Journals : 2007 : July
4 July 2007 | Link this
It's been a really long week.
Last Wednesday, my dad went into the hospital for hip replacement surgery. It was pretty major surgery to begin with, despite the fact that doctors tend to minimize it these days. But just to make it a little more difficult on my dad (and the whole family), his brother had been taken to the emergency room the day before with an apparent stroke, and had yet to regain consciousness when my dad went under the knife.
The surgery went fine, with no real complications, although my dad was in really intense pain afterward. My mom was convinced that Mark and I would be OK to leave Friday on our planned weekend trip to celebrate his thirtieth birthday.
The came Friday morning. We were almost packed and were starting to take things down to the car when my cousin called with the news that my uncle had died at 7:30 that morning. Since my uncle's wife had died in 1982 and they'd never had any children, my cousin and I had shared his power of attorney since his first stroke in January, although she'd ended up doing most of the work. My uncle had spent much of the past six months in and out of hospitals and nursing homes, but he'd finally been able to go home before this last episode, which is a good thing.
I loved my uncle. I'd be lying if I said we were really close and had a lot in common, but he was a good man and I knew he always cared about me. Family was everything to him. And he had a sense of humor that I always appreciated.
Needless to say, we cancelled the trip. I spent Friday delivering the news to my parents and hoping it wouldn't affect my dad's recovery. I liked it better when they were the ones who delivered bad news to me, by the way. Later that day, I participated in funeral planning and coffin selection for the first time, which is a story in itself. What a quick and efficient way to waste thousands and thousands of dollars. But I digress.
Poor Mark spent his birthday weekend not on vacation, as he very much needed to after a very stressful patch of his own, but as a participant (and even a pall bearer) in funeral services for a man he barely knew. I felt really bad for him and I can't say quite how much I love him for all his help. We did manage to have a bit of a birthday celebration Saturday night after the family visitation at the funeral home.
The funeral was on Sunday, and was OK, if a little too immersed in holy water for me. The dicsussions about the will started shortly after the post-interment fried chicken. I'm not sure if I have the stomach for that whole process, even though I know I'll be very much involved. Afterward, I realized that, since I'd been driving back and forth to both Greensboro (30 miles away) and to Reidsville (50 miles away) at least once each day since Friday, that I pretty much had taken the equivalent of a rather siginificant road trip this weekend. I just hadn't gotten anywhere particularly entertaining.
And then on Monday morning, the hospital called to give us three hours notice that my dad (who could barely walk) was being discharged. I can't tell you how much we appreciated all that notice, really. So Monday was spent waiting for paperwork to be filed and finding a rehab facility for my dad. It was all pretty familiar, as we'd done the same for my uncle six months before (on similarly short notice).
Yesterday, I was finally able to catch up a little on work, household stuff, etc. before driving over to visit my dad at the rehab facility. We're avoiding the term "nursing home", thanks. Mark, sensing my dismay at not having been anywhere but hospitals, nusring homes, and funeral parlors for six days or so took me to dinner at one of our favorite pizza joints in High Point.
Today, we have company coming for lunch (very late, as it turns out). Tomorrow, I start a new part-time job, where I may have to be on Friday as well. On Saturday, I'm supposed to meet with my cousin for the first round of talks about my uncle's estate. Several more visits to my dad in Greensboro will be interspersed as well.
On Sunday, I plan to do nothing and have no human contact whatsoever except with Mark. Sunday will be nice.
4 July 2007 Later | Link this
Two hours and forty-five minutes late.
Lunch was scheduled for 2:00. At 2:30, they called and said they were "shooting for" a 3:30 arrival. After one more message from us informing them that we were about to eat, they arrived at 4:45, with little more than a "Sorry. You have to expect that from us. We're slackers."
Mark busted his ass preparing for lunch, one of the few chances he's had to entertain since we moved here. We cleaned the house top to bottom, bought food, and went to considerable effort, especially considering the past week's events. And these two poster children for rudeness couldn't even be bothered to show up within two and a half fucking hours of the time for which they were invited. And even then, they didn't seem particularly concerned about it.
I'd have been too embarrassed to show up at all if I were that late. This is something I might have been able to excuse in an old friend with whom I had a lot of history, but this was the first time they'd ever been invited to our house.
Guess who's never coming to dinner again?
6 July 2007 | Link this
When is a post office not a post office? When it's the one in downtown Statesville, evidently.
I walked into a big, instututional structure with a huge sign that read "United States Courthouse and Post Office" above the front door. There were two armed guards inside blocking the entrance. They asked if they could help me. I told them I was looking for the post office. They told me, a little rudely, that it wasn't there. With the slightest trace of irony, I apologized for having been misled by the big sign out front. They didn't look amused. I left.
FYI, the actual post office in downtown Statesville is about two blocks away in a dumpy office supply store. I guess I was just too stupid to have known that from the start.
10 July 2007 | Link this
In the spirit of historical revisionism, I've added some photos to this post. It may be the only chance you'll ever have to see me in a suit.
On a completely unrealated note, who'd have thought that two little squash plants could produce so much offspring for so incredibly long. Squash jam, anyone? Squash casserole? Squash stew?
For those who have asked, the answer is no. Things haven't really calmed down all that much, although I'm almost to the point of only driving to Greenboro every other day now, and I haven't been to Reidsville since Saturday.
