo follow-me.

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• Whoops! Toe socks! http://twitpic.com/1y8svx 1 day ago
• Congrats Ken & Brandy! http://twitpic.com/1y8sbv 1 day ago
• Rain cooled it off. http://twitpic.com/1y8rk4 1 day ago
• No custom shirts 4 the wedding. http://twitpic.com/1y8r2w 1 day ago
• JamesT, suit and horse ass. http://twitpic.com/1y8ql2 3:02 PM Jun 19th via TwitPic
• Cowboy Church of Lafayette. http://twitpic.com/1y8qaq 3:01 PM Jun 19th via TwitPic

I think I’d rather let somebody else DJ and just dance. =)

Monday morning, I’d been thinking about it and I’m ready to get into it. So like a complete idiot, I decide to go ahead and start on project one — which ends up as a massive rearranging of my office, removing the return, taking down shelves, moving lights, general chaos. About 2 1/2 hours in I message James — from the ever-wonderful Netbook that is keeping me on top of things — “Help. I’ve destroyed my office. Hurricane good intentions has struck.” I’m sitting on a sturdy-enough unidentified pile, as I type, and I hear the phone ring. I manage to find the phone. It is Joyce, asking if I’d gotten the news that JC spent the night in the ICU. I had not — as I’d already cut Facebook from my distraction list for the day.

A couple hours later, at the prompting of my insistent stomach, I manage to clear a path to get out of the office and make some lunch. The phone rings. It is mom asking if I’d talked to Joyce. I had, and I’d even checked my messages since and heard more news, which I imparted to mom. It was 2:50 as we spoke, and he had been scheduled for tests at around 2:30. No news yet. Mom asks if I’d heard about Joyce’s tests, and I realize I hadn’t even asked — I am mental — but then imparts she’d already heard there was nothing new in the results. More tests to come all around. I hang up and realize I hadn’t asked if Mom ever found her keys, missing since she’d visited us.

Okay, let’s pause this entry for an hour, wherein a patiently indulgent JamesT and I humor to move the treadmill from it’s longtime home downstairs, up to my office. Here is where random snaps and pops that don’t actually seem to indicate any breaks of the machine make me nervous, and we proceed to fuck up our linoleum, two walls, a door frame and our stair railing in the process. Like for serious, fuck up. Gouges. Splinters. Holes. And I can’t help thinking, wonder if I could have just bought a cheap walking treadmill for upstairs for the price of what it will take to fix our house I just broke. The treadmill is now, however, upstairs — where it will live until it biodegrades. I’m certain the mere mention of the treadmill again will constitute a forfeiture of our marriage.

Rewinding the day, I did obviously manage to unbury and rearrange my office, and did not hear further on anybody’s test results. JamesT makes it home, and just when I’m positive I can’t do more than lift a finger to order pizza, I end up cooking dinner. Now it looks like the hurricane went through the kitchen as well, but I’ll deal with that tomorrow.

At some point just after dinner, we are sitting on the couch and hear a strange noise… cracking… fireworks? but its daytime. No clue, so we carry on. Soon after we are in my office formulating shelf ideas to hold my monitor when we hear another strange noise… this time, we find the source. Chainsaw. Looks like the neighbors are in the corner of our yard — by the stop sign — cutting down one of our trees. In fact what has happened was that a huge termite-ridden section has given way and fallen to block the road. Neighbor with chainsaw tells us he left to jog and it was fine, he came back and it was across the road. He didn’t see any lights on in our house, so he just decided to take care of it himself. You know, never mind that there were tons of lights on, and the tv upstairs if he’d even tried to come to the door, which he so obviously didn’t, but there’s really no good view from here into our house — or we’d likely have spotted the tree ourselves.

Whatever the reason, he decided to cut the dang thing cut into manageable chunks all by himself. He had at last drawn the attention of a few other neighbors who were helping by the time we heard the noise, so all James ended up doing tonight was raking some small limbs and leaves from the road. It’s all out of the way enough for now — but looks like we’ll need to borrow that chainsaw again for some massive yard work on Wednesday. And really, looks like we need a tree doctor ASAP to see if the rest of that big tree can be saved.

And now it’s 10, and my all of me hurts. I’m sure James’ already sore shoulder has been joined by his sore all of him. This treadmill is about 10 million pounds, I was stupid to think it could magically appear up here, and he knows he was stupid to indulge me, but it is here. Still be a couple days before I have my monitor mounts up and can rehang the shelves and such, but soon this project will be complete. I only hope James can tolerate me long enough to appreciate what it was all for. I only hope this whole “project” hasn’t really just been hurricane good intentions.

Happy Birthday again, Laura! What a great idea for a gathering!

Except, word of warning: if there is a posted sign for restroom hours, you’d better damn well know what time it is before you walk in there, because Piedmont Park security will bar the door on your asses!

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• Chico enjoying being dognapped for the day… http://twitpic.com/1q6giu about 2 hours
• Post Highlander birthday shot. http://twitpic.com/1q67be about 3 hours ago
• Wandering park minstrel http://twitpic.com/1q5qth about 3 hours ago
• Sidewalk chalk… http://twitpic.com/1q5of8 about 4 hours ago
• “we killed nicola. Now its a party.” http://twitpic.com/1q5mbi about 4 hours ago
• Love this downtown park! http://twitpic.com/1q5j4c about 4 hours ago 
• Hrm. Is this an actual artist? http://twitpic.com/1q4r8y about 6 hours ago
• Bocce anyone? http://twitpic.com/1q4gdo about 6 hours ago
• Easy up. Easy destroyed. http://twitpic.com/1q44yl about 7 hours ago
• Do NOT go in there! http://twitpic.com/1q41vi about 7 hours ago
• Dogs r smart, mmmkay http://twitpic.com/1q3zgj about 7 hours ago
• Playdate n the park. http://twitpic.com/1q375q about 9 hours ago

All I have wanted to do this week is nap, with a side of napping. The slightest bit of food wakes me up a minute, then puts me into a carb-coma or something. Nothing really tastes right, as the pollen-count hit me as soon as we got home, and after some delish seafood at the beach, everything here just tastes like snot.

I need to find some motivation. Somewhere in the bottom of whatever bag I took to the beach is my camera full of pictures that I still haven’t pulled. Most of my dirty laundry is still in my suitcase. The dishes of this week are piled in the sink. Not really sure of what I’ve done at all this week except sit in front of the computer for work.

Tonight, perhaps we’ll test out the new audio setup and riff some movie. There must be something in there I can cook for dinner… and perhaps cooking will encourage me to finally clean up the kitchen. Tomorrow should be fun in the sun (hopefully) in the park for Laura’s birthday.

I’m almost afraid to write down that we don’t have Memorial Day weekend plans yet — it’s too weird to even fathom. First 3 weekends of June are booked, first 2 of July. Will San Diego happen in August? Dunno. Two fall festivals to shoot in October. Can’t wrap my brain around it all.

And now to top it off, I have the urge to try Zumba — just because Bruce joined a group called “husbands who hate Zumba”. There seem to be some nearby classes in clubhouses for apartments, so I might wander over and see if anybody can show up.