Obits

About 3 weeks ago, one of The Big One’s friends’ dad (“Bongo” Barry Bernstein if you want to Google him) dropped dead of a heart attack. He was only 55, married and had two kids. I did not know him personally, but knew of him, because he was very involved with the band programs at the high school and middle school and was a children’s entertainer. He was also a music therapist with one of the school districts. I was looking forward to getting to know him when we got to the high school level bands.

We went to the funeral at the Unity Temple and it was truly one of the most amazing experiences of my life. There were about 200 people, mostly in tie-dye, because that was his trademark. The opening procession was a drum circle of about 75 musicians. There was a slideshow of his life and about several people talked about him. Both of his girls got up and spoke and were both so eloquent and poised. No tears from either girl, both talked about how much he loved life and making other people happy. There were several performances from his musician friends and the processional was everyone jamming to Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away.” Barry was one of those lucky people who found their bliss early in life, was able to make a living out of it, and share his gifts. It is a true loss and so sad that he died so young and left so many people with this hole in their lives, but on the other hand, what a great legacy to have so many people love you. I came out of that service feeling high.

He and his family performed around the state over the summer, and left “Bongo Barry” egg shakers at rest stops along the way. They were passed around for the processional and I keep mine in my purse to remind me that life is short, that I should not take every day for granted and that I need to hurry up and find my bliss.

My aunt died yesterday after a bout of brain cancer. She had had colon cancer in the mid seventies, breast cancer about 8 years ago, and 2 years ago, it metastasized to her lungs in the form of melanoma (she never smoked or lived with a smoker, BTW) and went to her brain last year. She had radiation and it shrunk the tumor and she was doing great until a few weeks ago. Up until then she was driving, taking care of her garden, entertaining with her husband and just about everything she normally did. She was on hospice at her home and died in her sleep in no pain.

Jo had a great life, too. She was married to her husband for 60 years last summer. When he should have been retiring, they took a job transfer to Southern Korea, then to San Diego. They were the kind of people who made immediate, lifelong friends. Jo was also one of those people who love life, and got excited about just about anything. She was also one of the kindest, generous people you’d ever meet. Because she always lived far away from me, I usually only saw her once a year, at the holidays. I made several visits to her and my uncle as an adult, and those are some of the best trips in my life. I took the girls to down to their home in Wimberley, Texas two summers ago, and the last memories I have of her are of her heading down the long, wooded driveway from their house on the hill to the river at the foot of the hill, pulling a kayak, then launching the kayak into the water and giving the girls a quick lesson. At 80, she was in great shape, and I should look so good in a swimsuit at half her age.

Barry and Jo are just reminders that we are here to make the most of the life we have now. I don’t believe in heaven, because what’s the point of using your time on earth as merely a ticket to something that is imaginary. We humans have a choice every day of what to do with our lives. It’s just practical to choose to be happy.

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

Maybe it's because I'm a Taurus, but I'm extremely stubborn when it comes to holding on to things. Old clothes, knick-knacks, magazines and especially relationships that don't work.

I really just want to "give it one more chance," because I hate admitting I wasted time on something I was wrong about all along. My divorce opened up a big can of worms in that area.

It showed me that not only can I break up with people I'm not even romantically involved with like my self-righteous former roommate, who has nothing to offer me but criticism, a counselor whose best advice was "get more girlfriends," or concepts like religion, but I can also break up with inanimate objects.

A few weeks ago, Good Neighbor Laura had a showing of her artwork. I MapQuested directions, printed them out and set out with the girls to her opening. I followed the map, and after about 10 minutes of driving around a residential neighborhood, looked at the address I'd put in, and compared it to the one on the invitation. MapQuest had led me to the 9600 block when I should have been on the 4300 block. I set off north, hoping I could get there on time and realized I had no idea where I was going so I gave up, and turned around because I knew I'd just get more frustrated and angry the more lost I knew I'd become.

So I officially broke up with MapQuest.

Keep in mind that almost EVERY time I use MapQuest, something similar happens, but I kept right on using it.

Yesterday, at the Wal-Mart, The Big One, The Boyfriend and I were checking out and the lines on the manned check outs were pretty long, so we used the self-check. I have the same history with self-check outs as I do with MapQuest. Every time I've used one, the red light goes on, and I have to wait for the checking supervisor to clear the machine. Plus, there's never enough room on the bagging table, and the computer always yells at me to check the bagging area.

But we were in a hurry and so we used it.

The red light must have gone off a half-dozen times, and the checking supervisor had to come over twice to key into the register so we could continue.

So I broke up with self-checkouts.

