Dad — Page 24

Riley’s Dish Garden

November 12, 2012 at 8:04 am by Claudia

This was Riley’s dish. That boy loved to eat and this battered, not-very-attractive dish was his version of a plate. When he was able to navigate easily, I would fill it with food and place it on the rug by the kitchen sink. It was easier for him to stand there. When he couldn’t get up and down quite as easily in the last month or so of his life, I would take the dish to him and he would chow down right there from his perch on the rug.

I can’t throw it away. It’s my boy’s dish. Just as I saved some locks of his hair and his collar, I am hanging on to his dish.

But what to do with it other than storing it in a cupboard?

I had an idea. It reminds me of a planting dish, so off I went to a local nursery. I bought some succulents and some special potting soil.

Each of the plants came in a terra cotta pot with little rocks on top of the soil. I shook out all the rocks and added them to the bottom of the bowl for drainage.

Then I filled the bowl with plants and soil.

While I was doing all of this, Don and Scout were out on the porch with me. Ever the blogger, I picked up the bowl to find the place to photograph it. As I set it down on the bench, this happened:

Immediately. Our girl misses her brother.

Riley’s Dish Garden

Yes, there are prettier planting dishes – I have several McCoy planting dishes right here in the cottage. But this may be the most loved planting dish to be found anywhere.

It helps a great deal. Creating this garden is a fitting tribute to my Riley.

Miss you, my dear, sweet boy. With all my heart.

dogdishcollage

Happy Monday.

A Memo to All Audience Members

May 17, 2012 at 8:22 am by Claudia

A Memo to all Audience Members (past, present and future):

1. Do not leave your cell phone on during a performance. (The woman across the aisle from me received two calls during the show.)

2. Do not put your phone on vibrate. Your fellow audience members can hear that sound. So can the actors. (A man to my left had a vibrating phone. Thankfully, he left at intermission.)

3. Do not text or check your phone for new emails, texts, etc. during a performance. That blue glow is clearly visible. Besides, it’s rude. You’re either present or you’re not. If your phone is more important, leave.

4. SHUT IT OFF.

5. Do not bring your laptop to the theater and continue to work on it until the lights have gone down, then close it and lay your head on it because you’re bored. Is your work that important? Are you the President? (Again, it happened last night.)

6. Do not unwrap throat lozenges or candies during the show. I can assure you, after years of working in theater both onstage and off, we can hear that sound. It’s annoying. If you think you’re going to need a cough drop, unwrap it ahead of time.

7. And my biggest pet peeve: The performers onstage have worked long and hard to entertain you. You have been given the gift of a live performance. That particular performance will never happen again. It’s something you’ve shared for a moment in time with the actors on stage. When the actors come out for a curtain call, please do not miss it because you have already left your seat so you can be the first person out to the parking lot. Really? You’re not going to acknowledge those actors, show them that you appreciate their work, their talent? You’ve managed to stay in the theater through the end of the show and you can’t wait for the 3 minutes more it will take to clap your hands? If I’m an actor onstage, I can see you leaving. It’s disheartening. If I’m in the audience and you’re up and on your way out, thereby blocking my view of the stage, I’m going to be pissed off. The other night, a woman got up, I could see it coming, and I shouted out (under cover of applause) “Applaud!” I don’t think she knew who said it, but she stopped – for a moment – and applauded.

Think twice before you do that. By not remaining to applaud the actors, you’ve not taken part in the whole experience. And you’ve been rude to the actors, or musicians, or performers. It’s not right.

End of memo.
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On another note. You know those moments when you have a doubt or misgiving about what you wrote in a post? I had that last night. I have a quirky sense of humor and it has kept me sane over the years. My dad is a wonderful guy who is going through his own particular hell right now. He does the best he can in the face of tremendous heartbreak. I love him dearly and do everything I can to help him through this. Since I am far away, I call him every day. We talk a lot. Lately, he’s been haunted by World War II. He’s been having nightmares. So we’ve been talking about the war. He’s also been sharing memories of his childhood. I remember that my grandmother did the same thing. As she neared the end of her life, she needed to talk about things that had happened long ago.

