Yesterday was my dad's 84th birthday. I did not call him. I did not send him a present. Yeah, I feel bad about it. I sent him a birthday card, a post card, and his regular letter. I briefly considered sending him a potted plant, but when I asked Ben what he thought about that idea, he quickly vetoed it. And he was right. Last spring I took my dad some branches of blooming forsythia in a vase of water. They sat for weeks on his radiator until I removed them. Needless to say, they were quite dried out and dead by that time. I don't know why he left them like that, but he did. Maybe he figured I put them there, I could move them.
Dad doesn't make it easy. There is nothing he needs, but more importantly, there is nothing he wants. Last year, every time I went to visit him, I took him something. A new sweater. A beautiful quilt for his bed, which even Dad thought looked quite pretty. Soft, colored t-shirts so that he would quit wearing his white undershirts to dinner. I never saw him wear the sweater or the t-shirts. He returned the quilt to me and told me it was too heavy to sleep under. So he wears old sweaters over his undershirts, just like he always has. His bed is covered by a cheap, unzipped sleeping bag from Walmart. I never took him flowers again, needless to say.
Ben tells me all the time I should call my dad, and he is probably right. But I don't want to call my dad. He has never been good at talking on the phone, and he is even worse now. He has no small talk, nor is he interested in mine. That is why, really, the letters I send him on a regular basis are the perfect way to communicate with him. He can react to them - or not - any way he wants, and I won't ever know it.
These are my rationalizations for not calling my dad or sending him a gift for his birthday. Pick whichever one(s) work for you. They don't quite do it for me. On the positive side, today is the last day of February. Hooray for that, anyway.
Showing posts with label birthdays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthdays. Show all posts
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 28, 2010
yeah, it's still February, so this is how it goes
Yesterday was my dad's 83rd birthday. I called him in the morning to wish him a happy birthday, and to let him know that Ben and I would be driving out to see him and take him out to lunch. He expressed concern that the roads would be too bad, but I assured him we would be fine. "Well, that's great, " he said. "I'll be glad to see you." A promising start to the day, I thought, and after picking up cupcakes and sparkling water and birthday plates, napkins, and cups, we headed to Elyria.
Dad did seem genuinely glad to see us, but I was discouraged to see that, as for my last couple of visits, he wasn't wearing one of the nice, new sweaters I bought, but an ugly, heavy, untucked flannel shirt. He had a bad cold, he told us right away, everyone did in that pest house. I stifled a laugh as I thought, for god's sake, that's straight out of Charles Dickens. The Wesleyan Village could not be further from a pest house. I remarked that anywhere alot of people were living together - in a dorm, for example - winter illnesses were rampant. He seemed unpersuaded.
We took Dad to his favorite little restaurant for lunch, which he seemed to enjoy, remarking on how much better the food was there than where he lived. He allowed Ben to treat, which is unusual, but we insisted as it was for his birthday. When we got back to the Village, Dad seemed reluctant to return to his room, and took us on a slow, circuitous tour. Now, I have toured the facility probably four or five times, I was wearing a heavy coat (and it is warm in there) and I had to pee. Finally, there was nothing else for it: "I have to pee! Could we please go back to the room?"
Dad had arranged his desk chair and the bench we brought from the house in a little seating arrangement, so we sat and had cupcakes and chatted. I had brought his college scrapbook along, but he was disinclined to look through it, and told me to keep it. "You guys don't have to stick around," he finally told us, so we took that as our cue to leave. I don't think he realized how personally I took his parting words to us. "Well, I still don't like it here," he said. "I probably never will."
Everyone keeps telling me, he needs time to adjust, he'll get used to it. But I'm not so sure. I tend to agree with my dad. He probably never will.
Dad did seem genuinely glad to see us, but I was discouraged to see that, as for my last couple of visits, he wasn't wearing one of the nice, new sweaters I bought, but an ugly, heavy, untucked flannel shirt. He had a bad cold, he told us right away, everyone did in that pest house. I stifled a laugh as I thought, for god's sake, that's straight out of Charles Dickens. The Wesleyan Village could not be further from a pest house. I remarked that anywhere alot of people were living together - in a dorm, for example - winter illnesses were rampant. He seemed unpersuaded.
