Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

This Year's Christmas Ornament

Usually I have bought a Christmas ornament by this time. 

I was debating with Gary what might make a good ornament symbolizing the the year.

I don't know if they make tiny little wig ornaments, bur that didn't happen to "us."

On review, all that happened was that we sold Mom’s house. (I mean, of course Dave died. A little vial with Dave's ashes was the first thing I thought of, but that's just a little too morbid, even for me.)

So, no vial of Dave. Focusing on Mom's house.

Gary, on the other hand, is so enchanted with Dave's Apple watch that he's dedicating his ornament the Minnie Mouse watch face.  I can see the appeal. She's the only female who giggles at him.

Death Food

When I was at Dave's it was just too easy to Grubhub all the food. Sure, it was ridiculously expensive (like fifty bucks for Taco Bell), but with the terminal agitation and the expired food from Shipt, it was easier.  

It was also easier when I came back. I had enough stuff to do with lawyers and catching up on work that I didn't want to spend any time making butter chicken from scratch. 

After two weeks back I realized that there are frozen pre-made meals at the grocery, and that would be almost as convenient as Grubhub. It isn''t as tasty, but it's handy.

It's also pretty fattening, even though I really did make an effort to skip the ones with starch. This plus Thanksgiving and Christmas - I'm pretty sure I'll have put back all my Covid weight by the new year.

Sometime I wish I were a little bit of an alcoholic. I doubt I'd be fat if I didn't soothe with food. I could never drink all the calories in a Thanksgiving dinner. Plus, I'd have more friends. My god, the friends Dave had. They're still calling his phone to leave messages even though they know he's dead (which is disconcerting).

But I suppose a dozen-donut-hangover is better than an booze hangover. 

Infrastructure Nonsense

Two days ago I saw a truck in our subdivision marked "U.S. Infrastructure" and I thought that was pretty cool. 

Yesterday I noticed that an area on our street was marked off by cones. 

Today I noticed a large pile of gravel blocking our driveway. 

Could have put it where they parked their trucks, but no.

I walked out to the driveway and employed some pretty loud body language to say, “When is this nonsense going to be over?” It was over when promised, in less than fifteen minutes, during which of course Gary’s phone rang. Luckily, no one was summoning him.

It amazes me that if a roof is to be torn off or a door or fireplace repaired Gary feels it in his bones, but if the street is torn to bits he loves it for the entertainment value.

It amuses me that as he day has gone on it is evident this nonsense is so that AT&T can upgrade their cables. ATt&T trucks everywhere. It would be especially amusing if they were putting in individual landlines for us old folks. I canceled my landline service, since my biggest landline user died. What if I was the user that tipped the scales, though, early last month? Poetic justice.

Weekly Paint Progress; 11/24 Happy Thanksgiving

I put so little effort making this:

... out of this:

Rookie / Cookies

Rookie. Every synthetic wig wearer does this once: opens a hot oven and scorches the nylon that her wig is made of. I went a whole two months without doing it. Technically I could take that wig to a stylist and have her clip out the scorched hairs then use mild heat to re-route the ones that remain, but it seems to me that with supplies and practice I could acquire that skill. In the meantime I just bought the same wig again, and because the floodgates were opened I bought a different style. Just to see how it looked on me. 

I was on the fence but Gary surprised me by being very positive about Shirley. 

Cookie.

Speaking of frying ones wig, it was a dutch baby in a 425 degree oven that got Chimera 1.0.  Even 350 degrees will cook any wig, so I have slapped a cautionary post-it note over the pre-heat button in preparation for this year's Christmas cookie bake.

Good Things / Bad Things: Big Delete

Now that Dave is gone, I keep coming across things I no longer have to hold on to, and I've been getting rid of them.

A list of movies David insisted I must watch. Dave and I differed on what made a good movie. For years he insisted Veronica Guerin was the Best Movie Ever Made. After I resisted for years, I watched it, and I told him that that while it was okay I did not agree. Over the years he claimed these were the Best Movies Ever Made: American Flyers, The Negotiator, Executive Decision. I kept a list so I would not waste time on these movies.

All Bookmarks for Dealing with Borderline Personality Disorder. Don't need those anymore. 

The Landline. I was keeping the landline so Dave had an assigned phone to call that wasn't my work phone. During his manic moods he could call up to twenty times a day. 

