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

Yo and stuff…

So, I just got back from Ohio… Yes, I went back to Ohio, but the city was still there… Not MY city, but then my name isn’t Chrissy, and I’m not pretending, so hey… (Hopefully everyone is getting that reference… If not…well…I guess I’m just showing my age again…)

Anywho, I was in Ohio for the First Annual Earth Warriors Festival. This fantastic gig was organized by Heather of Violet Flame Gifts in Newark, OH, and an amazing staff of folks who worked their tails off and hearts out to make sure the fest was a rousing success… They had a great turnout for a first time festival, and what was even more impressive was the fact that after the remnants of Ike tore up their original venue, this incredible crew managed to find a new venue and have it ready to go, all in the matter of two weeks. And, even with the last minute change they drew in a more than respectable crowd.

The first night was pretty much staff and presenter time, with all of us hanging out around the bonfire telling stories and having a few drinks. Due to the size of the venue, they had rented some golf carts for the staff to use – mainly to shuttle folks around, carry excess stuff, and be able to respond quickly to needs or situations. Well… as we know, when Morrison and I get together there can be some mischief. We happened to be standing on the back patio of the dining hall after supper and I was pacing around looking at the area. Upon peering around the corner of the building I saw a golf cart sitting there. Thinking it might be one of the staff folks I wandered around to say hey and visit for a bit. However, all I found was the golf cart… The problem here is that it still had the keys in it, as well as a radio tuned to the staff channel. Apparently the driver was inside the dining hall doing whatever… Anyway, I motioned Morrison over and then next thing you know we had committed Grand Theft Golfcart.

Fortunately for us the staff – and Heather – found this amusing. In fact, at one point, after appropriating a paper chef’s hat from the dining hall and fitting it to my head, Heather and I raced about the site in the cart, her swinging a large plastic stirring paddle, and we “cooked up some trouble”… There are supposed to be pictures… I’ll see if I can get my hands on them.

Day two found us doing a seminar to a wonderful group of attendees, meeting up with George Knowles – owner of Controverscial.com, and generally hanging out. That evening there was a rousing concert around the bonfire with the Dragon Ritual Drummers. They are a great group of guys out of Canada, and they can definitely pound out some killer beats. We had a funny moment with them earlier in the day – Morrison and I had just stumbled out of the presenters cabin and were having a cup of coffee before heading off to our respective shower houses. The DRD guys walked by and I commented that they looked much brighter and awake than we did. They replied, “That’s because we’re Canadian.”

Day three brought us back around to another seminar with a great group of attendees, followed by a book signing and hanging out with folks – including the Pie-Rats (well, that’s what I call them)… The pirate camp was a blast, and there was plenty of “Yarring” and official Grog to go around. Morrison and I were also fortunate enough to share the presenter cabin with Wendy Rule and her son Reuben. They were absolutely lovely folks who were great to hang out with, and Wendy put on a killer concert Saturday night with Reuben accompanying on the accordion. Haunting stuff and the whole crowd was mesmerized.

Throughout the entire fest, Silver the Kitchen Witch, was doing everything in her power to kill us – By that I mean she was cooking up a storm and everything was so fantastic we just kept eating, even when we weren’t hungry. So we pretty much ate until we burst. Not only were there three huge and fantastic meals each day, but on top of that there was a hospitality cabin where we could go to kick back, and Silver and her staff kept it stocked with all manner of munchies – Crudites, chips, M&M’s, coffee, antipasto platters, and some absolutely killer meatballs… These meatballs were so good that when I went in for a cup of coffee and smelled them I said to myself, “hey, I gotta try one of these…” Well, it didn’t stop there. Before I knew it “one of these” had turned into a half dozen…

So, if all that weren’t enough I got to hang out with Heather, her husband Max, Phelina, Kira, Kim, Alan, Ron, Bill & Maxine, the pirates, and a whole ton of other good friends whom I hadn’t seen in quite a while…

Now, that was the good… (Actually, it was the great!) … What about the bad and the fuglee…

Well, it certainly wasn’t possible for the universe to allow me that much fun without slapping me in the back of the head… It seems that every single time I fly out of Columbus, OH, I end up getting delayed and this trip was no different. It all started a month or so back when they changed my straight through flight to one with a connection in Chicago. Then, yesterday I went to the airport a little early with Morrison so that the festival folks wouldn’t have to make two trips to the airport. I figured I could occupy myself for that extra couple of hours no problem… But after I got Morrison on her plane and away, I kicked back to relax and soon discovered that my flight was getting more and more delayed according to the monitors… Well, eventually I had to see a gate agent to have my flight changed in Chicago because I wasn’t going to arrive there in time to make the connection… Well, they got me on the first thing out of there with seats, but I still ended up not getting home until around 10:30 last night. So, from around 11:30 AM yesterday until 10:30 PM last night, I was either in the air or in an airport. I actually could have driven and been home sooner…

But, oh well. That’s just one of those things and I blame American Airlines for it…

So, now I have to wash clothes and re-pack. Thursday I fly out for DC and Morrison & I start off on the book release tour. Hopefully I’ll be able to check in from the road…

More to come…

Murv