We took Dad to his favorite little restaurant for lunch, which he seemed to enjoy, remarking on how much better the food was there than where he lived. He allowed Ben to treat, which is unusual, but we insisted as it was for his birthday. When we got back to the Village, Dad seemed reluctant to return to his room, and took us on a slow, circuitous tour. Now, I have toured the facility probably four or five times, I was wearing a heavy coat (and it is warm in there) and I had to pee. Finally, there was nothing else for it: "I have to pee! Could we please go back to the room?"
Dad had arranged his desk chair and the bench we brought from the house in a little seating arrangement, so we sat and had cupcakes and chatted. I had brought his college scrapbook along, but he was disinclined to look through it, and told me to keep it. "You guys don't have to stick around," he finally told us, so we took that as our cue to leave. I don't think he realized how personally I took his parting words to us. "Well, I still don't like it here," he said. "I probably never will."
Everyone keeps telling me, he needs time to adjust, he'll get used to it. But I'm not so sure. I tend to agree with my dad. He probably never will.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Tom!
Today is my son's birthday. He and Kristy are in Seattle and will be flying home later today. Kristy has several times given Tom the gift of a trip for his birthday. Last year they came here to spend some time with us, but several years ago, they went to New York City. As it happened, I was in NYC then, as well, and I had the unforgettable experience of meeting up with the two of them on Canal Street in Chinatown on a busy Saturday afternoon.
Last year on Tom's birthday I posted some random thoughts about the day he was born, so I would refer you to that if you are interested. I will simply say, Happy Birthday, honey! I love you very much!
Last year on Tom's birthday I posted some random thoughts about the day he was born, so I would refer you to that if you are interested. I will simply say, Happy Birthday, honey! I love you very much!
Friday, September 19, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Ben!
Today is Ben's birthday. Please wish him a happy birthday here or on one of his blogs.
(You probably won't be surprised to hear that he is getting something hand-knit from me - and I had better get back to it!)
(You probably won't be surprised to hear that he is getting something hand-knit from me - and I had better get back to it!)
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Kristy!
Today is Kristy's birthday! Please join me in wishing her a good one!
(ps-s-st... and thanks so much for the awesome weekend, Kristy and Tom!)
(ps-s-st... and thanks so much for the awesome weekend, Kristy and Tom!)
Friday, August 15, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Andrew!
Today is Andrew's last birthday in his 20's. Yeah, he's that old. Please join me in wishing him a Happy Birthday - while he's still young enough to enjoy it.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Jules!
(Due to problems with my computer that cause it to freeze up with increasing frequency, this may not be the post I hope it will be.)
Today is Julie's birthday. She is twenty-six years old, and this is the first year she won't be home with us for her birthday. Imagine that - an adult daughter who wants to spend time with her parents. I don't know how we got so lucky.
I do know Ben and I desperately wanted to have a daughter. We had hoped that Tom would be a girl when I was pregnant with him, although we both sensed from early on that he was a boy. He turned out to be such a delight that when I got pregnant a month before his first birthday, Ben and I agreed that another little boy (just like him) would be fine. I was so confidant that my second child was a girl, however, that we never even chose a boy's name for the baby I was carrying.
She was due two days after our sixth wedding anniversary, although my ob/gyn had told me I would probably deliver late. To be on the safe side, however, Ben and I decided to celebrate our anniversary a few days early, on the sixteenth. We dressed up and drove to Vermilion to have dinner at McGarvey's, a popular lakeside restaurant. I guess I was pretty hugely pregnant, as our server that night seemed amazed - and a little concerned - that I was out and about. We laughed at her concerns, and enjoyed our dinner. When we got home, however, and I bent down to pick up my twenty-month-old Tommy, my water broke. Ben took the sitter home so she could pack some things for an overnight stay, and I went to lie down for a few hours.
Skipping all that messy, painful stuff in between, I was safely delivered of our daughter, Julie Anne, the following morning. I was delighted. So was Ben, although he swore he would never go through that again (!) I missed Tommy too much to stay in the hospital, so we came home after only two days - which was early at that time. Our little family was complete.
Ben and I are so proud of our children, and who could blame us? Happy, happy birthday, my sweet girl. I love you very much.
