| General Non-Fiction posted August 15, 2010 | Chapters: |
1 -2- 3... 
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What else can happen?
A chapter in the book FAMILY - SHORT STORIES
You're Kidding - Right? Part One
by Begin Again
This can't be happening!
Have you ever had a bad day and wondered what else can go wrong? Well, dear friends and readers, in the past few weeks I have discovered the answer to that question. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the only word suited is - Plenty!
As many of you may have noted, I have not been able to enjoy my favorite pastime of late. The pleasure of losing myself in imaginative adventures and putting those thoughts into hopefully enjoyable stories for my friends and fans to read hasn't been much of an option. Lamenting to my favorite "Australian Sis", I whined about the wild, spiraling events in my life and how I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around an exciting story plot. She quickly suggested I write about my true, but unbelievable, life sequences. My mind told me no one would possibly believe these things could be happening to one person, while I, unfortunately, knew it all to be true. After much persuasion on her part and lack of any other ideas on mine, I decided to share a few bits and pieces with you. If nothing else, you might just decide your life isn't running so rough after all.
A few months ago, after much agitated deliberation, I decided to close my corporate catering business after fifteen wonderful years. I live in a manufacturing city that has one of the highest percentages of unemployment in the United States. When times were good, the cashier register jingled and put my children through college. When hard times hit our economy, we were one of the first to feel the crunch. Free food wasn't high on any company's must have list.
My "honey" was providing us a comfortable living, our savings account had a few dollars, and I would soon be eligible for social security. Considering all the facts, we made a joint decision - with a few minor adjustments, our life style wouldn't change much. Hindsight proved that to be a huge fallacy.
Shortly after closing up shop, the love of my life suffered numerous health set-backs including triple by-pass surgery, a botched cataract surgery that seriously impaired his eyesight, off the chart diabetes which created an avalanche of health problems, and another list of ailments too numerous to mention. Needless to say, his ability to maintain his Supervisor position and our "comfortable living" arrangement plummeted.
Unwilling to raise the white flag in defeat, I considered our options. At the time, the one most feasible, in my mind, was moving back to the home where I raised my children. By choice, I had allowed other family members to live in the ten room Victorian home for years, but now, the situation had changed and eliminating housing costs by returning to the old homestead seemed the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, my necessary decision wasn't accepted well by those occupying the home. Without airing too much dirty laundry, let's just say it took months to remove them from the home. My memories of years of giving tender loving care to the home led me astray. I was positive that a quick coat of paint to freshen the walls would provide us a lovely new home. Once again, I was living in one of my "happily ever after" stories. It wasn't happening!
After the house was empty of delinquent renters, I stood alone on the front walkway, staring at the old homestead. So many memories, good times, happy times, flooded my mind, followed by a torrent of tears. The once beautiful flower gardens were filled with two-foot high weeds, only a few blades of grass dotted the sun-baked dirt, and a forest of spindly saplings sprouted everywhere.
Convincing myself it was only outdoor cosmetics, I climbed the sagging steps and unlocked the front door.
As the door swung open, my stomach did double flips at the smell - (a stray cat was locked inside). Flinging open windows, I finally allowed my eyes to wander about the room. My heart plummeted! I squeezed my eyes closed, took a deep breath, choked and gagged on the putrid air, and reluctantly took in the condition of the room. Collapsing onto a broken-down sofa, I cried.
I tried to convince myself I'd walked into the worse part of the house. Gathering my courage, I started my inspection. Needless to say, the many, many years of loving care, hard work, and dollars spent were no longer evident in any part of the house. Ceilings with gaping holes greeted me in five rooms. Every door, wall, and counter top had holes - a shoe kick here, a fist there, and even a hammer head or two. Much to my chagrin, I would later learn of my son-in-law's erratic and vicious temper, and the lengths my youngest daughter took to keep the fact hidden.
Meanwhile, I was faced with the almost insurmountable task of making the house into a home again. I remembered it how it was, and foolishly, believed I could make it that way again. Hadn't I done it once?
Yes, I had, but back then, I wasn't fast approaching old age, the majority of my body parts moved without screaming in pain, and I was consumed by vim and vigor. The first time, I looked at it as an adventure, but now it was a chore - one I wasn't sure I could accomplish.
Having been raised to believe that one can achieve anything they set their minds on, I pushed all troubling thoughts aside and made the decision to renovate. I knew our budget was nil, but I convinced myself hard work and determination would champion the difficulties. I must have been high on wishful thinking!
The next few weeks would be filled with unforgettable memories, or more aptly said, nightmares. If I had been able to see the future, I doubt I would have plunged forward with the eagerness of a young girl. After surveying the shambles the first day, I asked myself how could anything get worse? I would soon discover the many possibilities to that question.
