There hasn't been a Mothershead in this old house for Christmas since 2001. And even though I didn't live here for very long, I can't help but feel a little weird about that. And by weird, I guess I mean sad. I mean fifty percent of us are dead. Twenty-five percent of us have moved far away in more ways than miles.
I didn't really live here that long, but it isn't the years, it's the mileage. We moved here in 1979 when I was in the eighth grade and I didn't leave until 1984 when I was kicked out on that warm April morning. I was Tough-Loved out. I wouldn't be back until 1989 for a couple of summers after I started college, and even that was a trial and tribulation. How bad was it? Well, I was sent to live on the campus of UNCG...the G stands for Greensboro which is where this old house is!
The memories in this house range from the very good to the very dark indeed.
One really sweet one is me and my college girlfriend waiting together at the table in the kitchen for my Mom to leave to go play tennis with friends, and as soon as she left, bounding upstairs to fool around. Of course, no sooner had we stripped down when we heard Mom's car come back and the front door open to mom yelling, "I forgot my tennis racket! Just be a second!" Mom was no fool I guess, and she left quietly. My old college girlfriend is in the kitchen again, right now, cooking breakfast for the kids.
The dark memories aren't worth mentioning I reckon. Who wants to know? When I finally got a job that didn't involve horse poop I was allowed to drive the family cars to Friends Home to wait tables, but...I had to log my miles to prove I wasn't going anywhere else. Of course, one week when everyone had gone away, I did just that. The neighbors, still the same couple, never said anything, but I'm sure they saw me driving the Rabbit backwards around the circle drive trying to "erase" the contraband miles I had stacked onto the odometer. It worked, but painfully slow. I had yet to see Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
But here I am again, in the den where the TV was. I mean, it's my own damn fault. Dad would have liked that I had to move back home after four years of struggling following the collapse of the western economy and the housing market that had been so good to me and mine and a handful of the best carpenters I'd ever worked with--and some white trash too. I just wish I had done it alot* sooner.
The memories are all over the place here. All I have to do is close my eyes and smell. The front door slamming is almost the same sound it made back in day. I did my best to put our signature on it to make it our own. We had the dark, depressing paneling painted bright white. We pulled up all the old carpets and had the hardwoods beneath refinished to a satin shine. Years of living with cats, kids, dogs, and a fried-chicken-eating brett left us no choice really.
We have teens here again. They are happier, I imagine, than I was living here even though the surrounding woods have shrunk. There's no cable TV here, but the internet is alive and well. Having my kids here, and seeing them so normal and healthy, and happy, is something I wish my folks could see. They really missed out on meeting the next generation of my Mothersheads. Dad wouldn't have thought it possible that I could've raised such adorable, funny little people. I had help.
I sleep in the same room my mother died, and I'm OK with that. It doesn't seem weird or even that sad. With no carpet I can see the hole in the floor where Dad ran a TV cable so mom could watch Walker, Texas Ranger in bed. It's huge because he didn't have, and would never have paid for, a co-axial crimping tool to put the ends on the cable after running it which would have required a smaller hole. Even a three eighths inch hole in my bedroom floor tells a story.
The things I fixed, that used to vex Dad, are some of my proudest accomplishments. The rotten basement windows? Oh, they're gone. The door you had to slam with your knee to lock? I fixed it. The door you had to close to open the pantry, and vice versa, is gone, replaced with a cased opening. The leaky basement walls are sealed, and after a blast of muddy water to the face, I finally fixed the sump pump once and for all. The half-glass basement door replaced, from scratch, with a fir slab, mortised, bored, and hung by yours truly.
Some things never change. When I find a light left on in the basement, I can hear Dad bitching about it. He'd've got me and made me turn it off back in the day, but that's too much like work. I just turn it off and run for the stairs. It's still pretty scary down there and I don't care who left it on. When the so-called heat pump is pumping cold air up my pant leg, I can hear him say, "Put on more clothes," and I do on this go round.