Today is Julie's birthday. She is twenty-six years old, and this is the first year she won't be home with us for her birthday. Imagine that - an adult daughter who wants to spend time with her parents. I don't know how we got so lucky.
I do know Ben and I desperately wanted to have a daughter. We had hoped that Tom would be a girl when I was pregnant with him, although we both sensed from early on that he was a boy. He turned out to be such a delight that when I got pregnant a month before his first birthday, Ben and I agreed that another little boy (just like him) would be fine. I was so confidant that my second child was a girl, however, that we never even chose a boy's name for the baby I was carrying.
She was due two days after our sixth wedding anniversary, although my ob/gyn had told me I would probably deliver late. To be on the safe side, however, Ben and I decided to celebrate our anniversary a few days early, on the sixteenth. We dressed up and drove to Vermilion to have dinner at McGarvey's, a popular lakeside restaurant. I guess I was pretty hugely pregnant, as our server that night seemed amazed - and a little concerned - that I was out and about. We laughed at her concerns, and enjoyed our dinner. When we got home, however, and I bent down to pick up my twenty-month-old Tommy, my water broke. Ben took the sitter home so she could pack some things for an overnight stay, and I went to lie down for a few hours.
Skipping all that messy, painful stuff in between, I was safely delivered of our daughter, Julie Anne, the following morning. I was delighted. So was Ben, although he swore he would never go through that again (!) I missed Tommy too much to stay in the hospital, so we came home after only two days - which was early at that time. Our little family was complete.
Ben and I are so proud of our children, and who could blame us? Happy, happy birthday, my sweet girl. I love you very much.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Bill!
Today is my brother's birthday. I won't tell you how old he is, but I will say that I was seven years old when he was born, so he is my "baby" brother. I remember my mother being pregnant with him, and I most especially remember the day he was born.
I had just finished the first grade, and at my elementary school, we traditionally went back for an additional morning to pick up our report cards, which would tell us if we had been "promoted" to the next grade. I would be allowed to take my younger brother, Tommy, along, and we could wear shorts to school - something our strictly-enforced dress code did not allow during the school year.
I woke up excited that morning, and found my mother awake and pacing the house. "I think today is the day, honey," she told me. "I think I will have the baby today." "No! Oh no!" was my reaction. "Who'll comb my hair for school?" It is important to know that I wore my hair in a "pixie cut," a hairstyle popular for young girls at that time. It was short, short, short all over, and I can't imagine that combing it was too difficult. My mother assured me that my dad's sister, Aunt Isabel, had already been telephoned, and she, along with my grandmother and cousin, were on their way. They lived over an hour away, however, and I knew they wouldn't arrive in time. My dad would have to comb my hair.
Tommy and I went off to school, and I can remember the two of us sharing the seat at my desk as we waited for the report cards to be handed out. My teacher, Miss Pressler, sang in the church choir with my mother, and asked if she had had the new baby yet. "She's at the hospital now! She's having it now!" I was thrilled to have such important news.
As we started the walk home with dozens of other newly-promoted children, my aunt drove up, yelling out the window, "She had a boy! You have a new little brother!" Then we hopped in her car, and as she drove us to the grocery store to pick up food for lunch, Tommy and I tried to understand what this new addition to the family would mean for us. For one thing, it meant that he would be the one to share his bedroom with the baby, and not me. It meant that the wicker bassinet that my mom had spray-painted baby blue out in the gravel driveway was the right color. And it meant that I would stay my daddy's girl, which was pretty important to me.
We didn't see Billy until he came home from the hospital, of course, and the first clear memory I have of him is in that blue bassinet at the foot of my parent's bed. He had wispy red hair, but it was his little face that was bright red, as he exercised his new lungs and wailed. Tommy and I were fascinated and appalled. We weren't allowed to cry like that.
The memories tumble out after that, and I see my mother holding him and singing, "Oh where have you been, Billy-boy, Billy-boy? Oh where have you been, charming Billy?" I remember learning how to change his diaper and give him a bath, and I remember the endless trips up and down our short, dead-end street, pushing him in his stroller. But I also remember the soft, orange curls that sprang up all over his head and how he would nuzzle into my neck and fall asleep, even on the hottest summer days. Oh yes, I loved my little brother. And I still do.
Happy Birthday, Bill.
