Thursday, April 28, 2011

Today dad I both lost about a year off our lives.  After my shower today I was dancing and singing my way through his basement “auto part store” back to my bedroom.  Naked.  He wasn’t.

The rubber chicken circuit is alive and well in Omaha.  By that I mean the tasteless convention room luncheons inserted into an “information packed and valuable meeting” yet are really just networking events.  I’ve been to every single one in Omaha since March 1.  Hell, I feel like I’ll even go to the opening of an envelope to have the opportunity to meet new folks and connect.  I like the ones that serve wine.  It makes the meeting portion more palatable and keeps me from yawning the whole time.

These gatherings have led me to make a decision however.  Most of these networkers are small businesses.  Most of their sales pieces and processes are pretty bad.  Just because you know how to sell financial services does not mean you know how to market your business.  I can help.  I have decided to start my own business as Marketing Strategies for Small Businesses.  Small budgets deserve smart marketing, too.  I can do this.  I can have a job.  I may also be staying in my parents’ basement for WAAAAY longer that I had hoped since I will not be a success overnight.  Note to self:  Protect dad’s ticker for the duration of my stay; Wear a robe from bathroom to bedroom.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

If ever one comes to visit and we are dead, it’s dad’s fault.  I woke this morning with a pounding headache and wondered if perhaps it was a hangover.  It was.  A hangover from noxious, chemical, motor fumes.  Dad was up early this morning and by 8:00 a.m. had poisoned all the breathable air in the entire house – up and down stairs.  I have no idea what all he was doing and with what, yet it wasn’t until he came in for dinner that the odor dissipated…and somehow turned up as a flavor in the Easter dinner I prepared.  I still have a headache.

Does bird poop take the paint off a car?  And why does a broken old wooden boat with cow poop in it get a covered garage space and my car doesn’t?  AND why can’t bird poop be all black instead of white…so at the very least it will blend with the color of my car?  When I was in London on a college trip a pigeon pooped on my head.  For real. That’s how I feel every day when I walk out to my car and there is bird poop on it.  When I lived in Atlanta, I hated when it rained because it made my car dirty.  Now living in Omaha, I pray for rain to wash the bird poop off my car.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Evidently it is important to wear items of clothing that broadcast the words Nebraska or Huskers or Go Big Red or Black Shirts when one lives in Nebraska.  I cannot go anywhere in Omaha without seeing a handful of such walking advertising. Yesterday I experienced what very well may have been a world record for the number of folks wearing Nebraska stuff.  Dad took me to the annual spring “Red and White” football game in Lincoln. 

At this game, there is no real opponent.  The Nebraska Football team splits up into two teams and they play each other in an exhibition game.  $10 a ticket. So, instead of seeing a handful of rival shirts, coats, hats, foam fingers, all one can see is Nebraska stuff and corn cob hats.  Yesterday was represented with about 67,000 in Memorial Stadium and many, many more outside it.  A sea of red.  I recall years ago someone said that if a bomb were dropped on Lincoln on a game day, the whole of the Nebraska population would be gone.  There is a smidgeon of truth here.

Have I mentioned that dad is the one who donated my party gene?  We lucked out with a great parking spot ($5 can you believe it???) and proceeded to bar hop for a few hours before the 1:00 game.  He Bloody’s, I orange beers. 

Now, I must brag that it was me who invented orange beers when I was a student at the University of Nebraska in the 80s.  Really.  The weekend morning beer of choice in Nebraska is, of course, a red beer – that’s beer and tomato juice.  I cannot tolerate tomato juice and necessity being the mother of invention; I wanted my special morning beer, too.  I have introduced orange beer not only in Nebraska, but also in Kansas City, Atlanta, Nashville, around Florida, Mexico, California and I think even France. 

The special at the top of the menu at Brewsky’s was a bowl of chili and a cinnamon roll.  I do not know why I found this hilarious and enticing at the same time but I did.  Next time.  Today is was a Rueben sandwich – the Omaha creation that I haven’t been able to enjoy anywhere but in Nebraska.  Oh yeah, you can order a Rueben sandwich most anywhere in the US…they are just not as good.  Sorry.  They’re not.

Dad scored us great seats.  East side, 50 yard line, 9^th row.  Weather was perfect.  So perfect that by 5 minutes, 30 seconds into the 2^nd quarter, dad was napping.

