Grandfather Mountain - Mile High Swinging Bridge

As evidenced by the photos from this weekend, a couple of us are having a hard time faking smiles these days. Probably would have been better not to try. Maybe soon that’ll get better. Hopefully soon.

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 can see the way out of this hole… it’s not an oubliette after all.

In other matters:
10K Classic went well. Yes, I actually did it. Wow, I did not expect them to take photos of the participants as they approach the finish line. Who’d want to buy that? Not me. Egads!

Light the Night walk approaches, and so far so good that mom is still interested in joining me. The notion of us doing this together, maybe even with sis and aunt G, well, just makes me really happy. Cannot believe how generous everyone has been with donations.

I’m sure the recent “100-year record” rain and flooding have reminding many folks of the many hidden joys of homeownership, and we haven’t been spared. Turns out our house is deep in need of some maintenance now… some water leaks in unexpected places, likely need a roof soon and gutter work, and our front retaining wall seems to be sagging. Nothing catastrophic from the rain, thank goodness, but there is a healthy list of things to do building up for sure.

I’m wondering if todays lovely cool weather and sunshine might be contributing to my overall good mood. Probably. Don’t tell JamesT, but I do love fall best of all! Whoops! =)

Photo by Dana Wachter, 11 Connects

Home Destroyed By Fire In Washington County, VA

By Josh Smith
Anchor / WJHL
Published: August 13, 2009

A massive house fire sent emergency crews scrambling this morning in Washington County, Virginia.

Just after 3 a.m., the call for help came from the 15000 block of Wilderness Road in the Lowery Hills Subdivision, just outside the Bristol, Virginia city limits.

No word yet if anyone was injured.

Washington County, Virginia Fire and Rescue called for backup from three other departments including the city of Bristol, Virginia.

11 Connects’ Dana Wachter is at the scene to provide live updates on 11 Connects at 5 a.m. and 6 a.m..

Update at 5:49 a.m.:

11 Connects’ Dana Wachter is at the fire scene. She reports the 4,000 square feet home is engulfed in flames. Several firefighters escaped the burning home after almost getting trapped inside. That’s forced firefighters to pull back and tackle the fire from the outside.

One person was taken to the hospital with an injury, but we don’t have specifics about this right now.

Update at 7:05 a.m.:

11 Connects’ Dana Wachter reports firefighters believe the charred shell of the home could collapse.

The man at the home who was taken to the hospital is back at the fire scene after being treated for smoke inhalation.

Have to say that this day really didn’t turn out anything like I’d planned. Finished my book The Nine, so I guess it’s time for some Alleve and bed, to dream about Supreme Court Justices or something. I did also manage to get an ink cartridge today, so it wasn’t a total bust. I have declined tomorrow’s “Tinkerbell Fairies” party invite, though, to remove any possibility of slacking off. Hopefully tomorrow I will feel better and be more productive. REALLY looking forward to Monday’s appointment with Dale. Despite Dalton’s wise words to the contrary, sometimes pain does hurt, and I’m ready to be rid of it.

This weekend, I met some guy who I used to call a brother… whom I haven’t seen since 1990, despite the fact that he has lived about 20 miles from my mom all these years.

He only vaguely even looks like the guy I remember, really vaguely. Still has the same voice, I guess. He looks like he’s lived a life that has taken quite a toll on him, frail, pale, crippled, constant pain that shows in his face. A person who would probably garner some sympathy in a stranger, so it was easier to detach and just think of him as a stranger in order to function. He doesn’t seem to want forgiveness for anything he may have put anyone in the family through so much as understanding for how he got into the mess he is currently in. He seems to be punishing himself plenty with regrets, but he also seems, probably thanks to his therapist, to understand that the people he’s hurt may or may not care about how he is punishing himself.

He says he’s out to reconnect now for his daughter’s sake, but I would hope it’s for his own. His daughter seems well-adjusted enough, if on the rebellious end of the spectrum, but not anything unexpected from the product of such a repressive household. His wife, her mother, has been and still is genuinely insane. The more I hear about her life, the more I actually feel sorry for her. To live with that kind of paranoia, with the constant fear that you’re about to lose everything, and I’m quite sure never actually feeling love… the condition begs some pity, but from her daughter now, there is no sympathy, only hate. The woman needs to be hospitalized.

“Brother” Bob has not been unchanged by his years of marriage to such a crazy person. I find him to be mentally and physically weak, and with the recent separation from his wife, he’s managed to build some kind of umbilical cord to his daughter, who seems to be all he is living for. He isn’t a person on his own anymore, he is simply her dad. Again, the situation should beg sympathy, as the 17-year-old senior begins her last year, with distant colleges already in her future.They laugh and tell us stories of her psycho mother following her to high-school to observe who she talks to, and I have images of lonely dad looking for a house near a distant college, and meeting his baby-girl for lunches on campus.

He is having an effect on us, though. Mom, most of all. Everyone is worried about him hurting her again. I can only see her consumed by worry about him, and coming back into her element as the mother he needs. In a year, if he hasn’t rationalized a way to move with Sarah, I see him getting a place with mom. He needs the care, and she needs the task. It could be mutually beneficial, if it wouldn’t make every other member of our family sick with the notion. It makes me sick. He really is in constant pain. A former strong working man has been brought down to pale and fragile with pain. More surgeries are in his future. In this scenario, I see my father… going from unstoppable hero of a hard-working man into shadow of himself in a matter of months. Death follows that. These men don’t know how to go on when they’ve lost their ability to live the only life they know — with their hands and the strength of their back.

Sarah, I’m very glad I met. She called us the “awesome side of the family” which I hope means she’ll stay in touch. We’re not parental types, but I hope we can be people she can turn to in need.

My sister is anxiously awaiting my report on the whole weekend, and I can only wonder if she’ll wait until we see her in person this coming weekend, or the phone will be ringing before then. I really don’t know what to tell her. As the youngest, I didn’t grow up with Bob. He’s old enough to be my father. I’m closer in age to his daughter than to him. That isn’t true for sis, though. Losing him was just more of a blow, I know that. Maybe that’s why I could be the first sibling he sees after all this time.

I will say one other thing, though. I took no pains to leave out any detail of relating all the wonderful family times we’ve had since we’ve seen him. Weddings, vacations, and gatherings at mom’s in particular. All things he should have been a part of, but choose not to be. I went on about my sister and her great husband and their daughters and their wonderful house and how close we all are. It felt good to make him really feel that he was an outsider. Inside I was saying, so what you’re so much older than me and you can claim you never really knew me…. Sis is older, too, and she is nothing if not my sister. We can talk. We are there for each other. We can have fun together. Your age difference excuse is just that, an excuse. You’ve missed out, and your weekend good deed to bring mom down to see my house isn’t going to change that.

Now, I think I need to write a letter to my sister to just thank her for being her and tell her how much I love her.