Toy-ta-toy-toy

I'm not sure how it got started, but ever since I was a very little girl, my Uncle Roy and I have had our special way of closing a conversation.  Certainly, it would seem odd to anyone else.   We point at each other, making a circular motion with our index fingers and say, "Toy-ta-toy-toy."


Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous.  Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning.  "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.


I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness.  Today I talked to him on the phone.  He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions.  His voice was weak today.  He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.


He said that he was tired.  I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle:  "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me:  "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle:  "I love you too, sweetie."
Me:  "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper:  "Toy-ta-toy-toy."


I burst out laughing.  I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation.  He won, leaving me to add:  "Same to you."
My uncle:  "Thanks, sweetie."


Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy."  A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship,  mutual admiration and concern for each other.  


No other words will do.

The Record of a Life

My dear uncle is 91 years old and the last person in my family in the generation before me.  He recently moved from an independent apartment to the nursing home of the senior residence in which he lives.  He skipped over "assisted living," because he stayed in his apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen to fix meals or even crawl to the bathroom.  He has no children....just four nephews and one niece, and that would be me.


I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out.  I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan.   I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on.  Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.


Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time.  We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean.  He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.


We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.


One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars.  Why he was saving them is anybody's guess.  He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities.  The number we found would have lasted him years.  The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods.   Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.


We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere.  All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill.  Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched.  I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service.  I think I'd better burn that one.  After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.


I expect he doesn't have much longer to live.  He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo.  Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called.  He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more.  Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.


He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one.  He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others.  And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him.  He kept to himself.  But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes?  There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.


He is and was an enigma.  But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.

Pride, Prejudice and Propriety

I am quite fond of both recent versions of Pride and Prejudice, the longer BBC version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle and the shorter one with Matthew MacFayden and Keira Knightley.  I have watched both multiple times and can't decide which I like best.  Each has scenes I prefer over the other and supporting characters I like better.


Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me.  Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern.  No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect.  The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity.  There is something to be said for keeping things civil. 


So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.


As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"

Dinner Date? No way!

Today I once again went to a farmers' market and set up an informational table regarding cancer screenings.  During the course of the morning, a man stopped to speak with me.  He was initially somewhat hostile.  He informed me he had an "attitude" toward "you people"....meaning my agency.  Except, he had no idea what we do, and it turned out he was actually mad at the Federal Government regarding a Medicare and Social Security issue, which has absolutely nothing to do with me or my agency.


He ended up dumping quite a bit of his history on me, including the fact that he had recently served jail time for DWI and that his wife of 30-some years had viewed this as the final straw and left him..  He felt badly about the impact his actions had had on her life.  I asked him if he had quit drinking.   He allowed that I had hit the nail on the head with that question.  We got into an in depth discussion which resulted in him saying he felt as though he had been to an AA meeting right there out on the street.  As he left, he said, "You are a really nice lady, Ruth."


I wondered about this interchange.  I was pretty sure it would not have any lasting impact on him.  He told me he wasn't ready to change.


A bit later he returned, and oh my, he asked me what my plans were for dinner this evening.  I had not anticipated such a turn of events.  I thought we had had a strictly professional conversation.  I told him that I was married and that my husband was returning from a trip out of town, and I had a "date" with him this evening.  He said, "Well, maybe you will be back here sometime....you never know."  I assured him that I had been happily married for 43 years and my husband was a wonderful man, and that I wasn't going out to dinner with anyone else.  He said, "Sometimes things change."    He eventually left, but not until he had asked for my business card.  I had my business cards with me, but I gave him one from the agency hoping it would be a deterrent, since I was pretty sure his interest was not professional.


As I was packing up to leave, he returned again!  He was talking to the folks in the adjacent booth, and I was ignoring the conversation.  Except that I heard the phrase, "Actually, I'm interested in the lady next to you, who is packing up."


I got in my car to drive away, and there he was knocking on my window.  He apparently felt it necessary to remind me once more that "sometimes things change," and he hoped to see me again.


This man has NO CLUE how fussy I was about whom I would consider dating when I was a young woman.  Should I ever be without my husband, which I hope with all my heart that I never am, I would be even more fussy as an old woman!  If I ever have the misfortune to run into that man again, and he tries to cross the professional-personal line, I will be explaining in unmistakable language that he is not in the minority of the male population that I would consider as a dinner date.  


I am anxiously awaiting my husband's return home.

Excess vs Need

I am nauseous.


I just watched the video of a tour through Donald Trump's private jet which cost $100 million dollars.  The fixtures, including the seat belt clips, are plated with 24 K gold.


Yesterday I stopped in a drugstore to pick up a travel size tube of toothpaste for my husband.  A young black girl stood in front of the sanitary napkins with a sale brochure and a few coins in her hand.  She asked me for a dollar to help her buy what she needed.  After I gave it to her, I realized that what she had was still inadequate, and that she was planning to beg from other women who entered that aisle until she had enough.  I gave her the rest of the money.
She looked astonished and said, "You didn't have to do that."


