45 Years of Subtle Annoyance

I have this one customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who is annoying in small ways. Many small ways. He never does anything so bad as to allow me a reason to throw him out of the Shop bodily. That's an aggravation by itself; you almost want the guy to become outlandish and obnoxious enough that you can tell him to go hell. I'm sure you have such a friend too. Quiet Ron.

Cloyce likes to do things such as inspect my work every time I do it. Every. Single. Time. On the one hand, I get it. A fella wants assurance that the thing he's about to pay for is done well and proper. On the other, he's watched me do stuff for 45 years (cue old guy stating emphatically, and perhaps angrily as though offended, 'I been doin' this for well on 45 years now') and I feel he ought to trust my abilities at this point.

The other day as I finished welding a fitting onto his drain snake cable he asked upon inspection, "You sure that's enough weld on there, Marty?"

What to do, what to say? "Here's the welding lead, Cloyce. How 'bout, rather than me doing it and charging you $40, you show me how it's done and I'll pay you forty bucks?" Or, "It's just like I've done it for the 45 years you've known me (a variation on the earlier old man rant) Cloyce. What's yer problem?" 

But then, why get mad? He's going to act the same damn way next time, ain't he?

Depths of Feeling

We like to believe that we mature as we get older. I think that I've become a better, more considerate man as I get along. But we generally aren't the best judges of our own character either.

Still, experience does - or at least ought to - lead us to a greater understanding of ourselves and others. I can't recall ever feeling at all lost until the last few days. The feeling of aimlessness, of drift, is much more pervasive than I'd have guessed.

Monday, Tuesday I simply had no strong feelings about doing anything at all. I asked me son Charlie to handle the petitions during Mom's funeral Mass because I didn't think I could. It wasn't about not caring that she have a proper send off. I simply felt that the strength, the will, wasn't really there. I described the feeling to one person who asked as not having any 'giddyup'. I didn't want to move.

Of course I moved about a bit. You have to, to one degree or another. Things were easier to handle when I did, and as the days unfolded. But yesterday, Wednesday, I woke again with no honest desire to attempt anything. I managed to answer some emails and phone calls, and do a few small repairs at the Shop. That helped, yet each time I stopped I had to bull through the malaise all over.

Grief seems to have many and varied facets. I'm certainly and profoundly sad - at moments on the verge of an emotional collapse - but the very depth of feeling lost; I believe I can appreciate it all the more with the next person who tells me they are dealing with it.

 

Mischief Makers

Allow me one more repeat today, then I'll try to be more original tomorrow. Quiet Ron. 

Me Mom gets very repetitive these days. That's understandable and we all just roll with it. There are times where she realizes herself that's she's doing it, repeating herself constantly.

While we were out yesterday she must have asked me a dozen times in the first half hour, "Are we going to eat?" After about the sixth time she paused and cackled, "I'm giving you are a hard time aren't I?" After another pause she added, "But it ain't like you never gave me a hard time growing up!"

"Nuh-uh, Mrs. Cosgriff, that were them other boys of yours giving you trouble!" I protested playfully. Understand here that I have four brothers.

Mom got quiet and commenced to staring at me out the corner of her sharpened eye. When she had stared at me for several seconds she responded simply, "I'm sure you done enough mischief on your own."

What could I say? Moms know those things.

Formal Farewell

It's been quite a journey for her. Mom first stepped foot into her house in December 1957 and left it last Thursday. In between was the Purgatory of raising her brood. Those siblings of mine could be quite a handful.

Today is the, well, not really the final farewell as every memory in the future will surely bring about a flood of emotion. We'll be saying so long for the rest of our lives. So perhaps this is the formal farewell. Fair enough.

Love you Mom. Sundays without putting 150 miles on the new old van will be something of an adjustment.

Playing Favorites

So long as I'm replaying favorites, here's another, from about a year ago.

Yesterday was a good day. I managed to find what I was looking for at Meijer, namely Old Spice deodorant. Regular old Old Spice, not all the hipster variations which seem to dominate the brand lately. What in the name of all that is good and holy is wolfbane anyway? 

With such a difficult time finding it, having actually found what I wanted I bought four. That should hold me for a minute. Quiet Ron.

Being Sunday of course me Mom was with me. As we rode along she remarked, "I am enjoying this! I like the ride and the company!" Then turning towards me she asked, jokingly, "Who are you?"

"I'm your favorite son," I answered. It's become a running joke between us really.

But she got me pretty good yesterday. "Well, if that's what it takes to get you through the day we'll say it."

Give her a rim shot. She earned it. 

Where Art Thou?

I spoke yesterday of taking me Mom through the neighborhoods of Romeo, Michigan a couple of Sundays ago. God bless her, her memory had been fading for a while. She asked constantly, "Now where are we?"

"Romeo," I'd answer.

Mom would nod that she understood, then she'd smile broadly and recite happily, "Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo?" This happened about every five minutes the entire hour or so we cruised Romeo's streets. I could have told her a different city, but then she'd surely ask, "Isn't this Romeo?" because that's what happens, right? I didn't feel I ought to play games with her like that anyway.

Still, things quickly reached the point where I thought, "If I hear Romeo, Romeo, just one more time I swear I'll, I'll..."

...I'll do absolutely nothing but chuckle at it again. Just like I am right now.

Ella Cosgriff

My mother, Ella Cosgriff, passed away suddenly yesterday. No matter how much you see it on the horizon, you can't quite grasp what's happened when it finally does arrive, eh?

I took her out most Sundays. She loved driving through neighborhoods and seeing the houses. Consequently, I tried to find areas she would enjoy. One of them was Romeo, Michigan. It has a lot of historic homes.

The last Sunday I took her out was to there. I wasn't sure I wanted to; it was nothing but feeling lazy. It's about 35 miles north of Detroit; not a terrible drive but a bit of one. I considered waiting for October to see the fall colors and the Halloween decorations. Romeo, Tillson Street in particular, really does itself up for October 31st, and she enjoyed it immensely last year.

Ah, take her to Romeo, Marty. You can come back next month for all of that other stuff, a voice told me. So we went to Romeo, and she loved it. Mom always liked the older wooden clapboard homes. 

I have to say I'm glad I listened to that little voice which had been encouraging me. If there had to be a last Sunday with Mom, that was a great place for it.