I have two stories to share and they both have helped me see the lighter side of a long few weeks.
First – Dayne’s a-hole of a mother, regardless of all he did for her and all the support he gave while George was on his way out of this world, has decided that Dayne gets nothing of his dad’s and has re-written her will to make sure anything left over when she dies, goes to her two daughters. His half-sisters, yes, but nothing will be there for him. It was funny as we were just talking about her the day she called to announce her decision. He had said that he was worried that the two girls would never take her in or take care of her when she needed it. He was trying to suggest that WE take her in. I recoiled in horror but stretched a smile on my face anyway. I’d do it for him. If I had to. She’s getting old and is sick – had breast cancer that had metastasized to her lymph nodes and then onto her lungs. She calls it ’emphysema’ and the doc called it ‘metastatic lung disease; whatever it is, it’s not good and it’s going to take her out. I was pretty sure she’d go before George, but…here we are. So, all George’s stuff is gone, sold off or given to his daughters. Dayne didn’t even get his coffee mug, as promised, let alone some of his father’s ashes. (I cringed when I thought of exactly how we were going to take ‘some’ of them). I’m pretty much willing to do a full on break and enter to get that for Dayne though. I guess we will have to see where things go. I guess I won’t have to watch her die in the spare bedroom now….small blessing there. (Sorry George, but she’s a heartless bitch and you know it).
Anyway. Onto the funnier side of life
The other night I was at home, doing my thing (i.e. sitting on my couch, playing on my phone/laptop editing photos and generally fighting to stay awake until Colt goes to bed) when the security alarm went off, letting us know someone was coming up the driveway and to the front door. The knock still surprised me (the alarm gets set off by passing cars or small animals like the biggest skunk I’ve ever seen who refuses to stop eating my front gardens). The door is right next to my head, pretty much, so it gives me a start whenever anyone knocks, but it’s only ever Dayne coming home and I still jump out of my skin. So anyway, the knock came, I jumped and then starred, in horror, across the room at Dayne who was already home and definitely not the one knocking.
“OH MY GOD someone is at the door!” I whisper/shouted at Dayne, who looked back at me as if I was insane. Which I am, a little…and also a closet recluse.
He got up to answer the door and I freaking panicked. You have to understand my ‘couch’ to really get this story so I’ll give you the rundown of what I had to navigate over to get to my feet and run away down the hall before he made it to the door and a STRANGER was standing on my porch and able to look inside at me.
My couch is really a double reclining chair and it is where I love to be the most (second to my bed). I have both of the recliner bits up so I can use them to stretch my legs out, as they were intended, but, I’ve also managed to turn them into shelves for my things. My drawing table (which is also a laptop table) sits on one of them and the camera stuff sits on the other. My enormous blanket is jammed into the seat beside me and I have a pillow and a massager thingy that moves like a vice opening and closing that I use on my neck sometimes. It hurts worse than my neck did before I started, but there are benefits after the self-torture sessions….sometimes. That particular day, it was a weekend, and I had a glass of wine perched on my foot rest along with a bunch of art supplies in plastic baskets balanced atop a stack of books. I had a bowl of cereal, my cell phone plugged in and on Youtube and, to top it all off, I had the company of a giant cat (Jack, my maine coon) and a tiny cat (Daisy, who is in love with Colt and would let him pick her up by the tail and swing her over his head….which he never does, mind you, but skitters away like I’m trying to set her on fire when I attempt to pick her up for a cuddle).
So. The alarm goes off. I think nothing of it. The knock at the door happens, I jump, scaring the cats and nearly spilling my wine (noooooooooooo!). I drop what I’m doing, grab my phone that is attached to the charger, rip the entire thing from the wall, cable and all, have to half stand, half jump up to my knees so I can navigate the cats and the food along with the ‘stuff’ everywhere, crawl over the blanket while trying not to kick everything to the floor with my leg that always does what it wants no matter what I tell it to do, grab my wine, step on Daisy who already sprung off the couch in alarm, find my balance, turn and sprint for the hallway. I managed this before Dayne made it the five steps to the door somehow, but just barely.
He opens the door a crack. (He’s as suspicious as I am, just way braver).
“Yes. What do you want?” He asked in a rather hostile manner. (He protects us from everything. Even things we don’t need protecting from, like a knock at the door lol).
So here’s the part that killed me. The woman on the other side of the door said, clearly enough that I could hear:
“I just came by to see if you got your order of free meat.”
*A moment of silence in all directions*
“I’m sorry? I wasn’t expecting …..and don’t actually want any ‘free meat’.” he responded.
“Oh, that’s too bad. We have some right here in the trunk”
(The TRUNK?! What the fuck kind of free meat do you keep in a car trunk??? I had a split second thought that maybe this chick was a serial killer and was trying to ditch a body or two on us.)
Just out of sheer curiosity, Dayne asked “Where uhhh, does this free meat come from? Is it locally caught or farmed….and, who exactly are you again?”
(Please don’t say it’s hunted here; please please please don’t say it’s wild turkeys or deer or the very frightening looking fish that weird ass people actually fish and EAT from our little river that runs through town. When I lived in the city where I work the river has a fork that they made a public park around. Once year, they wanted to put up a fountain but the Health Board stopped them because they were afraid that people would inhale the mist from the fountain and get sick. …and no, I’m not joking.)
“Well, some of the birds are locally caught…..”
(ARGKKKKH…omg omg omg no. Those turkeys are NOT eating turkeys. They eat dead road kill for days and days after its dead. They are scavengers and they eat the fish from the river too. They eat the farmers’ fields when they lay down sod and fertilize the crap out of it. They are not for eating. Not. I don’t care that it’s legal to hunt them. I don’t care that it’s not killed anyone who ate them ….well, as far as we know.
“…..but most of the meat is organically raised on a farm that is local. Did you want to try some free meat to see if you like it?” She looked hopeful at this point.
The look on Dayne’s face reminded me of the time that our ex landlords offered us eggs from their chickens that were let loose to run about the property. They fed them garbage and scraps from dinner including bones, actual meat, other chickens, fruit rinds….. sigh. They were the saddest looking chickens ever….one got pecked to death at one point by the others….I think they grew a taste for chicken and had figured out where it came from. When they let the chickens roam, they would make a straight shot to the spot behind our house where our septic tank leaked….a lot….and the landlords wouldn’t be bothered fixing it. So, every time we flushed too much or ran a load of laundry the ground back there would flood with….well…everything we flushed.
(Mmmmmm. I know. I hope you’re not eating right now too)
Anyway. The chickens LOVED that grass that grew so green and fresh from our ‘organic’ contribution. They lived, basically, off things they don’t eat naturally, and our grass fertilized by our excrement.
“NO. No thank you. We do not want any of your eggs. No. Absolutely nope. We don’t eat eggs. Ever.” Was Dayne’s reply when the ex-landlords offered to share.
It was the same sort of reaction with the ‘free meat’ lady. Who the hell takes that offer? Who the hell takes free meat from a door to door sales person in a small town, after dark, from the truck of their car? We didn’t, thankfully, and Dayne closed the door with a smile and wave of good luck to the weirdo on the porch.
See? This is why I don’t answer the door.
(Second story forthcoming)