I thought of her repeatedly throughout the day, and when I woke up this morning.  I thought that I should have asked her if there was anything else she needed.  I wondered where her mother was.  Was there no adult in her life who cared for her needs?  My heart was aching.


Having watched the video of The Donald's ridiculous and ostentatious excess, I now have nausea in addition to the ache.

Putting It All Together

I just assembled the weed-whacker which has been sitting in the box in our garage for months.  The yard is in serious need of something a bit more tailored than mowing accomplished via a rider.  I guess I should have known when we purchased it that the assembly job would be mine.  Tradition would make it a job for the man in the house, but....


When I was in high school, we took a battery of tests that were supposedly designed to help us determine a career path.  The guidance counselor laughingly told me that I had bested all the males in the class on the test of mechanical aptitude.  Given my strong math ability, he probably should have suggested that I go into mechanical engineering, but thinking about women in that type of field hadn't quite hit the social landscape.  I headed off to nursing school.


During the early years of our marriage, my husband assembled toys for the kids and furniture and whatever else.  However, I noted that he found this very frustrating.  He is a perfectionist, and if everything didn't line up correctly or a screw was missing, the project really bogged down.  Eventually I decided that I was better equipped for the task.  I think it started over thirty years ago with a sandbox that had seats and an awning.


I actually enjoy working through assembly instructions.  It is rather like solving a puzzle.  My husband is very good at jigsaw puzzles and Sudoku.  He just doesn't see assembling things as a game or a challenge.


We needed a new lock on the back door of our previous home.  We purchased the new lock and it sat in our kitchen for months....probably close to a year.   He was certain that the screws in the package were too long, and he refused to get into the project and problem solve along the way.  Finally, I tackled the job while he was at work.  He was right.  The screws were too long, but the instructions said that if you found that to be true, you could break them off at a line which had been scored for that purpose.  I was not physically strong enough to break the screws, but I knew there was a vise and a hacksaw in the basement.  When he came home he said, "Oh, you found someone to fix the lock."


So today when he comes home, he is going to trip over the weed-whacker just outside the back door.  Fortunately for me, he actually seems to enjoy yard work.


Marriage partners should divide tasks by what they do well and enjoy.  Forget about tradition.  If neither of you can do a project, hire someone.  It's worth the price to avoid conflict.

Crashing a Party

I guess I can cross "crashing a party" off my bucket list....something I had never done until yesterday.


For several days extensive preparations have been going on at my neighbor's home.  Their oldest daughter turned 16, and they planned a very elaborate "Sweet Sixteen" party around a carnival theme.  Various booths appeared in the yard for arcade type games.  In addition to the pool, which is a permanent fixture, there was a dunking booth and a bouncy contraption and fat sumo suits for kids to put on and fight in.  The entire area was decorated with tents and banners and balloons and flags.  They had hired a man who creates balloon animals.  But, they didn't have a clown.


As the afternoon began, cars started to arrive.  Their driveway and the street, on both sides, were soon lined with vehicles from which laughing teenagers emerged.  A few parents were also in attendance and by late afternoon the celebration was in full swing.  But, they didn't have a clown.


I hauled out my red and white stripped stockings and a black hat with a colorful band and a large flower sticking out of the top. Pieces of red yarn hang from under the edge like stringy hair. I purchased the hat at the Ringley Museum gift shop in Florida.  I threatened to wear it home on the plane, but fortunately (for my husband) it collapsed and fit in my suitcase.  The stockings showed nicely below a pair of black crop pants.  My husband had just given me a nearly florescent yellow sweatshirt that he received at a race.  I turned it inside out, so that the logo didn't show and tied a colorful scarf around my neck.  I once had a very, very large pair of red shoes, but I sold them in a rummage sale, so my black mules had to do.  I found a pair of white gloves to wear, but first, I had to make up my face.


I just happen to have some clown makeup.  My blue "eyeshadow" extended up into my forehead completely covering my normal eyebrows.  Red circles on each cheekbone, a very large smiling mouth, and a few freckles made with my eyeliner, and I was good to go.


I had earlier purchased a couple of bags of Tootsie Pops.  I placed them in a colorful little bucket.  


I decided on the direction from which I should approach the party so that no one would likely see me coming until the last minute.  I decided to talk as little as possible, and began circulating and holding out my bucket of lollipops.  It was a riot to see the reactions of the teenagers.  A guy from my former neighborhood showed no signs of recognizing me.  One girl refused the lollipop saying, "I don't take candy from strangers."  


Of course, I wasn't really a stranger....I was just strange.  I certainly got some quizzical looks.  The younger sister of the birthday girl had a look of confusion, as in...."I don't remember a clown being part of the plans."


I was at the party much less time than it took to put the make-up on and take it off.  But then, I didn't really belong there, being 50 years older than most of the guests.  In any event, I can cross "crash a party" off my list of things to do before I kick the bucket.