Mermaid Maggie

If you were inside, looking out, it appeared to be the perfect summer day, but when you hit the outside, it was only around 50 degrees, so it was a little too cold to.... say, swim in a lake. I love to swim. I LOVE the water- I think I am part fish.

Growing up, my parents always let us go to the public swimming pool with them or with our friends. We would spend hours in the water. I took lessons and one summer I went through three levels in the first week- everyone was amazed that I took to swimming like...a fish takes to water (I hear all of you groaning!). And I am still just in love with the water. I love the ocean. I love to swim. I really do. The next place I move is going to be a water place- lake, ocean, the Irish Sea....

Daddy-O's mama, my Grandma F (NOT ever ever ever to be confused with the Shrews!!!), owned a house on a lake and we would swim there. I loved it. She had a pier and when you jumped off the end of it, there was no touching bottom. As a kid I always thought is was a bottomless pit because it was so deep Daddy-O couldn't even touch. Us kids, my bro, my and our cousins, would dare each other to try to swim down and touch to bottom and no one ever could (As an adult, it was probably a damn good thing we couldn't or we might have disrupted snakes!). There was also a shallow area and we could drag beach toys out and swim there, with water up to our knees.

At the deep end, though, was the magic. We were always allowed to jump off the deep end once or twice at the end of the swim day, into my dad's arms, before we went back up to Grandma F's house. As I got older and we could swim in the deep end, we would go to the floating raft with a diving board on it which was a few yards away from the pier's edge- though it always seemed further as a child. No wonder I was so thin then- we would swim out the float, climb up and jump in, tread water until everyone was in, then all scramble up on the float gain- first one on got to jump first and wait for everyone else. It was grand. (The only time I was ever freaked out about swimming off the pier was after I saw a movie called Joni, where a teen girl was paralyzed for life after swimming off a pier from a diving accident. I still think about it even today when I dive.)

Years later after Grandma F had moved, I would still go there to swim. I would knock on the neighbor's door and ask permission to swim. They would still remember me and my grandma F and let me use their pier, of course. One gentleman, who has since passed away, was elderly and didn't get down to the water much, so he loved it when I would come around. He would get to come down to the water and sometimes he would just sit and keep me company and other times he would venture into the water. When he couldn't get into the deep end but wanted the water, we would place a lawn chair in the shallows for him to sit in. And during the last years when he couldn't make the walk down the terrace to the water, I would bring back a bit of the water in a cup so he could smell it and touch it- he always said he liked the way the water felt and missed that. I would go just about 4-5 times a week- I would run out after work and take a quick dip, or if Mac was with his dad, I would go swim about a 1/2 hour before darkness fell. I loved having it all to myself. I would swim laps and different stokes. I would jump off the diving board or just sit in the shallows, and listen to the whippoorwills, or float on my back and watch the sun set and the moon rise.

After the neighbor died and the woman who had bought my Grandma F's house had sold it to someone else, I stopped going. I didn't know many people around there anymore and I am not sure they would remember I was Grandma F's granddaughter. But on a warm summer day, I would be on that lake and swimming and relaxing if I could. I miss those days.

Fish outta water,
Maggie

Really? Out of a jar?

Occasionally some childhood illusions are destroyed and it's not the end of the world, it just leaves ya scratching your head muttering, "Really? Are you serious? Really? Don't kid me, now. Really?"

Christmas is a time of family traditions, or it used to be for our family but some of those have gone by the way side, again, not the end of the world, but just different. When we were kids we could always go to my Grandma F's house (Daddy-O's mom) on Christmas Day afternoon. As my childhood mind recalls, we would have snacks and open gifts and then eat dinner later. Okay, makes sense.

One thing I always remember that we had at Grandma F's house was hot wassail in a big white soup tureen. We even would sing the Wassail song. Then it was served in pedestal tea cups with red cardinals on them, with a cinnamon stick. There was also a plate of cheese and crackers. The crackers were ones we never had any other time of the year- like vegetable crackers or cracked wheat. This was back in the late 70s and early 80s when there weren't 9000 kinds of crackers in the cracker aisle at the store; we had Ritz and Saltines, maybe Triscuts if the store was large enough. So at Christmas 'special holiday crackers' were available and Grandma F always had them. Now we would just call 'em wheat thins. The cheese ball was fancy looking and rolled in nuts, placed on a fancy plate with a paper doily. It had a good taste but nothing like I ever had anywhere else or any other time of year. And she was a doily sorta lady.