This can't be happening!
Have you ever had a bad day and wondered what else can go wrong? Well, dear friends and readers, in the past few weeks I have discovered the answer to that question. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the only word suited is - Plenty!
As many of you may have noted, I have not been able to enjoy my favorite pastime of late. The pleasure of losing myself in imaginative adventures and putting those thoughts into hopefully enjoyable stories for my friends and fans to read hasn't been much of an option. Lamenting to my favorite "Australian Sis", I whined about the wild, spiraling events in my life and how I couldn't even begin to wrap my mind around an exciting story plot. She quickly suggested I write about my true, but unbelievable, life sequences. My mind told me no one would possibly believe these things could be happening to one person, while I, unfortunately, knew it all to be true. After much persuasion on her part and lack of any other ideas on mine, I decided to share a few bits and pieces with you. If nothing else, you might just decide your life isn't running so rough after all.
A few months ago, after much agitated deliberation, I decided to close my corporate catering business after fifteen wonderful years. I live in a manufacturing city that has one of the highest percentages of unemployment in the United States. When times were good, the cashier register jingled and put my children through college. When hard times hit our economy, we were one of the first to feel the crunch. Free food wasn't high on any company's must have list.
My "honey" was providing us a comfortable living, our savings account had a few dollars, and I would soon be eligible for social security. Considering all the facts, we made a joint decision - with a few minor adjustments, our life style wouldn't change much. Hindsight proved that to be a huge fallacy.
Shortly after closing up shop, the love of my life suffered numerous health set-backs including triple by-pass surgery, a botched cataract surgery that seriously impaired his eyesight, off the chart diabetes which created an avalanche of health problems, and another list of ailments too numerous to mention. Needless to say, his ability to maintain his Supervisor position and our "comfortable living" arrangement plummeted.
Unwilling to raise the white flag in defeat, I considered our options. At the time, the one most feasible, in my mind, was moving back to the home where I raised my children. By choice, I had allowed other family members to live in the ten room Victorian home for years, but now, the situation had changed and eliminating housing costs by returning to the old homestead seemed the right thing to do.
Unfortunately, my necessary decision wasn't accepted well by those occupying the home. Without airing too much dirty laundry, let's just say it took months to remove them from the home. My memories of years of giving tender loving care to the home led me astray. I was positive that a quick coat of paint to freshen the walls would provide us a lovely new home. Once again, I was living in one of my "happily ever after" stories. It wasn't happening!
After the house was empty of delinquent renters, I stood alone on the front walkway, staring at the old homestead. So many memories, good times, happy times, flooded my mind, followed by a torrent of tears. The once beautiful flower gardens were filled with two-foot high weeds, only a few blades of grass dotted the sun-baked dirt, and a forest of spindly saplings sprouted everywhere.
Convincing myself it was only outdoor cosmetics, I climbed the sagging steps and unlocked the front door.
As the door swung open, my stomach did double flips at the smell - (a stray cat was locked inside). Flinging open windows, I finally allowed my eyes to wander about the room. My heart plummeted! I squeezed my eyes closed, took a deep breath, choked and gagged on the putrid air, and reluctantly took in the condition of the room. Collapsing onto a broken-down sofa, I cried.
I tried to convince myself I'd walked into the worse part of the house. Gathering my courage, I started my inspection. Needless to say, the many, many years of loving care, hard work, and dollars spent were no longer evident in any part of the house. Ceilings with gaping holes greeted me in five rooms. Every door, wall, and counter top had holes - a shoe kick here, a fist there, and even a hammer head or two. Much to my chagrin, I would later learn of my son-in-law's erratic and vicious temper, and the lengths my youngest daughter took to keep the fact hidden.
Meanwhile, I was faced with the almost insurmountable task of making the house into a home again. I remembered it how it was, and foolishly, believed I could make it that way again. Hadn't I done it once?
Yes, I had, but back then, I wasn't fast approaching old age, the majority of my body parts moved without screaming in pain, and I was consumed by vim and vigor. The first time, I looked at it as an adventure, but now it was a chore - one I wasn't sure I could accomplish.
Having been raised to believe that one can achieve anything they set their minds on, I pushed all troubling thoughts aside and made the decision to renovate. I knew our budget was nil, but I convinced myself hard work and determination would champion the difficulties. I must have been high on wishful thinking!
The next few weeks would be filled with unforgettable memories, or more aptly said, nightmares. If I had been able to see the future, I doubt I would have plunged forward with the eagerness of a young girl. After surveying the shambles the first day, I asked myself how could anything get worse? I would soon discover the many possibilities to that question.
 Recognized |
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This is a two parter about events in my life recently. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse....
Thankyou Kim for the use of your artwork.
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and 2 member cents. Thankyou Kim for the use of your artwork.
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