Category Archives: Family

February 7, 2013 · 0:00

Hey Doc? Don’t Pass the Parcel!

One of the first birthday parties my son Jacob went to was for a little British boy who was living near us in Connecticut. One of the highlights of Josh’s party was that we played “Pass the Parcel.”

Pass the Parcel is the British non-violent equivalent of Musical Chairs. There was a large lumpy parcel, wrapped loosely in newspaper – inside was a treasure. Music was played, and the parcel was passed from hand to hand until the music stopped. When it did, whoever held the parcel removed a layer of wrapping, and the music started again. Ultimately a wonderful treasure I have long since forgotten was revealed and given to the kid who removed the last bit of wrapping on the parcel.

I quickly realized that Pass the Parcel had Musical Chairs beat. I am also sure that Vickie K would agree. She was the poor birthday girl I propelled across the room at her 6^th birthday party when I snagged the last remaining chair when the music stopped. I wonder why I wasn’t invited to her 7th birthday party.

But actually, today I realized that I don’t like Pass the Parcel after all. You see, today I realized that I AM the bloomin’ parcel.

Some of you may know that I have been a bit under the weather lately. I have Crohn’s Disease, which sucks. Things in my gut have been a little too active lately. Which in turn makes me rather inactive, as in sleepy. Naturally, being the smart girl that I am, I called my doctor. Doctors. I have a lot of them.

In the past two months I have visited my internist, who passed the parcel to my gastroenterologist.

I visited my gastroenterologist who passed the parcel to my urologist and passed the parcel to a radiologist (who I assumed was connected to the barely visible face behind the window of the radiology lab I was in).

The gastroenterologist read the report from the previous parcel holder and passed the parcel again. This time to my gynecologist.

I must admit that being passed once again was once too much for me. I lost it. I burst into tears, wondering if these doctors have any clue what it is like to be a patient. If they have any clue what it is like to be a goddamn parcel, passed from latexed gloved-hand to latexed gloved-hand. I don’t think they do.

So tonight I am rethinking my health care options. And I see changes in my future.

Because I know one doctor I can go to who will look at my entire body. He will press my abdomen, my lumpy bits. He will look at my teeth, my eyes, my nether regions. He will look into my eyes, clip my toenails and check all the areas that need attention. He will not send me to other specialists because he specializes in everything. He will not send me out for tests because he knows how to do them and will do them right there in his office. All I have to do is not bite him.

Yup, next time around, I’m going to my vet for my healthcare.

Our vet is a man
and Cooper is really much more handsome.

My dog, Cooper is nearly 105 years old. He is declining, but hey, he is 105 years old! But no matter what is wrong with him, we take him to the same place, and Dr. C. looks at him, figures out what is wrong with Coops, prescribes the medicine, fills the bottles with pills, and sends us all on our way. When the time comes, the vet will give Cooper a peaceful end.

So yeah. Next time I’m sick, I’m going to the vet. I won’t even have to say a word.

93 Comments

Filed under Dogs, Family, Health and Medicine, Hey Doc?, Humor, Pets

Tagged as Dogs, Health, Humor

January 19, 2013 · 0:00

Appreciation

For a while, I’ve kind of wondered why the issue of gun sanity makes me so, well, crazy mad. More than any of the other issue I feel strongly about, this one runs the deepest in my heart.

But thanks to Lisa of Life with the Top Down who commented on my last gun control piece and told the story of her father-in-law leaving a loaded gun in a drawer where her young son found it, I figured it out. (Lisa’s story ended happily, thankfully.)

Yes Lisa reminded me of one of my own stories. One of my earliest memories, in fact. A clear as a bell memory where I am inside my own head as I acted out the events. Remembering it made me wonder if this might explain why I feel so strongly that guns should be handled, well, differently in the U.S. than they are today.

So here is my story.

It was summer, probably 1960, but maybe 1959. I was playing in my backyard with Debbie A who lived next door. I didn’t really like Debbie. Nobody did. She was argumentative and we always fought. Everyone always fought with Debbie. But that day, Debbie said something that made me mad. Really, really mad. And so I went into the house to get my Dad’s gun so I could shoot her. I don’t remember wanting to kill her; I just wanted to shoot her.

I went into the house, past my mother who was doing dishes, watching us out the back window. And I opened the drawer where I knew my dad kept his gun. He had been in the Navy in WWII, and he had kept his gun. I knew that. I was sure of it. And I knew exactly where it was, too. It was in the bottom drawer in the den. And I was gonna get it.