Well, Grandma F passed away about 16 years ago and recently I've come to figure out that the magical Christmas snacks of her house were completely and utterly NON-fancy. As Daddy-O said, "she wasn't much of a cook but she was all about presentation." The table was always glorious, we always had special holiday napkins and table favors, the food was always good but very simple.

The special cheese ball? Well, apparently the old gal would buy a few jars Kraft Pimento Cheese (I never knew there was such a thing until I saw it for myself in the grocery store!), chill it, and then form it into a ball and roll it through some chopped nuts: viola! A "homemade" cheese ball! And the wassail? Simply heated up apple cider from a local orchard that she threw some Cinnamon sticks into.

And do I even want to explain that her hamloaf, which was amazingly delicious, came from the butcher but all she did was bake it and dump pineapple over it? I don't even want to know if she really made the corn casserole or if it was 'fake' as well.

It has just made me laugh every time of think of these things because all these years I thought she made some secret special recipes that could never be duplicated yet the items have been on my local grocery stores shelves for years. I've a a good giggle all Christmas season about it; man did she have the wool pulled over my eyes! A few years ago I looked up how to make Wassail and I couldn't believe she would go to all that work and no wonder it was so yummy! Geez!

So I think New Year's Eve, I might make some of Grandma F's very special cheese ball and Wassail. I don't think it'll be too difficult.

Maggie

Planting the Shrew's

Though I guess technically the title of this post is a lie since we didn't stick them in the ground so they're 'planted'; they're interred in a mausoleum.

But I'm starting at the end of the story, rather than the beginning.

About a month or so ago Grandmother Shrew had a heart attack and went in the hospital and then she went into a nursing home, the same one where Grandfather Shrew was at.

She was there about a month and since they were all about saving money, she went home with a home health care nurse. Then 48 hours later she died in her sleep. There's some medical stuff that happened post-mortem (like a helicopter ride to a big hospital in Northern Civilization and sticking her accidentally on life support until all her paperwork was gathered and the DNR was found. But no one is mad at the hospital [that I know of] because she was at 4 or 5 medical facilities in the last six weeks, so who can blame 'em? And who really cares?)

So she died and my brother took care of all the funeral stuff. There wasn't much really since she and Grandfather Shrew had preplanned it and pre-paid it all. He only had to take care of some basics. My Grandmother Shrew had a cousin she was VERY close to and my Grandmother's best friend is the estate executor so those 2 ladies and my brother did it all. Which is fine with me, all things considered about how I felt.

Her viewing was last Sunday and I didn't go, which I'm sure comes as no surprise. I also made sure it was okay with my brother; the last thing in the world I want is a rift with him (he carries a grudge FOREVER). He was fine with it. Then, during the viewing, Grandfather Shrew died.

So, my brother (and the cousin and the executor) and the funeral home jumped through some hoops and got him ready. On Monday there was a brief viewing for him and then a double funeral for them both. I went to the funeral. That was it. I didn't do the viewings, the graveside service nor the church dinner.

They are dead.

After shooting off my mouth about them here in blog-land and well, everywhere else, I'm not sure of the appropriate way to say anything now. I certainly don't regret what I've said at all. My problem with how far to go it this: Sometimes my brother, and sister-in-law read this, so I don't want to just "hang it all out there" and upset them. But...

Let me think on what I want to say.

I did, however, want to give ya'll the details of their demises, since I put you all through their living-ness, which sometimes shouldn't be foisted on anyone. Sorry about that.

Alrighty then, more on this later, okay?

Maggie Mae

Voodoo isn't always a bad thing, right?

The above is my voodoo doll. Okay, I bought it for my folks when I was in The Big Easy about 10 years ago and after my post last week, Daddy-O dug it out.

But here's the news that's fit to print. Think I should or should NOT use the Ol' Black Magic?