I know my dad’s situation is sad. Many of you remarked on that. It’s more than sad, it’s depressing, it’s heartbreaking, it’s never out of my mind. Nor is my mother’s. In the face of all of that, along with a host of other worries, like how do I pay the bills next month, I have to find any glimmer of humor that I can. So does my sister. Our sense of humor has carried us through a lot of heartbreak.

Anyway, if you read this blog regularly, you’ve witnessed my sense of the absurd many times. I hope you didn’t take what I wrote in the wrong way. (I get worried about things like this.) I’m actually rather proud of my sense of humor. My husband is the funniest person I know (a sense of humor was my most important requirement in a husband) and I can make him laugh. Can’t help it – I go for funny. It’s in my DNA.

Oh, and when I spoke of Drumsticks yesterday, I meant the ice cream cones.

Thanks for listening.

Happy Thursday.

Cue Mike Douglas

May 16, 2012 at 9:35 am by Claudia

First of all, I need to point out that BlogHer is doing an ad campaign for Drumsticks, with quotes from bloggers. Hello??? I have written extensively on this blog about my love for Drumsticks. Who better to talk about them than me? I am an authority on Drumsticks. I can talk about them for hours. I can wax rhapsodic about their perfection. Harumph!

I’m out of town, as you know. Since my mom has been in the nursing home, my dad and I usually talk on the phone at least once a day, sometimes more. He’s getting frailer and more overwhelmed by his situation. Sometimes our talks are fairly calm, at other times, Dad is upset or crying or saying he wants to die. The other night, after a long day of rehearsal, we were having a conversation of the latter sort. I spent quite a while talking to my dad, offering sympathy, trying to buck him up, trying to get a word in edgewise in the midst of his rising distress. When my dad gets like that, I have to ‘talk him down.’ It’s always been that way. It was an upsetting conversation. I felt depressed.

No sooner had I hung up when the phone immediately rang again. It was my husband. Shouting. One might even say screaming. “How do you turn off the alarm, how do you turn off the alarm????” He was in a panic. He had been cooking and a pan started smoking and the smoke alarm went off, thereby setting off the alarm system for our house. He was shouting so much that I had to top him vocally to get him to hear me. I tried shouting the code to him while he let out a string of curse words. Meanwhile, he told me the alarm company had called and they were sending out the fire department. He tried to get them to cancel the call, but he didn’t know if it was going to work. The alarm was still going off. I shouted instructions to him. He said he’d try the code and get back to me. If it had been a movie, I would have shaken him and slapped him across the face to stop the hysteria.

He called back, still cursing, and said that he could hear the sound of the fire truck in the distance. Our little volunteer fire department, no doubt having to leave a peaceful dinner with their families in order to respond to the alarm. “They’re coming! I can hear them! They just went by! Now they’re coming back! They’re here!” Again, I had to shout. “Well, go out there! Go talk to them!” He hung up.

Eventually, husband called back and told me that the captain had been very understanding. Don had apologized profusely. The alarm had stopped. Don was calmer. God knows what the dogs were thinking.

I remarked that in the space of approximately 10 minutes I had been forced to deal with two men who had temporarily lost their minds. The two men closest to me had become unhinged. If they had been in the room with me, I would have to do some non-face-slapping-face-slapping, if you know what I mean. Then I remembered that old song (which I detested) that Mike Douglas sang, The Men in My Little Girl’s Life. I made up new lyrics:

The men in my little girl’s life, the nutso men in my little girl’s life…

Don chimed in.

The men in my little girl’s life, the insane men in my little girl’s life…

The men in my little girl’s life, the crazy, demanding men in my little girl’s life….

There were more versions. You get the picture. If you don’t know this song, google it. I bet it’s out there somewhere, just waiting for you to give it a listen. It’s dreadful. But it made us laugh. I can even get my Dad to laugh sometimes. That makes me happy because laughter is indeed the best medicine.

Do I need to add that I can be just as nuts at times? Of course not.

As to my dad, we are all doing everything we can for him. He’s hanging in there. My sense of humor is what keeps me sane in the midst of all of this. If I didn’t look at things through a humorous prism, I’d be a goner.

Have a good Wednesday.

Riley’s Dish Garden

A Memo to All Audience Members

Cue Mike Douglas

Lambs Like to Party

A Note

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