Move It Move It Move It ... I Like To

            MOVE IT!!

Oops I Did It Again

Okay, so we moved again last October 1st.  We even left the city, moving out to Rigaud, QC to accommodate Aidan's working in Hawkesbury, Ontario.  There were a number of reasons why we wanted to stay in Quebec for the time being.  One was my grandson and his custody situation and another was the continuity of my healthcare.  I didn't really want to start from scratch on everything at this point.

It was while getting ready for this last move when it really hit me how many of my most prized possessions I have lost in the two previous moves.  In the move from 5th Avenue to Aidan's on 3rd and then the move from 3rd to Lafleur, I probably lost 95% of everything I owned when I lived on 5th avenue.

Let me tell you something....

...or variations thereof, is Jeth's current catch phrase. I must have heard it at least a dozen times during our 45 minute phone conversation on Friday. He was quite talkative - for a change. The only reason he got off the phone was because Aidan arrived and he had to get ready to leave with his daddy.

It's too bad that Jeth will never know my Dad as my Dad was in his prime - or at least when he was still full of piss and vinegar. I feel it is my duty to play the part of my Dad so that Jeth will get to enjoy his character. Though if I'm honest, there's not much role-playing involved as I've practiced most of the same behaviours for years now.

I haven't been out to see my parents in almost two months. There are many reasons for my inexcusable behaviour.  One is that it takes a hell of a long time to get out there by bus and the other is that I'm still having a hell of a time leaving the house.

Your FACE (fill in the blanks)!

Is the 8.5-year-old's current go-to expression.  As in:   You just knocked over your glass of milk!

His response: "Your FACE knocked over YOUR glass of milk!"

Fortunately, for him, he doesn't use that response with me.  He did try, but I convinced him that to continue to do so might be injurious to his well being.

Unfortunately, his father has no such aversion to being a target and gives back as much as he receives.

Wow, It's Been A Month Already

I can't believe it's been a month since my Dad died. Maybe that's why I had that spontaneous good cry about him yesterday. It was a pretty good one indeed - required TWO tissues!

I've been missing my father so much, but then I was missing him when he was still alive. I so hated to see him like that. What made it even worse was that he'd got it into his head that I'd stolen a pile of money from him. He told my mother he had proof, but he never told her what the proof was. He never accused me to my face, but it explained why he'd been so rude to me on a number of occasions over the last 8 months or so. I had just put it down to the Alzheimers.

EDIT:   I should explain the "TWO tissues" crack.  I have Bipolar II disorder and take a shitload of medication for it.  Of course a lot of that medication is to stabilize my moods and/or to keep me from getting depressed.   The down side to that is that I don't react fully or what I (and many other people) would consider normally to many things.   I don't think I cried noticeably at either parent's funeral.   There were many times when I felt like it, but the tears did not come.  On the other hand, it helped me to not cry in front of anybody - an immature little problem I have, the intense dislike of letting anybody see me cry.  I shouldn't give a shit.   I'm sure I was judged, especially at my father's funeral.  But I don't give a shit about that, either.  My own brother never even looked at me, let alone acknowledged me the whole time from when I first arrived (late) at the funeral parlour, which was almost on the other side of town.  Of course he, who lived 10 minutes away from he and practically had to pass by our street to get there, never offered my son and I a lift.  Piss on him.   But I digress.

The reason "two tissues" was a significant amount was because it meant that not only was I actually able to shed A tear, I was able to cry so much that I needed to use two tissues.  This has rarely happened since I got "stabilized" on the bipolar meds, except for the occasional period of unrelenting stress or major seasonal changes that can trigger chemical changes in my brain. 

Ha!  This "edit" has turned out to be about three times the original post.  Oh well. 
D.

R.I.P. Poopsie 21/03/23 - 15/06/11

My father passed away last week. An event that I've been dreading all my life. It was at once both harder and easier to handle than I'd expected it would be. But then, I've been mourning the father I used to know for several months now.