• Sperm Donor had emergency surgery and came out fine. He was in the hospital for 5 days and was in a lot of pain but is home now.
• Grandma Shrew is in the hospital as well with some sort of flu. She was there for a whole day and never called anyone because she couldn't remember any numbers, even though I live at the same number my mother (her daughter) had for 40 years. I'm just too terrible of a human being to call apparently. (Actually it's a good thing she didn't call. I don't want that sort of responsibility to her.) She would rather sit in the hospital without her family knowing than call me. COOL!
  
• Trooper has not told me to go away, though his gun shy-ness is shining through, but he's sweet about it. he's such a... trooper. *giggle* (Oh come on! That was a great pun!)
  
• ItalianSam sent me an email about a job that he has connections to so I might actually get an interview, at least. It's in Wisconsin somewhere... And it was a nice olive branch from him.
  
• The insurance office might have a full time opening and I might be considered- if I want to become an insurance sales person... That would involve commission and more schooling.
• The ice cream owner has to have some medical stuff done and wants me to run the day to day operations while this happens.
• I can't find a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue that I bought for AIISam last March at duty free. I've had it here in my room since the break up and was going to give it to Farrago as a birthday gift and now it's missing. And no I didn't drink it.
• I can't find my tv remote, either.
• When I told the bank about all the hoops I have to jump through for that stupid fucking Verizon Wireless to give me the overdraft fees back, they just credited my checking account and told me to not worry about it.
• I almost have free Indianapolis Colts tickets and am taking Trooper there on a date, if they come through. Now, am I the coolest could be girlfriend in history? (I think he might consider drastic measures if I scored Packers tickets... HAHA!)
  

So, it's a mish- mash of all sorts of blessings and curses.

Witchy woman,
Maggie

Good deeds do not go unpunished

This is a pretty serious post. You have been warned. Who knows? Maybe it's in poor taste to post this but this is my spot to get stuff off my chest so here goes.

Three weeks before my mom died she asked her mom (my Grandma Shrew) for some money to pay a bill and promised to pay it back. It was a long story as to why but that doesn't matter anymore. I want to point out that my mom told Grandmother Shrew she would pay it back. I also want to say Grandmother and Grandfather Shrew (here on out, they're the Shrews) have MONEY. Big MONEY. Money out the ass. Money enough to loan $300 without feeling a pinch. Money enough to give that away to anyone monthly and never feel the pinch. Money enough that they bought a brand new Cadillac and paid in cash- C*A*S*H!! With the Shrews everything ALWAYS came with a price, and when I hit my teen years I figured that out. This is just another example that proves this.

The Shrews said no. And they said the consequences that came with not being able to pay the bill were her lesson to be learned.

Three weeks later my mom died.

We could say I've been pissed at the Shrews since then- and pissed would be putting it mildly. We then had a knock-down/ drag out fight on Christmas Eve the first holiday after mom died- just 3 months later. I stood up for myself as did Daddy-O. You gotta take a stand sometimes, right or wrong. Since then, I think I've talk to the Shrews a total of 5 times. At most. That fight was December 2006

Now let's fast forward to April 2009. Grandmother Shrew called me. She was crying and wanted to know why all this time I wouldn't talk to her. I didn't want to tell her about the mom/ money thing so I was vague. I don't know why. I was afraid she might lie and then it's her word against a dead woman's and then I would be REALLY pissed at her. So, one thing led to another and she and I were "yelling" at each other.

I'm sure you figured out there are other things Grandmother Shrew said and did to me and to my mother (and father) over the years that I'm not writing about here. There are and she did, but I just can't seem to write them here in black and white. This is personal enough. Assume the Shrews were not the best parents and grandparents in the world, and while that wasn't my cross to bear, they hurt my mother more than I can say and I become fiercely protective of those around me. I couldn't protect mom from them while she lived, but I know I can protect mom's memory. I stayed mad at the Shrews; right or wrong, it was my choice.

Now look back at last Monday- just a week ago. My Grandfather Shrew went to the hospital and he's dying. He's 83 and will never leave the hospital. He knows this. The man had 5 open heart surgeries among a whole host of other things; doctors never thought he would live this long.

