BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Nope, not the pizza. They make okay pizza, I guess, but the truth is I got kind of burned out on them quite a few years back. You see, during my college years I had friends who worked at Dominos and we were all the time ending up with pizzas that hadn’t been picked up, or pranked deliveries, or simply an employee discounted “pie” as they called them. We were eating Dominos pizza all the time, so I pretty much had my fill. I mean, I’ll eat it if it’s there, but given my druthers, I’d rather have a Saint Louis Style (thin, crispy crust with provel cheese) from Imo’s or one of the local mom ‘n pop pizzerias.

But, like my usual self, I’m off on yet another tangent. I didn’t come here to talk to you about pizza today. I also didn’t come here to talk to you about the little rectangular tiles with the dots all over them either.

Well, yeah, I guess actually I did plan to talk about the dotted rectangles, but only metaphorically, and just at the beginning. Are you following that? Good, because someone has to. I’m starting to get lost…

Anyway, on with the metaphor. You know how when you’re a kid – or even an adult – you tend not to actually play dominos the way the game is meant to be played? Instead, you spend hours painstakingly lining them all up in intricate patterns, with specifically prescribed distances between each, and then after all that hard work you knock the first one over and watch the 30 second (if you’re lucky and have A LOT of dominos) chain reaction. Go on, admit it. We’ve all done it. Sometimes we even do it with boxes of Hamburger Helper and crap like that you find in the cupboard. Well, at least I do… But I guess we won’t go there…

So anyhow, memories are like that too. You knock one over and the next thing you know there is this whole cascade of memories rattling around in your brainpan. Some good. Some bad. Some funny. Some, not so much. Well, that’s what happened this morning. I was sitting here, minding my own business, taking care of the morning email – well, the night’s email that I was just then seeing in the morning, but…yeah…digressing again – So…There I was… Minding biz… Doing email thing…

That’s when it happened. A particular email from a friend sparked a memory about my wife’s maternal grandfather (now long deceased). It’s kind of a cute memory, and a story I’ve told to many folks to illustrate a point about aging and reality. But, as with Dominos the pizza, and dominos the game, it’s not the actual memory I intend to share today. Yeah, it basically went clack, knocked over another memory, then another, and the next thing I knew there was this other memory left standing – improper spacing of the dominos, I assume, which means I must be having gaps in my memory…but, we won’t go there either…

So… I have absolutely no clue if I have told this story here before or not, but I’m going to tell it again anyway. Why? Because it’s funny and besides, this is my blog so I get to run off at the mouth in it all I want. So there. (hmmmm…wonder why they don’t have just a plain old “sticking tongue out smiley” on this blog interface…)

Okay… On with the tale.

Now, this is a true story. I am telling you that because as you read it and visualize it, you are going to be imagining an episode of The Benny Hill Show or Monty Python going through your head. But, I’m here to tell you this really happened, and there were a whole host of witnesses.

Back when EK’s grandparents were still alive, but most definitely in their waning years, they resided at a very nice assisted living facility. On holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc – the family would gather out there for a big dinner in the dining room, then retire to their apartment for visiting, etc. This all went on early in our marriage, so EK and I were young and spry back then (trust me, that factoid comes into play later)… Anyway, time marches on and eventually folks pass away, cross over, kick the bucket, expire, or whatever euphemism you wish to apply. In the case of EK’s grandparents, her grandmother went first. Now, as one would expect, and as statistically happens, her grandfather began a steady decline following her loss. After all, his wife of almost 75 years was gone. He ended up moving out of the apartment proper, and into the attached nursing facility. He didn’t last terribly long after that.

Yeah, I know, I said this was a funny story and the above is not funny at all. I realize that. But, we are getting to the funny part and it has nothing to do with death. Well, maybe a little… It actually has to do with life in the face of impending death.

Right around 1 year before EK’s grandfather simply gave up altogether and allowed himself to die, we gathered out at the assisted living facility for Thanksgiving dinner. What with grandma being gone it was a much more somber celebration than it had been in the past, but it was still very nice. At this point, grandpa didn’t move around so good. He could walk, but not a great distance by any means. So, since it was a nice day, as is often the case with Saint Louis around Thanksgiving – fairly cool, but with the sun shining and not bitterly cold – the family decided a nice walk around the “lake” in front of the facility would be in order (actually, where I come from it would be called a pond, but here in Saint Louis they think it is a lake, so I just go along with them). So, with grandpa loaded up in his wheelchair, we set off for a liesurely afternoon stroll.

Now, as much as the family tried to lighten the mood, the tone was still very somber. After all, grandma hadn’t been gone all that long, and holidays were kind of her thing. In fact, she used to “save up” their dining room “meal tickets” so that the family could gather with them. And, from the stories I have heard, grandma used to cook up a storm and put on a hell of spread during the holidays. I met and married EK a bit too late in life to have enjoyed those particular family gatherings, but the get-togethers at the facility were still wonderful.