15 July 2007 | Link this
Assuming that I did the following, where was I this weekend?
- Photographed the former Safeway at Westland Shopping Center.
- Ate at the only east coast location of San Francisco's Extreme Pizza.
- Saw the home of Sauer's Vanilla Extract.
- Shopped at Ukrop's.
- Drove down the ridiculously-named Hull Street Road.
Yes, it's something of a rhetorical question, since it wouldn't be too hard to figure out with a Google search or two. Thus you needn't email me your answers.
16 July 2007 | Link this
Just for a change, I though it might be nice to post a trip journal and photos close to the time of the actual trip. So here's all the scoop on my road trip to Richmond. I was feeling inspired, because I'm also working on a different road trip journal for another site. But that's still a secret...
17 July 2007 Later | Link this
Can it really be twenty-five years ago today that I did the college radio thing for the first time? God, I'm old.
I'm gonna stop now before I get depressed.
18 July 2007 | Link this
I was so goth back in first grade.
When Mrs. Mahaffey passed out the crayons, I always drew haunted houses, with neat little rooms containing mummies, bodies, and "kanables". In retrospect, I'm rather proud of my bulk vampire storage area with its slide-out coffins. The little squggly things are lightning bolts, and the Collins family in question was, of course, the one from Dark Shadows.
My signature item, though, was the room full of blood which appeared in all of my drawings. Sometimes it was labelled "blood bank" and other times it simply bore the inscription "room full of blood", as if every self-respecting (haunted) house had one.
When I was looking at this picture with my mom earlier tonight, she asked me if it meant I'd been a "weird kid". I respoended that I'd felt more "normal" in first grade than I ever have since. Which is pretty much true.
23 July 2007 | Link this
Submitted for your approval: The Twin City Sentinel, the newest site in the little universe my betrothed and I have created for ourselves, and the first site on which we're actually collaborating.
The Twin City Sentinel is devoted to Winston-Salem and its environs and to urban commentary in general. There will be restuarant reviews, road trip journals, articles on history, and essays on urbanism as it is expressed locally and globally. There's also a message board.
Give it a look if you get a chance. You may decide to move here too. Or at least to visit.
23 July 2007 Later | Link this
I could've been in a mild funk yesterday, due, among other things, to the fact that my new part-time gig is not turning out to be evertthing I expected it to be. Which is sad, since my expectations were fairly low to begin with.
However, I lucked into a surprisingly entertaining film on TCM, about the misadventures of a philandering Welsh librarian, played by Peter Sellers. Who'd have thought such a thing could exist? It's right up my alley, since I'm planning on being a philandering Welsh librarian in two years.
OK, I'm not really planning on philandering. It's just one of those words that amuses me. And, actually, only my surname is Welsh; my background is really more English and Scotch-Irish. But it was still an entertaining movie, all the same.
Today's things that also make me happy:
- My dad is officially out of the
nursing homerehab facility and is now at home eating barbecue. - Because of this fact, I have strawberry cobbler from Stamey's for dessert tonight.
- It's only a few days until my boy is home.
Just to balance all this happiness, though, an extended middle finger (OK, a second one) goes out to the guy who passed me on the right on I-40 near Kernersville today while I was already doing 75MPH. Mind you, I was in the right lane at the time, so passing me on the right meant that he did so using the onramp and part of the shoulder. And the guy was about fifty years old, so he presumably should've known better.
But there's no moron like an old moron, I guess. Especially when it's an old, hypocritical moron like Coy Privette, who not only messes around with prostitutes despite his assorted "Christian values" stances, but who messes around with African-American prostitutes, even though much of his core constituency teeters about half a double-wide away from active Klan membership.
Dang. Could this journal entry have rambled just a little bit more? Why yes, because I could've also used it to push the new website one more time.
24 July 2007 | Link this
Evil seems to befall cab 666 -- driver seeks intervention:
"I think this is going to make the city look a little silly for taking it up,'' George-Williams said. "Where does it stop? I don't think the city needs to spend time getting involved in something like this.''
It's really hard to make The Silliest Place on Earth™ look even sillier, but I agree that this is probably a good start.
30 July 2007 | Link this
No updates here, unless you're indordinantly interested in knowing who had his finger up my ass today (it was my doctor).
Lots of updates at Groceteria and Twin City Sentinel, though.
31 July 2007 | Link this
I just keep coming back
like a bad penny hairstyle:
1982: I was a fresh-faced recent high school graduate. OK, my face wasn't really all that fresh, and the photo was actually taken while I was still in high school...
1983: This is the only one that was issued to me as a continuing student. It just happened that 1983 was the year UNCG decided to redesign its ID cards.
1989: I returned to finish what I'd started in 1982. I succeeded this time.
2007: In which I am a graduate student...
31 July 2007 Later | Link this
I'm watching the 5:00 news, where I'm closely following the important breaking news that, after five days, Wake Forest basketball coach Skip Prosser continues to be dead. His ongoing mortality has been the subject of about three quarters of all live local news coverage since last Thursday.
It's as if the whole news team at WXII is hovering over the corpse on the offside chance that Prosser might suddenly decide to get up and dance a little jig. If it happens, Cameron Kent will be there waiting with a camera, by God.