I had just finished the first grade, and at my elementary school, we traditionally went back for an additional morning to pick up our report cards, which would tell us if we had been "promoted" to the next grade. I would be allowed to take my younger brother, Tommy, along, and we could wear shorts to school - something our strictly-enforced dress code did not allow during the school year.
I woke up excited that morning, and found my mother awake and pacing the house. "I think today is the day, honey," she told me. "I think I will have the baby today." "No! Oh no!" was my reaction. "Who'll comb my hair for school?" It is important to know that I wore my hair in a "pixie cut," a hairstyle popular for young girls at that time. It was short, short, short all over, and I can't imagine that combing it was too difficult. My mother assured me that my dad's sister, Aunt Isabel, had already been telephoned, and she, along with my grandmother and cousin, were on their way. They lived over an hour away, however, and I knew they wouldn't arrive in time. My dad would have to comb my hair.
Tommy and I went off to school, and I can remember the two of us sharing the seat at my desk as we waited for the report cards to be handed out. My teacher, Miss Pressler, sang in the church choir with my mother, and asked if she had had the new baby yet. "She's at the hospital now! She's having it now!" I was thrilled to have such important news.
As we started the walk home with dozens of other newly-promoted children, my aunt drove up, yelling out the window, "She had a boy! You have a new little brother!" Then we hopped in her car, and as she drove us to the grocery store to pick up food for lunch, Tommy and I tried to understand what this new addition to the family would mean for us. For one thing, it meant that he would be the one to share his bedroom with the baby, and not me. It meant that the wicker bassinet that my mom had spray-painted baby blue out in the gravel driveway was the right color. And it meant that I would stay my daddy's girl, which was pretty important to me.
We didn't see Billy until he came home from the hospital, of course, and the first clear memory I have of him is in that blue bassinet at the foot of my parent's bed. He had wispy red hair, but it was his little face that was bright red, as he exercised his new lungs and wailed. Tommy and I were fascinated and appalled. We weren't allowed to cry like that.
The memories tumble out after that, and I see my mother holding him and singing, "Oh where have you been, Billy-boy, Billy-boy? Oh where have you been, charming Billy?" I remember learning how to change his diaper and give him a bath, and I remember the endless trips up and down our short, dead-end street, pushing him in his stroller. But I also remember the soft, orange curls that sprang up all over his head and how he would nuzzle into my neck and fall asleep, even on the hottest summer days. Oh yes, I loved my little brother. And I still do.
Happy Birthday, Bill.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Happy Birthday, Thomas
Today is my brother Thomas's birthday. He was born when I was two years old. Although I have not seen him in many years, and sometimes fear that I never will again, I think about him often - especially as I get older. We didn't have a happy childhood by any definition of the word, but we survived it. Somehow we survived it. Together.
So, Happy Birthday, Thomas. I will always be waiting for you.
So, Happy Birthday, Thomas. I will always be waiting for you.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Today is my dad's 81st birthday. If you would like to send birthday wishes to him, you can just post them here, and I'm sure my brother will pass them along to him.
Right, Bill?
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!!
Right, Bill?
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!!
Thursday, January 3, 2008
vital statistics
Today is my birthday. I was born on January 3, 195-. (I am not embarrassed about my age, but Ben says it is not a good idea to post that type of information on the internet - as if it wasn't available anyway.) I am 5' 7" tall, unless I have begun to shrink already. I weigh, well, more than you might think I would, but twenty pounds less than I did three months ago. (And hopefully, twenty pounds more than I will in a few more months.)
My eyes are brown and my hair is, in transition, let us say. I am not sure what color it will be when it grows out, but I see a lot of gray at the temples. I have freckles on my shoulders and across my nose, and age spots blossom on my arms and legs from many years of laying in the sun.
I don't think I take an inordinate amount of medication for someone my age, but together with my vitamins and supplements and aspirin, it is definitely more than I would like to take. I collected five bottles from around the house, including Lovastatin, baby aspirin, multi-vitamins, calcium tablets and fish oil "softgels". I take them all daily, with the exception of the fish oil, which I have a hard time remembering.
Every day I walk Rufus and exercise and read and write and cook and knit. It seems like a very full schedule to me, but some time soon I will have to add finding a job to that list. Until then, I will remain as I am, unemployed, and healthy in body and spirit. Not bad for a 50-something-year-old.