So anyway, back to the story… We made our way down the hill on one side of the small “lake” then came around the end, and started up the hill that banked the other side. The path itself was a concrete sidewalk so the going was smooth, and the direction we were heading would take us right back to the nursing center, and grandpa’s room. All good. Well, we made it about halfway up this side when everyone decided to stop for a bit to “smell the roses”. Admittedly, the scenery was nice and serene, and we all thought it might be nice to just rest a moment and look out over the “lake”.

We all turned to face the tableau and drink in the splendor of nature. Some geese were flying overhead making geese noises, there were a few wispy clouds in the blue sky…the crisp autumn air was filled with the loamy smells from the carpet of leaves that had fallen off the trees in the small, urban wooded areas at our backs. We were all gathered together, enjoying it as a close knit family unit. It was pretty much “Norman Rockwell Family Postcard Perfect” as we stared out across the glassy water at the bottom of the somewhat steep, grassy incline before us.

It stayed perfect for about 5 seconds, because then I heard the screaming…

Yes, screaming. Well, maybe more like a yell than a scream. In any event is was somewhat weak, but still quite audible and filled with maybe a bit of fear, but mostly what sounded to be complete surprise. And, it seemed to have started nearby, but was now moving away from us…

Wondering what was going on I brought my gaze quickly downward and saw, much to my horror, grandpa, still seated in his wheelchair, arms flailing as he rolled ever faster down the bumpy, grassy hill toward the lake. You see, it seems that my brother-in-law (who shall remain nameless, and I have several so it will be easy for him to remain anonymous) had neglected to set the brake on the wheelchair. Due to our position on the rise, and the fact that he had turned grandpa toward the lake so that he could see what everyone else was enjoying…well, to put it simply when he let go of the handles to point at something, gravity took over, as it tends to do.

Here is where the young and spry comes into play… Quite obviously we were all terrified. Here we have a somewhat frail, 90 year old man, hurtling toward a “lake” in a wheelchair, down an incline, on a crisp autumn day. The water in the “lake” wasn’t exactly warm as you can guess. So, while some gasped and screamed, others of us sprang into action, running headlong down the hill after the wheelchair.

Well, as it turns out, grandpa had way too much of a head start on us, so, weak cry, arms flailing, and everything you can imagine from an episode of one of the aforementioned comedy shows later, he hit the water. Now, grandpa was a very practical and intelligent man, so rather than allow himself to be catapulted across the “lake” when the front wheels of the chair struck the muddy edge, he stuck his feet straight out in front of himself and held on. This manuever saved him from taking a chilly swim, however, he still ended up “wading” so to speak as he slipped down in the chair. When all was said and done, the water ended up at about his knees as I recall.

So, as one could expect, a bit of minor panic ensued. My mother-in-law was extremely concerned for her father, my brother-in-law was concerned – and completely mortified, EK wasn’t far behind me coming down the hill, and my father-in-law and one of my other brothers-in-law who was there that year were neck and neck with me in our race to save gramps.

Arriving at the edge of the “lake” and trying to avoid falling in ourselves, we dragged grandpa out of the water. My father-in-law and brother-in-law got on either side of him and more or less carried him back up the hill as I raced ahead with the wheelchair and soaking wet blankets. When we all reached the top of the hill they deposited gramps back into the chair and he assured us that he wasn’t hurt, but that he was getting cold from being wet, naturally. So, while the rest of the family straightened themselves out and started regaining composure, I lit a fire under my own ass and pushed gramps in his wheelchair as fast as I could up the sidewalk and into the nursing center where we could get him changed and warmed up.

Now, at this point, my own heart was racing and I was deeply concerned. I mean, after all, the man was 90 years old, he was soaking wet up to his kees and damp elsewhere because of the water splashing all over him. It was 45 degrees outside, his blankets were pretty much useless since they were cold and wet, and we were still about 100 yards from the nursing center at the top of the hill.

After we had traveled maybe twenty yards, I started hearing this odd noise coming from gramps. I dug in and pushed faster as I asked, “Are you okay, grandpa?”… I was CPR certified at the time, but really wasn’t in a hurry to put it into practice if you know what I mean. At this point, instead of getting an answer, I noticed that the noise was just getting louder and the wheelchair was starting to vibrate. It was then I realized that grandpa was laughing his ass off. Downright belly laugh guffawing…Almost to the point where he was going to risk not being able to catch his breath… I couldn’t help but start to laugh too. When he was finally able to stifle the laughing for a few seconds he said, “That was fun. Can we do it again?”

With that, we both burst into laughter yet again. We were still chuckling like a couple of wingnuts when I got him into his room and the nurse on duty starting helping him change into some dry clothes.

When the rest of the family arrived only a minute or so behind us, they were still in the concerned mode, and rightfully so. I think perhaps grandpa and I must have appeared to be total idiots to the rest of them because we were still grinning ear to ear, and whenever we looked at each other – or at the brother-in-law who let go of the handles – the chuckling would start all over again. But, he and I knew the reality… In that moment, he felt alive.

It might have been brief and I’m sure it was scary. I know I would have been a bit terrified if it was me in that chair, even at 30 instead of 90, but it still made him feel alive.