On the down side - Artemis is on the way to the moon, and no one would be more excited about that then Dave. 

Bad Things: Dust and Mysteries Part 2

So, now I have honored Dave's wishes and distributed some of Dave's ashes to his friends. (I assume his AA sponsor really did this at the remembrance ceremony they held for Dave.)

I kept the rest in my luggage and flew it home. (To be honest, first I sprinkled some in the backyard of his house in Albuquerque. Because he did love that house, and Albuquerque, and because my suitcase wouldn't close. This is why we love cremains: so practical.)

As I said, I kept some for my garden, and I also kept some because I had a vague memory that at one time Mom instructed me what to do with Dave's body, should he die. (I don't remember what Dave was doing that prompted this.) Mom told me there was a spot in the family plot for Dave, because the plot was divided into two plots of three: Her mom, dad, and brother, and then her, her sister, and then one where Dave might go. I had sprinkled some of Mom's ashes in the plot where her body was meant to have been buried, so I thought I should do the same for Dave.

Only then did I realize I have nooooo memory of what cemetery the family plot is in. I also have no record of it in my files. I don't visit Mom's grave because very little of her is there; she's mostly in my garden.

"Try one of those Find a Grave web sites," you say. Nope. For that you need the name to match, and my family is full of divorced women, so who knows what name they are buried under.

I had one relative who never married, Aunt Dolores, and in a hunt for her middle name I found her death certificate, and then I found that the last line of the death certificate records where they should send the body. Sunset Cemetery. Whew.

(An aside: Sunset Cemetery has some bad Yelp reviews. Good thing I'm giving my body to science.)

So, I may take a day during Thanksgiving week and sprinkle some of Dave across the family plot, and then wait to put him in my garden when the ground isn't frozen. 

For those who think I'm being disrespectful: a) always, and b) we have eight billion people on this planet now, and they all need real estate. At some point there will be a New York Catacombs, and the New York cemeteries will be dug up and the bones will be the foundation of the gift shop. Even today if you are in a crypt in New Orleans there comes an anniversary when your remains are pushed to the back and a fresh body goes in front. 

Ashes to ashes, people. It's the way to go. 

Bad Things: Dust and Mysteries Part 1

Per his wishes, I cremated Dave. Part of Dave will join part of Mom and part of Dad in my back garden. (To be specific, I'd say it's 2 cups of Mom, one cup of Dad. I'll make sure that Dave doesn't overwhelm them.)  

After Mom died I followed most of her directions: I amended her last name on the headstone, then I sprinkled some of her cremains on the plot, dug up some of Dad's ashes from her garden, and mixed hers and his for my garden.  So now part of Dave will join the mix.

Only part will stay with the family, because per his wishes, I divvied him into baggies for his AA friends to put in their gardens "to help things grow."

Let me tell you, while it may be practical to distribute ashes among friends, and relatives, and friends you love more than relatives, Dave's friends do not necessarily relish the responsibility of a baggie o'Dave. Maybe they think it's gross, or maybe they think he's out there expecting them to take him to Europe or something. I was surprised how taken aback they were by the suggestion. Eventually I found one sympathetic ear and gave him a dozen baggies of Dave to distribute how he saw fit. Will it happen? Who knows?

Bad Things: Selling Things I Don't Own

A few days after Dave died I woke up in his bedroom and noticed the window. 

"Well that's cute," I thought. "There's a little window seat there. I've always wanted a house with a window seat," 

I sighed. Then I realized: I'm Dave's only relative, so technically, I do have a house with a window seat.

Only I don't, because of probate. I spoke to a realtor about repairing and selling the house, and that process can't start until probate is over. I can't even get the locks changed. Because it's not my house. And fair enough, I can see the sense in that. A probate lawyer is working on it.

The lawyer is also working on this:

As I was driving Dave's cute little convertible, it occurred to me that I am not insured to drive that car, and more important, I was driving a car I don't even own. New Mexico makes you wait a month before you change the title after a death. And even though I won't end up with it, and I know who gets it next, I have to get it first so I can sign it over.

And I know it's tacky to talk about such things with Dave only three weeks gone, but those three weeks felt like three months.

Good / Bad Things: Finding the Ex

One nice thing about Dave's death was that I got to reconnect with Dave's last real girlfriend. 