My eyes are brown and my hair is, in transition, let us say. I am not sure what color it will be when it grows out, but I see a lot of gray at the temples. I have freckles on my shoulders and across my nose, and age spots blossom on my arms and legs from many years of laying in the sun.
I don't think I take an inordinate amount of medication for someone my age, but together with my vitamins and supplements and aspirin, it is definitely more than I would like to take. I collected five bottles from around the house, including Lovastatin, baby aspirin, multi-vitamins, calcium tablets and fish oil "softgels". I take them all daily, with the exception of the fish oil, which I have a hard time remembering.
Every day I walk Rufus and exercise and read and write and cook and knit. It seems like a very full schedule to me, but some time soon I will have to add finding a job to that list. Until then, I will remain as I am, unemployed, and healthy in body and spirit. Not bad for a 50-something-year-old.
Monday, October 22, 2007
random thoughts on Tom's birthday
Today is my son's 27th birthday.
He is named Thomas for his uncle and he shares the middle name Joseph with his father and grandfather.
Ben was working the night shift the week Tom was born, so I was home alone when my water broke in the middle of the night. I jumped out of bed, and stripped the sodden sheets off the mattress before I called him.
Some time in the middle of my seven-hour labor, I told Ben, quite sincerely, "I changed my mind. I don't want to do this right now. Let's go home." He dissuaded me.
Although my labor and delivery were quite normal, Tommy (as he was called then) and I stayed in the hospital for five days after he was born, which was standard for that time.
When Ben's parents came to visit us in the hospital, his father looked at our three-day-old son and told us, quite solemnly, "Before you know it, he'll be in college." We laughed at the time, but now I would amend that to, "Before you know it, he'll be a married adult living in a big city far away."
My own father was out of town on business when Tom was born, so was unable to visit us in the hospital. He did, however, bring our infant son a souvenir of his trip.
Since Ben and I are both eldest children and we were the first in our circle of friends to get married and have a child, we pretty much raised Tom in a vacuum. We really knew no other children to compare with Tom, and although we thought he was quite amazing, we didn't realize how far above the norm he was for some time.
We kept waiting for Tom's remarkable blue eyes to turn brown like ours, but they never did. He still gets comments on how beautiful his eyes are.
Tom's first year was one of the best years of my life. I felt as though I grew and changed almost as much as he did. I loved being a mom. I still do.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Tom! I love you very much.
He is named Thomas for his uncle and he shares the middle name Joseph with his father and grandfather.
Ben was working the night shift the week Tom was born, so I was home alone when my water broke in the middle of the night. I jumped out of bed, and stripped the sodden sheets off the mattress before I called him.
Some time in the middle of my seven-hour labor, I told Ben, quite sincerely, "I changed my mind. I don't want to do this right now. Let's go home." He dissuaded me.
Although my labor and delivery were quite normal, Tommy (as he was called then) and I stayed in the hospital for five days after he was born, which was standard for that time.
When Ben's parents came to visit us in the hospital, his father looked at our three-day-old son and told us, quite solemnly, "Before you know it, he'll be in college." We laughed at the time, but now I would amend that to, "Before you know it, he'll be a married adult living in a big city far away."
My own father was out of town on business when Tom was born, so was unable to visit us in the hospital. He did, however, bring our infant son a souvenir of his trip.
Since Ben and I are both eldest children and we were the first in our circle of friends to get married and have a child, we pretty much raised Tom in a vacuum. We really knew no other children to compare with Tom, and although we thought he was quite amazing, we didn't realize how far above the norm he was for some time.
We kept waiting for Tom's remarkable blue eyes to turn brown like ours, but they never did. He still gets comments on how beautiful his eyes are.
Tom's first year was one of the best years of my life. I felt as though I grew and changed almost as much as he did. I loved being a mom. I still do.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Tom! I love you very much.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Ben!!
Today (September 19th) is Ben's birthday. Please join me in wishing him a good one. You can post your good wishes here or on Ben's blog at:
http://soundsinspace.blogspot.com/
Just go ahead and post your comments on his Necco wafers post. He'll find 'em.
http://soundsinspace.blogspot.com/
Just go ahead and post your comments on his Necco wafers post. He'll find 'em.
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