Michael Jackson died. Farrah, too.
This means I won't be able to watch TV for at least a week.
The tributes. The anthologies. The horrifying displays of human grief and suffering over the loss, mass crowds gathered in vigils, young
devastated fans snotting all over themselves...
I'm not a cynic, I'm just fed up with the media.
It was barely a year ago that they were swarming both of these people trying to get the money shot of the fallen icons,
MJ's disgrace and Farrah's alleged mental breakdown. Vultures they were, and innuendo and suspect flowed like water, conjecture was the rule and sensationalism sold advertising. The public couldn't get enough dirt, and the shit talkers couldn't sling it fast enough.
Now they've passed and all of a sudden, there is reverence and appreciation being
slimed through the airwaves. Look! We even have pictures!
Ghouls! Fuck this. The
hypocrisy is nauseating and offends me.
Both of these people were just that, people. They had certain gifts, gifts we were allowed to share but they also had traits just like you and me, they were human, they made mistakes, they didn't handle every little thing in the moment. Is there
anyone who doesn't reflect on the events of the day and wonder if they couldn't have handled something a little better?
I will be sad for the passing, for the loved ones that are left to suffer the loss, but I refuse to participate in the global hysteria over the departure. They lived, they died. Jesus.
In my mind, decency will come from respecting their death and finally leaving both of them alone...
Unfortunately, it isn't likely that will happen.
So I got this car...
It's sweet.
I have a midlife crisis every time I drive it, I can't help but accelerate as if I'm Steve McQueen and once I'm flying I don't wanna stop.
Now, you all realize that I'm old, right? I am. I have no business driving a muscle car fast, or even slow for that matter. The laws of hotness dictate that I should not be anywhere near that vehicle, but fuck those laws.
In my mind's eye, I'm a goddess behind the wheel. I drive with the windows down and feel the wind in my hair. I usually have a Marlboro burning in my left hand, while the right is perched
jaunitly at twelve o'clock on the steering wheel, a semi-apathetic expression plastered on my face for all to see, and see they do, I mean come on! It's a Challenger. I only wear my coolest outfits, and my seat is tipped back ever so slightly... It's a vision, really.
Music is important in a sweet ride like this, sometimes its
STP's Wicked Garden, other times it might be Johnny Cash or Dr. Dre. So few choices...
I cruise my stupid suburbia feeling all that, assuring myself that there's nothing better than a hot girl in a hot car...
Reality? There's a really tired looking semi-deaf old lady with utterly no fashion sense and bad hair terrorizing the neighborhood in a big car.
Keep your fucking kids inside.
I would like to declare that the events I'm about to describe are from
other sources, namely my traitorous daughter, Tracy, and my ever supportive spouse, Jeff, and I want to go on record as saying that none of this is as I personally remember it. They are known to exaggerate the truth, especially at my expense, and although I was present for the entire
alleged scene that took place, I was less than willfully participatory, and would like to claim
bullshit. So there.
I have to get steroid epidurals in my spine every six or seven weeks. It sucks, it hurts, as in
"Catch that fucker that hit me with a baseball bat!" but then after a day or so, I feel great. Reborn. No pain. It's
so worth it.
Jeff had the same spine surgery I had. Yes, I know, I'm a horrible person for not telling you all this during my year long hiatus. He swam into the side of our pool two years ago and crushed his vertebra. Consequently, he has to get the same shots I do. On this particular day, we scheduled to receive our procedures together, one after the other, and we asked Tracy to deliver us both there and back, Jeff promising her that the show she would see would be worth the trip.
We get these shots administered at the surgery center and undergo some kind of wonderful sedation and a baffling drug called
Versed... I think
.What I actually can remember from a first person account is being wheeled to the surgery room discussing a book I was reading with the doc, and then waking up in my bed- at home - a little groggy, a little confused, and oh-SO-hungry.
What I'm told actually took place is I was wheeled into the operating room, discussed my book, and then proceeded to scream at my doctor like a crazy person because the fire needle he was shoving into my spine was certainly liquefying my vertebra and everything around it. Ever the caring individual that he is, he upped my pain medication instantly via the IV, which is the humane thing to do, thus shutting my mouth.
Enter my daughter Tracy. Obviously, some time elapsed between screaming at the doc and Tracy sitting at my bedside in the recovery room. A significant amount of time, time I do not recall...
According to other people, I was put into recovery, dressed back into my other clothes, ate a packet of Lorna Doone cookies, and started drinking a cup of coffee. Tracy was brought in from the waiting room to sit with me, and as she entered, the nurses asked her to make sure I didn't spill the steaming hot cup of coffee I was holding all over myself, because it appeared I was dozing off.
"Hi Mom, how are you feeling?" Tracy asked, as she picked up an empty cookie wrapper and threw it into the garbage can.
"Hi Trace, how are you?"
Tracy giggles, "I'm fine silly, you are the one that's lying in a hospital bed."
"I know. Tracy honey, I'm so hungry. I don't understand it, usually they give me cookies in here."