But I couldn’t find it anywhere. I emptied the drawer but couldn’t find it. I asked my brother, Fred, who tried to help me find it. Finally I asked my mother, who told me with a laugh, “there’s no gun in this house!”

I was crushed. Disappointed. I really wanted to shoot Debbie.

Years later I told my Dad the story. His eyes widened when he thought of what might have been. Would I have accidentally shot myself? Would I have mistakenly blown my wonderful brother away? Would my mother have been blasted as I headed out the door to shoot Debbie?

Would I have shot Debbie?

Dad told me that he had kept his navy revolver, but only for a short while. When my mother first got pregnant he got rid of it. “Kids and guns don’t mix,” he said. “That’s a recipe for disaster.” He was right.

I was 3-1/2. What would my life have been like had I found the gun? How many other lives would have been ended or ruined by my action? My really delightful childhood would have been much, much different if I had murdered someone before even starting kindergarten.

So today, on “Gun Appreciation Day” I celebrate my Dad, who was a smart guy. Thanks Dad, for protecting me (and who knows who else) from myself. Because you were right — kids and guns don’t mix. Trouble is, a lot of the adults who have them don’t mix well with guns, either.

This song is about fathers. Not guns. It is beautiful, though. And it makes me think of my Dad and the wise choices he made that helped me navigate life.

84 Comments

Filed under Childhood Traumas, Criminal Activity, Family, Gun control, Neighbors, Stupidity

Tagged as Bad days, Crazy people, Family, Gun control

January 17, 2013 · 0:00

Some Things Do Change With Age

Before 1986 there were two things in life I was certain about. Things I never got wrong on a pop quiz. Things that I could recite in my sleep.

First my name. Elyse Ellen E….

When I got married I didn’t have to change my name. That was until the woman I worked for at the time announced that I absolutely could not change my name. So naturally the decision was made and I changed it.

Besides, nobody ever pronounced my maiden name correctly; it drove me crazy. Nobody pronounces my married name right either, but it’s John’s name not mine, so I don’t care. Butcher away, folks.

The second thing I always got right was my birthday. January 18, 1957. Simple. Easy. I had a document from the State of Connecticut with a raised seal to prove that I was born on that date around 3 a.m. in the morning (sorry Mom and Dad). But I didn’t know that I would end up changing my birthday when I got married too.

Actually, I can blame this one on the same boss. It was Anna’s fault. Yup.

The summer before we got married, I was working as a high level lobbyist and John was a lowly government employee. OK, actually, I was a lowly lobbying flunky and John was pretty high up in the U.S. government. But still.

One afternoon when I was supposed to meet John for some wedding prep stuff, something earth-shatteringly important happened involving my job. It was so vitally important to the rest of the history of the world that I can’t at this moment quite put my finger on just exactly what it was.

Anyway, we were supposed to go to the DC City Office and get our marriage license. Now stop it, readers. This event was nothing like you see in those old movies, with movie stars in great hats.

Really, there was nothing romantic about it at all. I don’t think. Not so I’ve heard, anyway.

So anyway, John got our marriage license, and we got married a month or so later in a lovely church service in the church where John’s parents had been married 40 years earlier. Family and friends were in attendance.

All was good until my birthday rolled around, when John made a major confession.

“Ummm, Lease,” he said quietly. “When I got the marriage license, I mistakenly put down January 17^th not 18^th as your birthday.”

“You what?”

“Yeah. Oops. I guess that means that either your birthday is January 17^th or we’re not married.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it just means that I married an idiot.”

We would have happily left it at that if it hadn’t been for my family. They betrayed me. Each and every one of them called me on the 17^th to wish me a Happy Birthday that year — thinking my new husband would be taking me out to dinner on my actual birthday January 18th.

I have a large family. Even distant cousins nine times removed called on the 17^th.

“See,” John said proudly, “I was right. Your birthday is obviously on the 17^th because everybody is calling to wish you a happy birthday!”

This scene has been replayed every blippin’ year for 25 years. This year it will be an even 26 birthdays. And never a call on the 18th.

To make matters worse, though, I put the final nail in my own coffin myself last year. You see, I wanted to let all my bloggin’ buddies know it was my birthday. Plus I needed to address the glaring issue of my stupid blog name. And so I wrote this post: People My Age.

