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Archive for August, 2010


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-29-2010

The Father is sick once more. I found his pills.

We were playing a card game with Opa, a very Brabant game, when The Father turned pale, and then red, and then we stopped the game.

Opa came with his new dog, I call him Junior, his real name is Castor. The advantage of having a house that is is mess, is, well, what can a puppy really destroy ?

I start a new job tomorrow.

Bob The Builder

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-26-2010

I rather dislike it when the working class members of our happy home return in utterly foul moods.

The Boy helped me with the shopping today and, I know, it was only supposed to be Burritos ( notice that past tense ?), but we put together a fine group of *stuff* to put in a wrap. Great cheese, fine vegetables, and perfect – in fact lovely- beef.

In fact, the beef was so lovely that when I heard that dinner could be delayed for up to 2 hours, I said, oh, no way, Jose, and put my lovely beef into the fridge, my yellow peppers…you get the idea. This meat deserves to be seared and eaten, not to sit there until it turns into shoe leather.

When the first working class hero returned home ( have I mentioned that it is POURING rain ?), I was asked why I had not dumped that bouquet of flowers. Well, I did not say, yesterday, you told me not to. Wait for the lilies to bloom, you said, hey, I did not say, you dump them, now ! Then, after 15 minutes , I was asked ( it is still really pouring here..) why I had not mentioned that letter, tossed on the table, underneath all of the other mail. Well, I did not say, you seemed to have found it right quickly, did you not , tossed and all ?

So we are having this major rain problem. Dinner is take out- thank you, Boy. I am looking out of the kitchen door, into the yard, and there is this stream, this river, of water heading right. for. the .door. It is rising, it brings back memories of that flood we had once in the kitchen, at least 6 inches deep.

I am watching this. I have towels ( shoot me, I should have sand bags prepared, I know…) ready.

Now, we have two very large dogs, and one of them, The Pyr, has a water phobia. So the porch is flooding and Destin is going crazy : water ! I let them into the kitchen.

Two wet dogs, each the size of Godzilla, reek. I put on the massive exhaust things over the stove , and Destin prances around like a young colt ( and about the same size as one..) trying to dry off his feet. He really loathes water. He is terribly upset.

I just keep watching water levels on the porch.

I actually hoped to take a bath tonight. Suppose I could have just gone on the porch, if one thinks about it, but I was watching the water level, waiting until the rain calmed down enough so that I could feed the dogs ( Elvis outside, Destin inside and never the twain shall meet…).

The next working class hero returns, and I hear about the stench in the kitchen. While I explain my concerns about the water level on the porch, I am asked if I have gone up to the attic and checked the drain pipes ( whatever they are called ) between the two attics. No, I say, but both girls are upstairs, I guess that if they were flooding into the house, they would let me know. And, I said, that other gutter, on the front of the house is working…

And if one really thinks about it, what am I supposed to do if those gutters- way up high- are stuffed ? Put on mountain climbing gear and solve it ? Climb a 40 foot ladder ?

Do I look like stinkin’  Bob The Builder ? Yes I can ?

I did not get a bath and I doubt that I will get a dinner, and I don’t really care, for if you have to nag about it, it does not count.

But the dikes held here, and I am going to watch an episode of *The Sopranos* with The Boy.

Don’t say it. I know.

School Days

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-25-2010

Today, The Girl’s books came for her new school.  To tickle your memory, this will be the 4th school that she has been in since she left the Little Hell Hole Down The Street, when she was about, oh, 12 or 13. She is now 17. You do the math.

For whatever reason, we have to pay for these books. I have no idea why, for most school books are paid for- lately- by the powers that be. But nope, a little over 400 euro for this small- very small- box of mostly paper back books. Being a very suspicious person, I am thinking- but not saying - Mickey Mouse School. I really hope not.

She opened the box after dinner and passed them around for Daddy and Opa to view.  I did not say a word, I swear. But Opa and Daddy looked at the books, considered the price and thought that it was a bit steep, but they could both help her. I did point out to her that she had chosen just their field, wholesale.I do not think that the study actually goes into manufacturing- they are both good in that as well…

She noted that the bus no longer stopped in front of the chosen-by-her school, and The Boy and I both said, well, if you go the back way from the bus station there, in The Big City, it is tops a 10 minute walk. But, she lamented, she has to carry all of those books.

Well, I said, I am sure that they have lockers. Or she could leave a bike at the Bus Station to toodle back and forth to school with.

Sour looks.

I am walking away from this. I have already passed on some Twilight Zone clues to The Father and am slapping my hands together, dusting it all off.

This Friday or Saturday, The Father and I are going out to dinner. I don´t care where we go, but it is- on August 29th – our 27th anniversary. I can make this even more decrepit, for we have known each other for 30 years. And we are going out for dinner, alone, come hell or high water.