Tracy looks at me sideways, "Uh mom? Do you want some cookies?"
"Yes! You're such a good daughter, do you have some?"
"No...But I think I can get some for you" she laughed, and walked over to the nurses station. "She wants to know if she can have some more cookies, do you have an extra pack?" The nurses graciously hand her another six pack of Lorna Doones, God's perfect food.
"Here Mom, I found you some cookies! Give me that cup of coffee Mom, you're spilling it all over the place." She took my cup and placed it on the bedside table.
"Oh thank you Tracy", I said, as I stuffed the cookies, one after another into my mouth whole until they were gone, crumbs sticking to my mouth, chin, and sheets. "I just love these."
"I see that. Do you want another sip of your coffee Mom?"
"Yes! Thank you!" I said gratefully, and took a sip. "This is good coffee Tracy. I sure wish I had some cookies with it, I'm starving. They usually give me the best cookies in here, Lorna Doones."
Tracy stared at me.
After a moment of stunned silence, she said "Mom, do you want some cookies?"
"Oh yes! That would be wonderful."
Tracy approached the nurses station, "You know, she really loves those cookies, any chance I can get her another pack?" This time, the nurse had to go to a storage closet and retrieve a new box, which she wisely placed upon the counter and told Tracy, "Help yourself honey."
As Tracy was returning to my bed, Jeff was wheeled into the recovery room adjacent to mine, a thin curtain separating us, and once Jeff was given his beverage and cookies, it was opened so that we could see each other.
"Hi Honey" said Jeff.
"Hi Jeffee, how are yo- HEY! You stole my cookies!"
"I didn't steal your cookies woman! These are MY cookies!"
"Tracy, Jeff stole my cookies! They usually give me cookies in here!"
"Oh my God mom, are you serious?"
"Yes! Look at him, he's stuffing his face with my cookies!"
"I am not you crazy wife."
"Are too."
"Mom. Really. Jeff didn't steal your cookies! I gave you cookies Mom."
"Oh yeah? Then where are they?"
"You ate them Mom, a couple of tim- oh nevermind. Do you want some cookies Mom?"
"Oh, that would be nice Tracy, thank you." I glanced over at Jeffee, "I can't believe you."
Tracy yells, "Mom, stop! He didn't steal your cookies!"
After twenty or so more minutes of this, we were deemed to be well enough to go home. Tracy pulled the car around and the nurses helped me and Jeff in, me in the backseat.
"Oh wow, I'm really tired" I said, "And hungry too, hey, do you think we could go through the drive-thru at McDonalds?"
Tracy laughed, "Sure Mom, what do you want?"
"Uh, well, I'm starving, I want two breakfast burritos and an Egg McMuffin. They usually give me cookies in there, but didn't this time for some reason."
"They didn't Mom?" asked Tracy, "That sucks."
"I know. Lorna Doones, I just love those."
We drove home, and I ate my food on the way. All of it. In a ten minute drive.
Tracy put me to bed, and about an hour later, I woke up.
Now this part I remember... I came out to the living room to find Jeff and Tracy sitting there watching television. "Hi Mom," said Tracy, "Feeling better?"
"I am honey, thank you. I'm starving though, I don't understand it. Usually when we get our shots there they give us those wonderful Lorna Doone cookies in recovery, but they didn't have any this time or something."
"They gave me some" said Jeff.
"No fair! I can't believe that, why would they give him some and not me?"
"Oh my God Mom."
"See Tracy?" said Jeff, "I told you it would be worth the trip."
There's been a violent death in our family, and we've lost a very unique, quirky, colorful and generous man.
Death is always a difficult thing to deal with, an unexpected and suffering death is quite another story.
But that isn't what this post is about.
This is about the love that shines in the wake of tragedy.
I am always awed by genuine caring, it is shocking in its
sincerity and never fails to force me into reality. You know? It's so easy to get caught in your own thoughts and emotions, and to dwell in the dark recesses of your mind when life is unfair. It taints you into cynicism and sometimes it is so hard to see any sort of light, but then you'll witness true heart and it somehow gives you hope. Hope is everything.
Today's post is one of love. It is a thank you to my children, all of them, both mine and Chrissy's, and the strays that have adopted us as their own.
As a parent, you can't always tell on a daily basis if you're doing a good enough job of raising your children. When crisis strikes a family, it's an incredible thing to experience gracious and selfless love from others, when it comes from children, it is amazing in its beauty.
We returned home from a cold, wet, grueling and horrific day filled with details the mind cannot comprehend in real time. We returned home to teenagers and young adults who had gone grocery shopping, made a buffet of quality food set with plates and
accouterments, purchased with their own pooled funds. They cooked, they cleaned, they set up, they built a fire and readied the house for an onslaught of tired, stunned and grieving people, and they did it of their own volition. They took on the responsibility of forethought and practical details, attending to the needs of people filled with sorrow, and pitched in to help in a very real and thoughtful way.
I can try to express my feelings in more detail, but there aren't words for the pride and love I feel for them.
Kids, I am awed by your worth and contribution.