Today while at the Home Depot, there were lines at the manned registers, but all the self-checkouts were free. The supervisor motioned me to the self-checks, but I proudly proclaimed, "No thanks, I broke up with those."

So what if she thought I was nuts.

I think I'll break up with worrying about what other people think of me, too.

True Story

I went into JoAnn's, picked out my fabric and headed to the cutting table. The sales associate was behind the table, and had no customers waiting. She pointed to the "take a number" dispenser and told me to take a number. I was the only customer there, but assumed there was someone ahead of me, wandering around the store. I got number 78.

She then looked up at the tote board, which read 77, clicked to the next number, leaned over into the intercom, and announced, "Number 78."

I kid you not.

I almost burst out laughing, then realized she was serious. I honestly expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out and let me know I had been punk'd.

I guess some people take control wherever they can get it.

Again, the Bunnies Never Go Away

The Big One kept trying to charge her phone, and it wouldn't work. It's a fairly new phone, so we checked the battery to see if it was OK, and it seemed to be.

Turns out, the bunny that was under her bed, the one she and her BFF caught, had chewed the bling off her phone which was charging under her bed. Apparently, the bunny also chewed up the cord on the charger.

So thanks to the wildlife in my house, I'm out $15 for a charger and my closet STILL smells like something died in it.

There'll Be Peace When You Are Done

Well the dead bunny in the closet is still with us.

I took the box that The Ex put on the curb with the remains in it, put it in a garbage bag, tied it off, and put it in the trunk of my car as I backed it out of the garage to go to work. I took it to work to throw in the dumpster. The box was in my car for less than fifteen minutes, and my car still smelled like, you guessed it, something died in it.

After I got all the remains and creepy crawly things out, the smell remained, even after I doused the closet with air freshener and I sprayed everything down with vodka. (it's a theater trick - the vodka evaporates and eliminates the odor)

This morning I took all the clothes and coats from the closet outside, hung them on the table and chairs, sprayed them down with still more vodka, and am hoping the air and sunshine will take care of the remaining odors.

If this doesn't work, I may have to burn them.

Carrion My Wayward Son

Two evenings ago, The Big One, The Boyfriend and I came home from a show to a really weird smell in the front hall. I had cooked dinner earlier, and given my history in the kitchen, I just assumed it was a leftover cooking smell.

The following day, we smelled it again, just in one spot in the front hall. It was starting to smell like a really dirty garbage can. I thought maybe something had gotten caught inside the vacuum cleaner and rotted, so I cleaned it out and found nothing.

This morning, the smell was REALLY strong. I pushed back the coats and things, and moved the baskets and boxes around and still nothing.

So when I got home from work this evening, I was greeted with, "Mommy, Daddy found what was stinking up the closet."

Apparently, The Almost Feral Cat brought home yet another dead bunny, and instead of leaving it in The Big One's room, hid it under the baseboard in the back of the closet. It must have been in there longer than 3 days, because it was full of other sorts of flora and fauna that I'd just not rather go into right now. Let's just say it looked like something from one of Gil Grissom's crime scenes, and he was really happy about all the visitors who had taken up residence there.

So I scraped out the remains, and sprayed everything down with 1:100 bleach . I washed all the gloves, hats and scarves that were in the basket in hot water and did two cycles in the dryer, just in case.

The upside is that The Ex probably threw up.

So tomorrow I'm making a trip to the pet store for a break-away collar for the cat. With a bell.

Don't you cry no more.

Once Again, Wild Kingdom

Night before last, The Big One comes into my room at 12:30 AM: “Mommy, The Almost Feral Cat brought a bunny in my room. And it’s not dead.”

Honestly, it’s easier to deal with the dead bunnies than the live ones. The last live one we had got named, and practically moved in with us. I can just scoop up the dead ones and plop them in the trash.

So after about 20 minutes of trying to catch this poor bunny, I gave up. I told The Big One to get in my bed, closed my bedroom door, and figured the cat would take care of the bunny. After all, she’s the one who brought it home, so it’s her responsibility.

I didn’t find anything the next morning, so I figured we had a bunny corpse under the bed somewhere, so I told The Big One to have her dad look for it when he came over.

Apparently, they couldn’t find it, because when I came home from work, The Big One, The Little One and The Big One’s BFF, Genius Girl, were in her room, wearing oven mitts and trying to coax the bunny out from under the bed with brooms and whatever else they could find. There was a lot of screaming and squealing going on, so I left them to it.

After about 45 minutes, they managed to corner it and get it in a shoebox. We took it outside and let it go. I’ll bet that was one relieved bunny.