There is a very large contingent of the Nebraska population who think wearing sweat clothes and pajama bottoms in public is acceptable.  Although I did get a chuckle from the gal sporting the t-shirt which read, “Not everything is flat in Nebraska.”

At a Nebraska game most all little girls wear Nebraska Cheer leader outfits with outrageously fabulous shoes – glitter, sparkles, flowers, and bows.  Love little girl shoes!

The Football cheerleaders, however, leave a lot to be desired.  Seems the only choice they can make is weather to be blonde or brunette, other than that they all look alike.  Same clothes, hair style, figure, face….perhaps they are sisters from the Stepford Sorority.  And their routines?  Yawn.  The lady behind me said a cheerleader died not too long ago while practicing flips and such…back when they had guy cheerleaders, too.  So big brother descended upon the Nebraska cheer squads to eliminated tumbling and guys and brought in the genetically engineered variety. Tsk. I witnessed a little girl cheerleader melt down in the restroom and her routine was way more fun and exciting.  (S’ pose her mom didn’t think so, though.)

I had a blast at the game and can’t even tell you who won.  Dad said that probably more than half of the folks who go to Nebraska games are there for the party only.  That would be me, too.

Friday, April 15, 2011

5:45 p.m. and I’m cooking dinner, mom’s filling the coffee pot and dad has a small boat battery next to the kitchen sink.  Dad’s attire for the day is blue tattered coveralls with an inside-out, what used to be gray sweatshirt over the top.  And work gloves.  Black work gloves, covered with black stuff.  How do I know this?  When he walked over to what used to be the utensil drawer, next to the stove where I am cooking, to pull out a mini flashlight, he left black smudges on the drawer face.  He used the light to deduce the battery needed water. So he proceeded into the dining room where mom’s plants are and fetched her watering can. Whilst filling the battery he scraped gunk off the top of the battery onto the kitchen floor.  While I was waiting for the gunk to corrode a hole into the floor, he gathered the battery and traipsed through the family room out into the garage.  In his wake:  black smudge on drawer face, watering can on kitchen counter, battery water and black stuff on the kitchen counter, particles of corrosion on the kitchen floor, hence on the bottom of his shoe, hence rubbed into the family room carpet on the way out to the garage.  Yet, he put the flashlight away.

My dinner tonight consisted of an audio sandwich.  The kitchen table is smack in the middle of mom’s TV in the family room and dad’s TV in the living room.  Mom had her volume up very loud because she wanted to hear more about Catherine Zeta Jones’ bi-polar episode.  Dad was watching the Yankees at his typical loud volume.  The three of us were at the table eating dinner. Conversation was yelling.  I feel a bit nauseous and dizzy.  I’m thinking it is not because of my cooking.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

I love to cook! And I haven’t for a very long time, so it is my pleasure to cook for my folks when the three of us are home for dinner.  They are so appreciative.  Cooking to me is very intimate – it’s a way I love on people.  So you can understand that I can’t wait to get in the kitchen and cook it up with friends and family.  That, with a good bottle of red (or two), is a perfect evening for me.

Cooking for mom and dad is improving my eye-hand coordination.  Or creating it, I’m not sure I had any to begin with.  There are two cupboards I get into a lot.  The one with the zipper plastic bags, plastic wrap, aluminum foil and garbage bags and the one with the Tupperware.  Both have a filing system of “just shove it in and slam the door.”  They are on my to-do list for reorg, yet for the time being, it’s open, catch, slam.  Open, shove back in, catch another, slam.  Hey, I think my under arm flab might be getting a workout, too!

Monday, April 11, 2011

My dad has a difficult time throwing stuff away.  And he is a collector.  I fear we will be on the TV show Hoarders soon. 

When I moved in a tad over a month ago, I cleaned out the basement bathroom to make room for my stuff.  My sister still had stuff in there and I figured since she has been gone from this house for over 15 years, it would be ok if I got rid of her old blow dryer and banana hair clips.  I put them in a bag, in the garage, to take to the Good Will.  Yesterday they appeared in the house, on the dining room table.  Eyebrows raised in question, I showed them to mom.  Eyeballs rolling upward, “I told you your father can’t throw anything away.”  “But mom, you and I have short hair and dad has none.”  We both sigh.