He had Alzheimer's, you see. He was not the same man that I'd grown up adoring and by whom I was adored (and spoiled even more). He wasn't completely gone, far from it. But with his failed eyesight and lack of hearing his world was small and dully void of his mischievous wit.

Ah, the stories I could tell about the mischief which filled my father's life! If I was motivated enough I'm sure I could create an entertaining book.

Stuff I Lost In the Move

(Originally written October 21, 2009)

An old dresser. An even older dresser, that had belonged to my grandparents at one time. All my journals. Some jewellery findings. Clothes, shoes, photographs, my mind.

I'm think of treating this whole horrific episode like a fire. I think it would be easier to accept that I lost everything in a fire than I lost it all because couldn't cope and I couldn't get any help out of my only son.

My old landlord stopped by one day in late October with a couple of things. He was down the stairs and in his truck before I even answered the door. I looked through the window and saw my hanging files, taxes, bank stuff, etc. and a small plastic box with my old jewellery boxes in it and other assorted junk. It is sweet that he thought they would be important and interesting what he thought would be important.

There is nothing of value in the jewellery boxes. There never was. But there was also an old watch case that contained a couple of Holy Cards and two rosaries. One was the rosary I received when I made my First Communion. I don't remember where the other one came from, but it is probably older than I am.

There were a few photographs, taken at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans. I believe they would have found them in the dresser behind my desk.

There was the bottle of water from Lourdes. There was a brass cat and my travel iron, of all things. That's about it.

I feel like that is all I have of my life before this move. Oh some boxes were moved earlier on, but not many. Not many at all considering the amount of stuff I had. There were some things that were half-packed that didn't get moved. Those things were rather important to me. There were other things that didn't even get close to getting packed that never made it. Things that I cannot specify because doing so would just be too painful right now.

I've often thought that I made a terrible mistake moving here. I think my reasons were sound, but I'm not strong enough to put up with the constant disappointment that my son is proving to be.

The Move That Wasn't

Here it is, July 12th and I still haven't moved. Had arranged for movers on the 6th but had to cancel at the last minute because I was not even close to ready and was dangerously exhausted. Shortly after my son called them to cancel I fell asleep and stayed that way for 11 hours straight. Without moving a muscle. I needed it. I had literally slept a total of less than 2 hours in the previous 72.

The movers weren't upset, thank goodness. The owner actually welcomed the chance to get some unexpected rest. July 1st is a big moving day in these parts. Some movers can work 12-16 hour days (or more) 7 days a week during the last weeks of June and beginning of July.

I still haven't rescheduled the move tho. I'm afraid I won't be ready again. I was thinking just now that maybe I should voluntarily give the mover a deposit so that I'll move when he shows up no matter how prepared I am.

Part of the problem has been just how overwhelming this task is/has been and that I've not had the help that was promised. Any clutter-enhanced person can understand the magnitude of trying to divest oneself of a lifetime of accumulated possessions. (Can't you? Lie to me if you have to. Please.)

I've actually done better than I thought I would at tossing things out. Anything that is worn or broken is getting the boot. I've kept a number of things that I would fix "some time" and never have. Out they're going.

Clothes that I intended to mend. Gone.

Cheap pottery that I intended to glue back together. Gone.

Little dinosaur whose wings had fallen off. Gone.

Shoes that I would never wear again. Gone.

Purses that I would never use again. Gone.

I've kept those books that I want to donate to a local church's book stall, though. Just cannot bring myself to throw a book in the recycling bin. I really must go through the last two boxes then ask my brother to drive me and the books to the church tomorrow.

Well, it's 5:20 a.m. Slept about 3 hours last night/this morning. That's why I'm always so tired - it's about the maximum amount of sleep I get lately. Really must try for some more before it gets too late. My son has promised to help me today.

Next projected move date: July 14th - two days away.

Will we make it?

Keep your fingers crossed.