He's "passionate," as one of his friends said. I think I've hinted at David's ugliest side. If he gets close enough to a woman, he spits on her and slaps her, and feels that isn't abuse because he doesn't close his fist.

The last time this happened, Dave called the police because he thought the woman had stolen his dog and car, and of course the police came and saw the marks and put David into jail for a weekend. Oddly, when the woman told me (apologetically - also odd), I immediately said, without thinking, "Well, technically I have to be on his side."

Only, no, of course not. I'm a human, then I'm a woman, and then way down the list I'm a sister. I didn't correct myself to her at the time, but that was the day I vowed I'd never be in the same room as Dave again. 

So I got a chance to tell that woman that I regretted saying that, and that I was wrong, and that she deserved far better than him. Too late, probably, but done.

As for not speaking ill of the dead, I've done enough damage by not warning every girlfriend what was in store for her when he was alive.

Somehow I need to find the original ex, the least favorite girlfriend, the one who fought back, and let her know his final albeit addled thoughts were of her. 

Thursday Paint Progress: 11/17

Old paintings: the two dog paintings are in Colorado with Dave's two dogs, and the zebra and the third dog came back with me.

New painting:

Bad Things: Things I Never Want to Hear Again

Dave's house has a Ring doorbell. I never want to hear the noise that a Ring doorbell makes when someone is at your front door. 

I could do without the Amazon Alexa Bark routine. If Alexa hears a bark she plays peaceful music to calm your dog. Dave's dogs would start barking when they heard the Ring doorbell announce someone was at the door. They weren't calming down because of some music.

I don't want to hear a Ring doorbell tell me simeone is at the door at 9:30 at night. I want the Ring doorbell to tell those people to fuck off. Well, no. Those were the medical supply people. There was also an AA person, and it's important they have access to each other at all times.

I don't want to hear Dave's phone ding again with another person who doesn't know he's dead.

I don;t want to hear my phone ding again with another message that I've used up all the cellular data on my plan and they'll happily charge me fifteen dollars and hey, I might want to check out this thing out there called "wireless." The wireless at Dave's was strong, but the password he gave me was wrong. I would have looked to see if the password was written on the router, but even after the AA folks disconnected all the computers (to protect me from Dave's meticulously curated porn collection), the wireless was still broadcasting from God knows where. In the attic? On the roof? Did he wall it up? Still don't know.

Good Things: Airport TSA

I have never set off a metal detector at an airport before, but this time I rang all the bells and merited the TSA touch.

It was the wig, of course. Well not the wig, but the pins and clips trussing up my real hair. Well, the clips and the Apple watch. I haven't flown since 2018. Things have changed.

Happily, even though the x-ray image plainly showed every clip haloing my skull, the TSA lady just ignored that. Didn't have to whip off my wig at all (though I would have). She just checked the watch and waved me on my way.

Good Thing? Bad Thing? Feeding the Devil

When mom died I took a year to clear out the house. She had stocked up on noodles and soup and I ate many meals lifted from Mom's larder. Getting rid of all her open food, personal effects, furniture wasn't difficult because I had an all the tine I wanted to do it. 

I had to clean out Dave's house in a week, though. I had to review every piece of paper, every file, plus root through the car trunk and closet shelves to find bills he tossed there unopened. For a while I was laboring under the mistaken belief that some things would be donated and some would be tossed, so I separated the wheat from the chaff, until I found it was all chaff. 

The AA folks came in and took all just chaff they wanted, and then all that was left was the food. 

Ten unopened containers went to a food kitchen. The rest couldn't go in the trash, because the bin was already full. Couldn't go in a bag outside of the bin because of raccoons. No, everything had to go in the sink and down the garbage disposer. Frozen food? Thawed overnight and down the diposer. Pasta? I was tempted to cook it first but it happily went through the disposer raw. I learned to hold my breath as the spices went down the disposer. Medical marijuana? Also, to my friends' dismay, down the disposer. (Good thing, because the TSA searched my bag. All they found was a bag of remains. I checked first: you can transport cremated remains in luggage.)

It felt wicked to throw out perfectly good food. I suppose I should have had a buffet for the AA folks, but it would have been a weird combo of protein shakes, shaved turkey, Propel, and green sauce. Instead, that disposer ran for five straight hours. 

Must remember to eat everything in my house when my death is imminent.