That was the one and only time I had seen the man laugh, or even really genuinely smile, since his wife had died. And, the memory of it seemed to be the only thing that made him smile for the year he lived aftwards.

Well, that and a glass of smuggled in Port Wine, but I’ll save that for a different blog, because we have now come back around to the beginning of our chain reaction – a joke about “smuggled booze” is the original domino that sparked my telling of this whole story…

More to come…

Murv

Whoever has it, stick the damn thing in and let’s get this holiday stuff over with…

Yeah, I’m obviously a bit of a curmudgeon about this whole festive holiday season thing. Those of you who know me, or have been following my blogs for several years know that I haven’t always been this way. But, without going into a  long explanation, losing your parents near the holidays – too early in life and at separate times – doesn’t really endear you to Christmas, et. al.

It actually has a bit of a damping effect. But, like I said, I’m not going to go into that realm of loss, S.A.D., and all that other stuff. I’ve had my joyous and warm fun with friends and family for this season.

It’s time to move on, so I’m still looking for the gorram fork.

Of course, I am sure you are wondering what prompted me to look for the sharp tined instrument at this particular moment… Well, you see, it’s like this – I have been wracking my brain to figure out why it is we, as a society, find “comfort” in watching back to back sappy, horribly written and acted, Hallmark™  movies during the holidays…

You see, they all pretty much start out the same way. Someone is DEAD. Usually, it is a parent – mom or dad, flip a coin – but on rare occasion it is an offspring who went off to fight in Desert Storm or whatever conflict is happening at the time of the writing  – Speaking of writing, given the poor dialogue offered up in these flicks, I am thinking that writing might be too kind a word for it. But, describing it as writing sounds better than the more accurate “vomiting”.

At any rate, we always start with someone being dead. They either died last week, or 5 years ago. Span of time isn’t really important, because no matter when it was they croaked the holidays have arrived and the pain of loss has resurfaced. (I will make a concession here – This is probably the only accurate part of the movies because I can certainly relate to it)… However, from this point the rest of the overused formula kicks in, and it ain’t E=mc²…

It susses out more like this (please excuse the lack of proper notation… this blog interface is severely lacking in symbols):

Person(dead) / grief (x * y)² {[runaway] – (ghost) – {hospital} – (prison/jail)} / (love at first sight + implied sex / argument) * make up kiss / k(k²) + [food] = z

Solve for z, where x and y equal assorted male and female characters in unrequited love, self-imposed celibacy of mourning scenarios and k equals children, usually on one side of the impending relationship, but sometimes on both (hence k²)…

Well, I won’t make you get out a pencil and paper. Z always equals a happy ending. The male and female characters end up in an instant relationship – one which it is implied will stand the test of time because obviously they were meant to be together even though they had sworn an oath that they would dry up and blow away since their respective significant others met their demise via A) a car wreck B) cancer C) plane crash D) war E) all of the above.

On top of that we always have the fact that someone miraculously survives something (disease, accident, mishap), is miraculously cleared of charges for something they didn’t do, a runaway is found, or in some events the dead person comes back as a ghost for a short period of time to provide closure. Along with this the children involved are all about the new significant others, and in most cases were working behind the scenes to bring them together in the first place.

And, in the end, there is money to pay the mortgage that could never be paid, a turkey/ham on the table, gifts under the tree, implied sex, candy canes, lingerie, trips to Cancun, toys, more kids on the way, a new lease for the orphanage, a job offer, marriage, general happiness, the “bad guy” grows a heart ala “A Christmas Carol” and all manner of  sickly sweet, sugar infused woodja, woodja, woodja ad nauseum…

But, the best part is…wait for it… wait for it…It all comes together on Christmas Eve/Day…

I won’t even begin to go into the lack of research which creates glaring continuity errors, procedural errors, suspension of disbelief errors ( I mean, if you are going to ask me to suspend disbelief – which ALL of these flicks do – then make me believe enough of it that when you jump the shark I can say, “Okay, self, I’m willing to buy that in the context of this movie…)

But, you know, even though I have rambled on about the sheer stupidity of these formulaic wastes of celluloid/airwaves/cable bandwidth, we have to return to the original question – Why do we take comfort in watching these things back to back during the holidays? Yes, they show non-holiday versions at other times of the year, but when the Christmas season arrives they become constant… And, we sit in front of the tube, sipping Bailey’s ™, and watching this drivel like some kind of emotionally bankrupt zombies looking for a charge of said emotions…

Well… I have a theory.

These are the equivalent of a 50 cent roller coaster ride. We start out on a downer, climb to a high point, fear for the cardboard characters, then end in a crescendo of euphoria. Why? Because the cardboard cutouts started out in worse shape than us, then dealt with even more crap, but in the end, it all came together. Magically. Without the aid of epoxy, duct tape, or staples. It just all worked out, and after all, isn’t that what we each want? It’s not the greatest roller coaster around, but it fits in our living room and we can ride it over and over again for effect…

So, what do you think? Decent enough theory?

Of course, my other working hypothesis is that they are all just a big conspiracy by the facial/nose tissue conglomerates to make us buy more Kleenex.

More to come…

Murv