Yesterday, he was at the kitchen sink washing off a couple of golf balls.  “Going to play golf dad?” I asked.  “Nah  (really long pause).  I take the dogs for a walk in the golf course (really long pause) and pick up balls as I find them.”  I asked him why and he explained to me that one day he may play golf.  (Recall my dad has macular degeneration and cannot see to play golf.)  He deposited the clean balls into the kitchen’s bottom junk drawer….along with the MANY others.

There are nine drawers in the kitchen.  Four of them are junk drawers.  Forty-four percent of my mom’s kitchen storage has been commandeered by my dad’s batteries, flashlights, duct tape, golf balls, fuses, tools, sunglasses, unidentified objects and a piece of old toast.  All her cooking utensils were in a drawer beside the stove.  Handy place for them.  This week when I started cooking for the family, I opened the drawer to retrieve a spatula.  I pushed aside a gazillion batteries, a lamp socket, shoe laces, plug adaptors and an old candy bar to find the spatula, WAAAAY in the back.  It was covered with something sticky and black and had another piece of old toast stuck to it.  I threw it away and used a spoon from another drawer instead.

Saturday, April 09, 2011

Skidmarks.  Short and long.  Mostly straight.  Wide and thin.  I added double bleach to dad’s underwear laundry load.  There are some things you really don’t want to see or know about your dad.  Gross whitey tighty skidmarks are one.  Eeewww.  I have been married and have always done the laundry.  If this were a medaled sport, dad wins Gold.

Now I know why mom says she hates having her picture taken and looking in the mirror.  Cuz she looks 74 yet feels 25.  Reality (and our interpretation of it) is a shock to the system.  Because I am a woman “of a certain age” I can see far away fabulously.  It’s the close up stuff I have serious problems with.  When in SanFran recently, my sister licked her thumb and proceeded to wipe off mascara specks around my eyes, giving me crap about make up application.  So, when I got home I bought one of those magnifying, light-up, make-up mirrors.  The mascara issues are over, thank GOD, because now I have way bigger issues like huge pores, cavernous eye and lip wrinkles, nose hair and I am growing a mustache!!! That the eyes go at a certain age, I have decided, is God’s way of making aging a bit more palatable.  If we can’t see it, we don’t worry about it.  The magnifying make-up mirror is a product of the devil.

A couple of days ago I decided to start my own business.  Marketing for Small Businesses.  I’m moving my office upstairs to the dining room table.  I’m excited and scared at the same time.  Good time to be living with mommy and daddy!!!

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

They each took a pull off the Jagermeister bottle as they said their final farewells. My BFF buried her German grandmother today.  Oma she was called.  Oma was a great grandma because she introduced us to Jagermeister.  When we were 14.  Like I said, she was a great grandmother.  She kept a bottle chilled in her fridge for stomach upsets.   We spent a few evenings with Oma.  Yes, you do have the right picture.  Here’s to you, Oma!

There was a car part in the kitchen sink today.  I found it when I was preparing dinner.  “Where did you find this!?” my dad drilled.  “In the sink, of course,” I replied, “have you been looking for it?”  He closely analyzed it like I may have broken it.  It was no bigger than the width of a pencil eraser and thinner than most watch parts. “Dad, what is it?”  “It’s a keeper,” he replied.  Well obviously, the way he was scrutinizing the thing.  “What do you mean, keeper?” “It slips over the end of a rod and keeps things from moving,” he explained.  Of course.  I really don’t know why I was surprised to find a motor part in the kitchen sink.  Dad had been toiling most of the afternoon on whatever machine it was, on the kitchen table! Welcome home, dad.

Saturday, April 02, 2011

“weareinmississippimom,” read the text.  They’re coming home.  I’m not sure how I feel about them coming home, now that I have dwelled alone in the basement for a month.  I could sleep in, stay out late, eat standing in front of the open refrigerator door all I wanted without them here.

Part of my deal is that I will be mom’s Bitch.  I told her that I would cook and do laundry for them while I am under their roof.  Mom commented on all my networking and meeting activities with this, “how are you going to fit in cooking for us?”  *sigh*  A deal is a deal, so I will have to figure something out. Maybe I’ll cook everything on Sunday and they can re-heat when I’m not around. 

“weareinconwayarkmom.”

So I guess I can expect them Monday or so.  I was so busy getting settled that I postponed the kegger and now it looks like that won’t happen.  At least until they go away again.

The bright spot in all of this is that I get to develop a deeper relationship with my folks AND get great fodder for this blog.

Ihopetohellidontregretthislori.