Lately I've gotten several calls from folks who've encouraged me to be the one to make peace since he's dying- so I won't feel bad or guilt after he's gone. Makes sense, I guess. In ten years if I got over this, I can't make amends with a dead person, now can I? But was I ready to do it now? I swallowed my pride because the guy is dying. Maybe it's not about whether I was ready to make amends but do it because he's dying- and it would make him happy, according to these people who call, if I made up with both Shrews. I called my Grandmother Shrew on Friday night. I went to her house and we talked. I never told her about the being mad over money thing, because she is just a sad, old, sick lady so I kept that one detail to myself. I swallowed my pride and gave in to her, made peace with her. Sucked down my own feelings and did the right thing.

Grandmother Shrew and I made things right. It was the right thing for me to do. I thought. I guess.

Early Saturday morning, she calls and wants me to come to the hospital at 7 a.m. because Grandfather Shrew had a very bad night; he wanted to talk to me before "the end". So I went.

The long and the short of it is that he wanted to tell me he was very disappointed in how I lived my life, never settling down, not living like a good Christian. He said he was really disappointed that I never got my Masters degree and that I move around. He also said he was very hurt and upset over how I talked to my Grandmother Shrew in April so I was out of the will. Oh yeah, he said he still loved me but this was a way to teach me a lesson.

Wow. Dang.

I said okay. What what I supposed to say?

I stood up for myself but I swallowed my pride and tried to make it right. And I get disinherited.

And other than being hurt and stunned momentarily, I'm alright with it. I stood up for myself and am out. Everything will go to my brother, a few cousins, and their church, maybe their dog- who knows? Who cares? I can't be bought which makes me feel good. I said to Daddy-O months and months and months ago that my silence would probably get me disinherited and I was right. And I can live with it. Not that I have a choice, but rather than feeling bitter and angry, I'm good with the choices I made and the ending result if, I guess, no fault of my own, and I'm okay with it. I'd rather be poor and have my head up than have sucked up to them for money.

I will continue to try and keep lines of communication open with Grandmother Shrew after he's gone, but I'll be damned if I try and back pedal; after she and I talked on Friday I made a promise to her to stay in touch and I won't renege on that promise. I'll keep the story of the money to myself- being disinherited doesn't change the fact that she's just a sick, sad, old, mean lady. I won't suck up for money- I don't want it if it means I have to be a hypocrite. I won't be "bought" or controlled by money- what sad people they are to buy love, but then again, they've always done that. I think it's sad that on his death bed, that's the memory he wants to leave me with: that he thinks I'm a big, mean disappointment. Okay.

Weird the way things work, right?

I'm not trying to say I'm a great person. I'm not trying to say I deserve anything. I'm not saying I handled this entire thing the right way. But I did stand up what I believed in, and I tried to do the right thing, in my own way. I'm not any more rich nor poor than I was yesterday or last week or tomorrow. That's it.

Maggie

Over the river and through the woods [with vodka] to grandmother's house we go!

Today is the annual be made to feel guilty and be miserable Christmas celebration. It's on the calendar, I'm sure of it! Is there a Hallmark card for this celebration? It's also known, in my case, as a visit to grandmother's house.

Also, in my world, it's "OOOOOOOOO, grandmother, what a big mouth you have!!! OOOOOOOOOO, grandmother, what a heart of stone you have!" Ah, don't you just love a holiday that pulls the family together?

After she and Daddy-O had a row last year on X-Mas eve that was somehow my fault, it took us 4 months to speak to each other and now we talk about twice a month on the phone. It was easy when I lived in the Wild West and there were 2000 miles separating us, though sometimes that just wasn't enough. Now that I live in Civilization again, I'm practically in her backyard. Thank the shoe gods that I know the times and location of the nearest shoe stores. And liquor stores. And AA meetings, because living this close to her I'll probably need all three!

So this afternoon while ya'll are sipping eggnog and hugging your loved ones I'll be dodging verbal bullets over my hair, my weight, my lack of permanent job, Mac, and and anything else. Maybe this is the year I could give her the gift of my atheistness? Alright, I'm just kidding because I'm sure it would give my brother Guard a heart attack. My grandmother loves him and his family to pieces, thankfully!, and I just don't want to make them miserable.

I'll be good. And bring my own "water" bottle!

Think anyone would notice if I spiked the eggnog? Oh damn, we never HAVE eggnog!

Happy Merry Christmas Eve!

Tipple to me,
Maggie