The Trials of Family

For all practical purposes, going forward I will tell people I have no family, except for an elderly mother. I am now ostracized because of a fight with my sister, the crazy mingebox.
She is so overwhelmingly negative about life. I don’t know where she because such a bitter person, unable to enjoy anything. Maybe it is her morbidly obese husband who can sit through a family gathering and not say a word to anyone.
She bemoans her poverty-stricken childhood, how much money everything costs, how much nicer everyone else has their homes, gardens, lives. Yet she has money but her only interest in life is shopping, yet she needs nothing.
We had a fight when I asked her to drive me to my colonoscopy. You can’t get one unless you have a driver because you get sedated. On the ride there we got in a fight when I asked her to give me a chance to finish a sentence. She constantly interrupts with a tirade of rants against the universe. Boy, because of my request I unleashed a flood of accusations.
My fear was that she might not be reliable to take me to the hospital, or not take me home. I realized I also needed to have an emergency number and didn’t have my cell phone in an attempt to take few belongings with me. She flatly refused to give me the numbers of any family members. And here I am about to be sedated for a procedure and totally at her mercy.
I told her that everyone was right, she is a bitch. She was taken aback, not by being called a bitch, but wanted to know ‘who’ else had said this!
I got through the procedure and back home. She was paid money and I told her I will never, ever ask anything of her again.
Well she told her daughter about a fight we had, details of which I don’t know but can imagine. Now my niece doesn’t invite me because of that. I’m not cure whether her mother told her she won’t attend if I’m there, or what.
I’m sorely disappointed in my niece, and family as a whole. My sister has a history of these sorts of conflicts with her own kids, where she refuses to speak with them. In February she refused to attend her 3-year old grandson’s birthday party because she can’t stand his other grandparents. That is just one incident.
So I have deleted nieces from my cell phone. They don’t call anyway. For the past year I have tried to be a nice family member, attending events, not holding grudges, even inviting my sister and her fat husband to my birthday lunch (oh, they are such dull, uninteresting guests) all to no avail. It was also to somewhat placate my mother who wants that perfect family. Her need to control and pretend the family is greeting card happy is a big part of the problem.
I never got along with my sister, 6 years older. I don’t even remember her in my own childhood – I see her in family photos, but don’t remember her. She is dull witted, has a real negative aura, complains without having any facts.
I have to reconcile that I am going to be alone. This shit is why I lived 3 hours away for 25 years. They are not my support network and I have develop other relationships for such.

Moose in the Woods Ch 6/pg11

My mother’s biggest fear about the woods goes back to her childhood. She feared the moose, the very big moose (moose are already large to adults let alone little children), convinced they were out to kill her. Come late summer the blue berries are ripe, then the children get sent off into the woods with their little pails to gather berries. These are the woods made famous in East Prussian song – land of dark forests and crystal clear lakes. But these forests were full of bull moose who are not mentioned in the idyllic songs! One day when the little girls were off berry picking, suddenly in front of them there stood a moose. Their little pails flew up in the air spilling the berries and the girls ran for home. They got in trouble for coming home without any blueberries and on top of that they lost their pails!
There are no moose now, I know that. The silence of the woods is broken only by the calls of the ravens. Are they guiding us or making fun of us. After some time I decide our search for the Gnieballen cemetery is futile. Even if the cemetery hadn’t been dug up, it would be overgrown with trees, tombstones displaced by tree roots. Clearly, the local populace has no interest in maintaining the local Lutheran, meaning German, cemetery. For that matter, returning Germans have no interest in restoring their long forgotten cemeteries with their forgotten ancestors. It is unlikely we will find anything any trace of these ancestors. And I don’t want to meet wild boars or wild woodsman.