Well, looking back, I'm not even sure why I started writing this. I mean, when I started, I had a vision of a story about being home and being sad alot* of the time when I'm here. However, maybe I'm more wistful. This last fall did seem a bit more depressing than usual. And I can't help think it was because we had to move "back home". And there's so much more to do here that at times it's completely overwhelming. Not only the money involved, but the time needed puts me at odds with the other things we're supposed to be doing like work and hunting.
When 2013 passes, and the days start getting longer and brighter, maybe things will perk up. And we'll paint more, and we'll do that mantel, and we'll build those shelves for the basement. Maybe you'll be around to read about some of that too.
Happy Holidays from the Mothersheads and the one hold-out Cain.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Ten Good Things About being Forty-Something
I think it's pretty easy to find ten things you dislike about being forty-something so I wanted to dig deep and find ten things that make living half your life worthwhile. There has to be an upside to dipping one foot in the proverbial grave. Otherwise, what's to keep us from just getting it over with and diving on in?
1. I'll eat anything (once) and probably like it. Turnips, collards, brussels sprouts--all kinds of crazy stuff I'd refuse as a snot-nosed kid I'll eat regularly now. These days I even enjoy something way off the old menu. Who knew you could grill asparagus and it'd be good. Okra? Not so good grilled...but like I said, I'll try anything once.
2. Wisdom! Or at least knowing a little bit about alot of stuff. I can fake it in a conversation with strangers though I admit, sometimes I have to make shit up. I always 'fess up though, usually followed by a grin and a "well it sounded good didn't it?"
My kids hate how I can lip-sync to movies and TV shows and talk shows. I've just been around long enough that I can usually pull it off. It makes me look wise to the kids even if the boy deadpans to me, "I hate you." It's worth it.
3. Economy of movement. I can wrangle heavy objects without breaking a sweat, or my back. I've learned to roll things, lock my arms, carry things up and down, around and over without undue stress and strain. Slide a safe on a carpet sample? A corn broom? You bet.
I have figured out how to plan trips up and down stairs leaving little piles at the bottom to go up, or tossing crap down for someone (not sure who at this point) to pick up later if I don't get to it just so I don't wear myself out running up and down. I just smile watching the kids. They'll go all the way up just to brush their teeth! Rubes.
4. Loss of inhibitions. Want to sing along with the Muzak in line at the CVS while you're buying your Breathe Right strips and some beef jerky? Belt it out. When you're in your mid-forties, you already know you don't have to impress anyone! Who's going to care?
Throw a compliment or two around. Sure the waitress'll think you're hitting on her, but so what. You might make her day, and she might forget to charge you for that fourth mohito! And for god's sake, order girly drinks! Mohito's and Singapore Slings and Sex on the Beaches--find out why chicks dig them, but keep your insulin pen handy.
5. Teenage kids! I myself have an army of two. I'd like to say I have a slave army, but unless you beat the shit out of your kids (or try talking them into working for you like my poor, cheap-ass dad did) you might as well do what I do and pay them for services rendered. I haven't mowed in years. We've been moving, switching houses lately and I have box-toting fools that'll work for tacos and frappuccinos.
By god I have a chauffeur! I can bury my nose in my phone or see the sights as we whiz down the road. It's pretty great.
And, I never have to see a movie by myself--I always can get one of them to go see something with me--even if it's terrible, like say...GI-Joe.
6. Tools. By now you should have accumulated all the hand tools and power tools that you'll ever need. So when a storm rips some shingles from your roof you already have a damn coffee can full of roofin' nails, a flat bar to pry the sticky bastards apart from each other, an extension ladder to get up there and a nail apron or full-blown tool belt to look the part of Roofer.
You should have sets of sockets, SAE and metric, raring to go--of course, the down side is that you can't remember where you left them, but we're keeping it positive. You can fix a flat tire with your jack, compressor, plugs, impact driver and true grit.
If you've outlived your dad, you might even have a Shopsmith Mark V! Need I say more?
7. You've been married for twenty years to the same person and you're at that point in your marriage where, if you're in the house together for longer than say, a meal, someone is going to say, "Haven't you got somewhere else to be?" And that's called freedom.