At times, Helen Reddy comes to mind…

And at evil little times, Harry Nilsson…

You're breakin' my heart
You're tearin' it apart......

I can be a very bad times.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-20-2010



Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-13-2010

I called Daddy last night.

In the triage of life, faced with the death of Oma, the bewildered state that this has left Opa in, the fact that Daddy nearly died has been rather…placed at a lower level of concern.

Just in general, absence, distance, whatever.

So I called him last night. He sounds just like Clint in *Gran Torino*, for when they put the * Trach* in, they nicked his vocal chords. This is interesting, my father sounds just like Clint Eastwood.

Because Wicked Step-Mother is so darn smart, I could never really quite figure out what was going on with Daddy, except that the Doctors did not think that he would make it. He gave me the Reader’s Digest version : two of the vertebrae in his neck collapsed ( I am tending to think that this is related to that fall he took a while ago, smacking his head on the kitchen table ) and a, uh, titanium rod was inserted.

He has given up attempting to walk, his myriad of million dollar artificial legs gathering dust. He has stopped trying to fly, for he sets off every control post around, all of that metal in his body. And airport controls really honk him off. Really. I think that he mentioned that he was tired of having to spread his cheeks every time he wanted to go somewhere. But I am most likely wrong, I age…

I sortof just scratch my head. And wonder why my hair is breaking off and know that I should add some color to the whisps left.

Latest news has it that Opa is getting a puppy. The reason that puppies and babies are so very cute is because we would all drown them within one week if they were not. Babies and puppies are a major pain in the ass.They whine, they cry, they make hideous messes, they destroy your treasures. But they are so darn cute that we forgive them and do a big old Kerouac *Awww!!!*.

Opa wants a Belgian Sheppard, one with *spunk*. Fine. Thank God that puppies are cute, for an 81 year old neat freak with a dog that has *spunk* could be a questionable road to walk down.

Keeping in it that Kerouac mode, here we go, down the road.

Uh, Gee, Oh…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-10-2010

I called Opa yesterday. We ( The Boy, The Father and I ) had a great time there on Sunday night, playing cards- finally rik-ing, my favorite card game and simply an Uber- Brabant card game.

So I called, like one is supposed to, to say what a nice time we had.

And I had Opa on the phone simply boo- hooing away. He misses Oma terribly. In The Netherlands, Monday is wash your clothing day. He did that, he did the ironing, and then he rambled about, a lost and lonely soul. Inside, out to the yard, lost and so lonesome.

I could not think of two words to say to him and was very glad when his cel phone rang and he had to answer that call.

I had no idea what to say, for, in the end, there is nothing that one can say.

Next Sunday, he is going to drag out the REALLY old family photos for me. I have only seen them once, but there are interesting stories there, I remember that much. When enough time passes, I will ask about that crazy girl that Oma’s family kept, oh, locked up might be a nice way to put it.

Find things to look forward to, maybe that will work…

Work Work

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-10-2010

It seems that after one year and three months of unemployment, I shall be bringing in a paycheck once more.

Hey, it is a great excuse for not cleaning toilets…


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-9-2010

After only a four day vacation in Italy, The Boy is even more determined to be Italian.

As The Girl received a scooter when she turned 16, The Boy now wants a Vespa when he turns 16. He does not want that scooter that The Girl never learned how to use. Nope. He wants red Vespa.

He is looking for odd jobs to finance this project, but at 15, well, he sortof falls under the ubiquitous child labor laws .

I must say that I can see his point. Equal in the eyes of the parents and all.

He also has decided that for his gym suit next year he wants a training suit from the Naples soccer team. This may have been influenced by his addiction to the series *The Sopranos*.

Down in about as north as you can get in Italy without being in Switzerland, he ordered a pizza Neapolitan, The Boy loves olives and anchovies.

I know, he has to see the film *Breaking Away*, but he really does not care for biking.

It is right up there with beach volleyball.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-9-2010

The Boy

The Sound Of Silence

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-3-2010

I am constantly reminded of that Chinese proverb which says be careful what you wish for. I was so tired of The Dead Kitty Show ( one of those ASPCA programs) and then they put up Monkey City and I really missed The Dead Kitty Show, in those early hours of the morning.

The Father, The Girl and The Boy took off today for Italy. It is so quiet here. In a way, it is nice, no yelling, no screaming, Baby and I made ice cream, pizza today. She sings.

Me ? I know the good times are over, and have no idea where I am headed.

In a way, I like the quiet. I like knowing that for a few days, I don’t have to hide my emails, that I don’t have to make everything here private.

The other side of quiet is the loneliness.

But perhaps I have been alone longer than I realize.