And because I didn’t know how to schedule posts in those days, and because a lot of my readers were from Europe and Asia, well, I posted it on January bloody 17th.

So this year I’ve given up. My birthday is January 17th from now on. Or the 18th. Whenever. Gifts will be gracefully received all month long, however.

96 Comments

Filed under Bloggin' Buddies, Family, Humor, Stupidity

Tagged as Aging, Boomerism, Family, Humor, Middle-Aging, Stupidity

January 11, 2013 · 0:00

Marriage Strains?

There’s nothing like the sound of young love.

Well, except when I try to eavesdrop on my son and his girlfriend. Then the sound of young love – “dub step” — is, well, not “moon/June/spoon”- inducing.

Back when John and I fell in love, well, things were different. Music was wonderful, made to share. And so I did.

About three months after John and I started dating, I made him a tape. (For the youngin’s amongst us, it’s like a portable playlist that can be played on any appropriate device available in the prehistoric period in which your parents were, ummm, young.) Yes, I made my love a cassette tape of my very favorite songs from that and every era. It contained, among other songs, the following:

Juice Newton, The Sweetest Thing

Joni Mitchell, A Case of You

Bonnie Raitt: Home

Linda Ronstadt: Blue Bayou

It was too late when I learned that not only did John not love the songs I loved, he hated them. Every single one of them. Over the years, he has solidified his position. For example, John has threatened to divorce me should I sing Blue Bayou within range of his supersonic ears, an approximate 5 square mile range.

Let me tell you this: It is not an ideal situation for a critically acclaimed former singer to be banned from singing her favorite songs. Especially when the ban includes those rare times when I am actually doing housework. It has been a rather sticky issue for 26 years now.

I try to be accommodating because I am wonderful. And because I have a huge repertoire of first verses of songs that will get stuck in John’s head for when he really pisses me off. John has been accommodating by vacating the house immediately when I begin singing/playing/thinking about any of these songs. Generally he is in search of a divorce lawyer.

But you know what? Payback is hell.

You see, in the past, I’ve often told John that he needs to outlive me, because I don’t want to have to deal with all our financial issues. Seriously — I haven’t balanced a checkbook since we got married, and I don’t intend to start.

But now, after reading an article in today’s Reuters.com, I’m reconsidering my position on who gets to “go” first. You see, I read that there is:

No rest for the dead with surround-sound coffin

Because now I can get John a specialty coffin complete with seriously impressive stereo speakers, hooked up to the latest iPod/music technology. And I will get to choose the playlist.

I wonder if I can find that cassette.

I promise I will only need one.

Payback is, literally, hell.

89 Comments

Filed under Family, Health and Medicine, Humor, Mental Health, Music, Technology

Tagged as Humor, Marriage, Pushing Buttons, Technology

January 8, 2013 · 0:00

The Voice of the Problem

When I wrote a post on the night of the shootings about the fact that members my family grew up in Newtown and went to Sandy Hook Elementary School, I was touched by the comments of most of you.

One commenter I’d never heard from before, took the opportunity to make my comments section into her platform for how very safe she feels because she packs a gun. I tolerated her for as long as I could, mostly trying not to vomit at the comments. She berated me for my opinions, telling me in bad grammar that I was ignorant.

I am not ignorant. I have done the research. I even put some of it into the comments that she found so ignorant. Here’s the post, although the comments, which were mostly answered in those damn Word Press bubbles, do not appear in the order they were received. And since some of them required me to breathe deeply into a paper bag filled with Xanax, they were answered fairly randomly.

*****

As a news junky I am constantly reading about the incredibly stupid things normal people do with guns. People who mean no harm, who only mean to keep themselves and their families safe.

There was the man I wrote about in my first piece on gun control, Gunsmoke. He shot himself in the femoral artery while unbuckling his seat belt in a grocery store parking lot. His wife was inside shopping, and their four kids watched their father die stupidly.

There was the guy who was hanging out with his friends and demonstrated the infallibility of his gun’s safety by putting the safety on, pointing the gun at his temple, and pulling the trigger. His friends were quite impressed, I’m quite sure. He will never know.

And then along comes this guy, who gives a face and a voice to everything stupid about the crazy gun crowd.

In case you are on the fence on whether or not assault weapons should be banned, take a listen to someone who thinks they should not.

And then see if you can believe badly enough of George W. Bush, that you will go along with Alex Jones’ depiction of what happened on September 11, 2001, and therefore, why, really, we all need assault weapons.