Schadenfreude

My mother keeps doing this to me. She called me up to tell me that a house in my sister’s neighborhood sold for only $30,000! The implication being that I needed to get that house. She doesn’t even know which house she is talking about. And I already told her about it when my niece told me it sold within 3 days.
I checked it out on-line and it was listed for $50,000 with the note “Widow eager to sell.” I figured it went cheap.
And my Mom couldn’t refrain from saying “and if you get a house cheap you can put $50,000 in it and get the house you want.
No you fucking can’t!!! This house has a little yard next to it on a corner, no garage, and is only about 1,000 sq feet. $50,000 will not make it the house I want. Why doesn’t she get this?
I don’t even want to hear her say anything about the house topic.
She loves to update people with bad news, or news that will make them feel like losers. Their was a house I made an offer on last fall, but it was contingent on my house selling. Of course that deal fell though. So late winter my mother calls to tell me, with a note of joy in her voice, “your house sold. I just read it in the paper that it sold for only $90,000.” Of course she had the wrong house. What does that say about someone when they are so eager to update with news to make you feel more disappointed and like a loser.
Schadenfreude. And if you told her that’s what she was doing I’d get the old “you’re too sensitive.”
How do you tell your mother she is one source of your depression?
There is always a subtext that she knows better about buying houses. She guided me poorly years ago with the farmhouse I bought. And of course it is easy for her since I’m the one who would be doing most of the work. It is so easy to tell someone else “you can fix it up. You don’t have anything else to do.”
She never was supportive. Controlling and critical.
She is going up north next week to visit a friend. This is someone she can dictate hours on end their faults and what they have to do. The woman is actually a bit simple-minded and never takes Mom’s advice. So I will not have to ignore her calls to my cell phone. At least for a week.

Brain Addled by Heat

Various thoughts going through my head on this too, too hot day. Nearly 100F. Yes I do have air which is why I’m not leaving the apartment.
I once ate at an upscale Deli-style trendy restaurant in Grand Rapids. Ordered their tuna salad sandwich. This is usually a very safe choice in restaurants one is not familiar with. but what came was certainly a surprise! It was tuna salad made with elbow macaroni served on thick slices of white bread! What nutritionally deficient person thought this up? After expressing shock at pasta on bread, I didn’t have time to wait for something new so just ate the tuna salad. Never went there again.
My new realtor, the Dashing Derek, wants me to wait two weeks when he should have this new listing. The house is just “perfect for you”. I have no other information about it – not city, no square footage, no real idea why it is perfect for me. This is coming for someone whose never met me and has never experienced showing a house with me. Hmmmmmm-mmmmm.
Meanwhile another house I was interested in, but couldn’t see because of some snafu with the bank re short sale, Derek at least got the scoop on. Sold last Dec. as a short sale, sheriff sale happened in May, is now a Fannie Mae home; listing soon as a foreclosure. Meanwhile is continues showing up as an active real estate listing. What a convoluted process.
I got pissed at a guy shooting off fireworks outside my building last night. Naively I went out and asked him to stop. He was firing off rockets from a metal cylinder on the ground. Little embers dropping everywhere. The ensuing dialogue did not go well. Best of all were his excuses: “Like I’m not the only one doing it” and the best “I’m just being patriotic.” You get the dumb prize. And he was shooting fireworks from a cylinder he was holding while standing next to his baby mama holding the child. Could have been his girlfriend, lover, sister, but unlikely his wife. Need to cull the gene pool.
My mother paid for the wedding dress for her oldest granddaughter back in 1996. She also paid for the youngest at her wedding in 2005 or 6. Get this, after grandmother paid for the wedding dress, the brat returned it, lost money or the return and went and purchased a new wedding dress never telling her grandmother anything. What a mingebox! And now the middle granddaughter is getting married. I don’t know if my mother purchased her dress; she has chosen to exclude all of her family from any info about the wedding. We weren’t sure we would be invited to the ceremony. This is the deal where the celebration is two days after the wedding. And we first got the invite to the celebration five weeks ago. The wedding invite arrived 10 days ago.
I’m depressed even more. Not only about not finding a house, but I checking my IRA investments. They are down even lower than two years ago. Nothing I do trying to rebalance helps. What a fucking all around mess. And not even any World Cup Games until tomorrow.

House Hunting

I’m getting depressed. Perhaps I’ve already gotten there.
I’ve got 3 builders I’ve contacted re the house I’m interested in that news work. None have returned my calls. Granted, one has to be contacted through his sister who I doubt even talked to him yet.
I’m now going back through the reject pile re-evaluating houses. When I find something I might want to look at, it has a bid on it – contingent showing status.
Hard times, eh, when homes supposedly aren’t selling, I don’t find realtors to be very aggressive or men wanting construction work to be go-getters. They want work but don’t want it to interfere with their other activities – free time, playing with the kids, etc. They’ll call me back on their cell phones when they are at some job site working, right?
Plan B? I need to find a house to rent. I have 3 1/2 months yet. Here I have cash to buy a house and am paying monthly rent. It is costing me. On the bright side, come August I can start drawing on my 401k/IRA. That will be my income.
Oh yes, I know I am still so much better off than so many others. But I worked and saved! I did not buy expensive cars or wardrobe or take extravagant vacations or eat out all the time.How do I tell Larry the Realtor that I want to move on. He shouldn’t send me any more new (not that new any more) listings. I don’t feel he understands my needs. Maybe we need couples therapy.
And of course there is my mother always really with unsolicited tips on what I should do. “You can buy a house to fix up. You don’t have anything else to do!”
“If the price is right, you can put money into a house.”
This all from a woman who never buy a house or remodeled one. And I’m twenty years older than last time I did the fix up bit.

Car Rental Lithuanian Style Ch 3/pg 5

Oh now we are oh too full, but in a very promising mood about what this country holds for us. While waiting for my mother to come down and join me for breakfast, I went ahead and made arrangements for her to have a massage. I thought she’d enjoy that after her long flight. So she heads off for her massage and I head outside for a walk to get my preview of the county.
Early morning rush hour, people hustle along the streets. The location of the hotel is on a river or perhaps a canal, I can’t quite be certain which. The city feels vibrant and alive with activity. I know this is a port city but I can’t see any signs of a harbor even as I try to follow the river. And the weather is lovely. The site is in an area of north of the city center. My mother remembers a less built up area years ago. After about an hour walk I head back to the hotel.
Oh did she ever love her massage! This is a first ever massage ever for her. She got beat up real good by a genuine Russian trained masseur so by her standards that means it was excellent. It has to hurt to do you good. She’s already talking with excitement about another appointment when we return.
Now we meet with our rental car agent who is meeting us at the hotel. Algeridas, first name basis, is prompt and even speaks English! This is a real surprise to me. There hasn’t been that much time for the country to get English in the school since the border opened. In the past everyone had to learn Russian possibly English sometime later in their schooling. This young entrepreneur is 20-ish and already fluent in English. I found his agency on the internet and the prices were so much better than those of the American companies. So what if I’m driving a used Opal instead of a new Volkswagen. Anyway, I find it better not being too conspicuous as a foreigner. Forget that Mercedes!

Most Important Meal Ch 3/pg 4

Before we go to sleep we lay awake for a short time talking about our impressions so far. Mom realizes that this is not is the Lithuania she feared she would find. So far so good, and we are still in awe of the lovely Air Lithuania flight especially after the atrocious meal on Northwestern. Really seem food driven.
Morning comes! Breakfast! We are famished! Dressed and down to the main restaurant we go. There we find the large dining room set up for a buffet and full of – eh gads – Germans! It is a whole big tour group of them, so big it might be two groups actually. Okay, we’re now Americans for all practical purposes. Just like any large assembly of people, we want to stay clear of them. For that matter all groups exaggerate the worst qualities of any nationality when they congregate in large numbers. It seems so very odd being here in Lithuania and hearing all this German spoken. Somehow a bit out-of-place. I am in a non-German country and only hear German spoken.
We’re hungry so go check over the buffet before getting in line. What a lovely assortment. Hope we’re not drooling in anticipation. We’re just as happy as can be, especially if this is a sign of how things will be here. You may travel for the sights, but the food can make or break the trip. We just never really developed American taste buds. Unlike my travels through America, I have never lacked for good food in Europe. Wait, there was that one trip to Czechoslovakia – made the mistake of eating a sausage from an outdoor vendor. It was truly inedible; one chew brought to mind visions of Upton Sinclair’s infamous book about the meat packing industry. I spit out the awful gristle and threw the rest in the garbage bin. But that was just shortly after the fall. Western style competition had yet to take hold.

Hotel Lithuania Ch 3/pg 3

Check in is efficient and English is spoken! I find out where I can exchange money since I couldn’t do it before the trip. The currency, Litas, is not available outside the country. Just not a whole lot of demand for this money on the world currency markets let alone at my local bank. The rate is also fixed by the government making it not desirable for trade on exchange markets.
The lobby looks familiar just like so many other big hotels. Off to one side is a restaurant, a gift shop nearby and of course a postcard rack. I head over to take a quick assessment of significant sights in town. Looks like any middle European city, the usual old buildings and an occasional monument on the marketplace. Everything seems modern, clean, and nice. We realize how very tired we are, exhausted and ready for bed.
The porter takes us to our room, how nice, all of us with the two suitcases pressed into the tiny elevator. I read the signs for massage and sauna and advertisement pictures of lovely people enjoying a big classy restaurant. This is a really big hotel, but we are here for one night only. We’ll have another chance to explore before leaving the country when we stay here again in order to catch a very early morning flight home.
Our room is tiny! Décor is a sort of Scandinavian style. Let’s call it northern European modern. There is room for the two beds and a chair, us and that really big suitcase. It’s not as bad as the hotel I once stayed in London; there I nearly couldn’t move both me and my suitcase into the room at the same time. We do have a private bath which is always a nice perk. The hotel has obviously been remodeled not too long ago, but as long as Mom and I coordinate our movements, and don’t change course abruptly, we’re fine in the tight space. No need to unpack much as we won’t be here long.

Darkness in Palanga Ch 3/pg 1

We arrive in Palanga, Lithuania in the pitch dark of night. It is after ten pm. The plane is very small so there aren’t many passengers to handle. We still have to wait around in the very small terminal for officials. Finally here they come: customs, passport control and various uniformed personnel who just stand around. Did they have to wake them up, were they sleeping maybe? Or is this just a bureaucratic show of authority, you know, “let them wait”. I last experienced this attitude in the Bahamas upon landing at an airport on a remote out island. Thought it was just a Caribbean thing. Then there is the U.S. The officials all stand behind their official podiums, awaiting your arrival, ready to scrutinize you’re papers. Others intently stare at the crowd from the sidelines, scanning faces for guilty looks.
We could scarcely have surprised these Lithuanians officials with our plane – nothing is going on and planes don’t arrive without notice, so why aren’t they ready for us? The terminal is dark. Perhaps the lights don’t work. There are only a very few signs posted around the large hall. No bright commercial advertising typical of other airports. No travel posters, no resort or hotel ads.
Passport and customs procedures alone tell me that the days of Communist ways of doing things are long gone. It is all pretty easy to get done. Nothing spoken, no questions. Nobody slowly checking your identification details waiting for you to break a sweat, repeatedly glancing from your photo to your face, like in the good ole days when you endured examination in no man’s land. All while the German Sheppard’s patrolled. Now we just have to figure out how to get out of the airport and make the journey to our hotel in Memel city (Klaipeda). I forgot to plan for this little detail.

The Misfortune of April 13

My father wished not to die on the 13th. Back to his army days, it was as unlucky for German soldiers as for so many others. But he did die on the 13th, of April, 24 years ago.
I took my mother on a day trip to go visit his grave on this anniversary. Now that I live close to her it is much easier to do this. So we headed north, to the city where she lived for 24 years, and they lived for the last six years of her husband’s life.
It is a township cemetery literally out in the middle of nothing. Some graves date back to the 19th Century, showing wear and that they’re long forgotten. The influx of inhabitants due to the nearby recreational housing development, Sugar Springs, has been a boon to the cemetery – a definite influx of occupants in the last 30 years.
By city standards the field is scruffy and unkempt. But there is the wonderful peacefulness of the north woods. The grass is not manicured, but the pine trees are large sentinels keeping company with the dead.
We had our garden tools along to clean up the gravesite. Long ago my mother put in a border of bricks. Recently the cemetery required all raised beds removed by a set date otherwise it would be dismantled by the township. These beds had become a nuisance for the mowers; besides which so many were forgotten and unsightly. Ours was left probably because the bricks were grass level.
The daffodils are ready to bloom. We dig in a pot of white, silk lilies so it won’t get blown away by the fierce wind sweeping in from the north.
Then we wander among the gravestones, find an acquaintance she forgot had died two years ago. I straighten out an errant silk flower to give a gravestone the look of remembrance.
I think of Jane Kenyon’s poem, where the dog pees on the gravestone, a welcome visitor to the dead.
On each visit my mother points to the headstone with her name and birth year. Yes, her stone cutter knew enough not to prematurely put in a 19 for her death year.
It was a cloudy, rainy morning but now the sun is shining. The wind still has a bit of a chill. We say goodbye.