You hear some guys say, "I can't get a kitchen pass," or whatever and you scratch your head. You can't even remember when your honey wanted you attached to her at the hip and for that you're both thankful. She gets to be a crazy cat lady, and you get to go off and tear stuff up...or fix stuff...or hide in the garage with a cigar and something to reload, or clean or take apart. Or, if you're like me, put off until never; it's only the cigar that matters.
8. Less speeding tickets. I can't figure this out. It might be that everyone else has started driving faster and has finally caught up to me, or I have found my groove and never get over sixty miles an hour. It might be that I just don't give a shit anymore. These days I'm up before the sun--well, I'm awake anyway--so I'm never lounging around in bed until the very last minute before work, so I'm never in a hurry.
I go to movies 30 minutes early.
The only time I freak out anymore is the last two or three miles when I'm just a blue hair in a Buick away from being home...and getting a shower and a big orange.
9. You never have to try on clothes anymore because you know what you like, what looks good on you and what size you've been for 20 years! My god, I can mail order my snappy Reeboks online now with confidence seeings how I've been wearing the same shoe since 1991...virtually.
I already know what I want so I don't have to fret at the store. I don't care about name-brands (except for the aforementioned and kick-ass Reeboks) anymore, just cotton content--namely, one hundred percent.
If you die tomorrow, I can walk into a Men's Warehouse store and pick out everything I need, go home, put it on, and be at the funeral home before you're cold...yeah...42 medium, neck's a 14.
10. You need less sleep! Which is good, because your bladder wants you get up earlier anyway. I get by on six and half hours of honest snooze time, but just look at my shiftless son who lounges around until the crack of noon on the weekends! And by god he needs that much or it's like living with The Cracken.
I, on the other hand, can flop down at ten, pass out shortly thereafter, wake up without an alarm clock (bladder, remember?) at 4:44am but still flop around until 5:30 just checking up on world events and facebook. I mean, we're talking day in and day out with great aplomb. It doesn't hurt that there's a coffee pot beside the bed either, but that's just wisdom (item number 2) coming into play.
Someday, when I'm living on water and light, I might be able to give up sleep all together and enjoy the crappy movies on Netflix, or go broke buying episodes of Justified on Amazon all...night...long!
So there you have it. Maybe thinking positive is passe nowadays what with facebook and all. It's easy to be crabby--heck, I do it sometimes. But it's easy to be happy too. I think Monty Python's troupe sang it best in The Life of Brian: Always look on the bright side of Life!
1. I'll eat anything (once) and probably like it. Turnips, collards, brussels sprouts--all kinds of crazy stuff I'd refuse as a snot-nosed kid I'll eat regularly now. These days I even enjoy something way off the old menu. Who knew you could grill asparagus and it'd be good. Okra? Not so good grilled...but like I said, I'll try anything once.
2. Wisdom! Or at least knowing a little bit about alot of stuff. I can fake it in a conversation with strangers though I admit, sometimes I have to make shit up. I always 'fess up though, usually followed by a grin and a "well it sounded good didn't it?"
My kids hate how I can lip-sync to movies and TV shows and talk shows. I've just been around long enough that I can usually pull it off. It makes me look wise to the kids even if the boy deadpans to me, "I hate you." It's worth it.
3. Economy of movement. I can wrangle heavy objects without breaking a sweat, or my back. I've learned to roll things, lock my arms, carry things up and down, around and over without undue stress and strain. Slide a safe on a carpet sample? A corn broom? You bet.
I have figured out how to plan trips up and down stairs leaving little piles at the bottom to go up, or tossing crap down for someone (not sure who at this point) to pick up later if I don't get to it just so I don't wear myself out running up and down. I just smile watching the kids. They'll go all the way up just to brush their teeth! Rubes.
4. Loss of inhibitions. Want to sing along with the Muzak in line at the CVS while you're buying your Breathe Right strips and some beef jerky? Belt it out. When you're in your mid-forties, you already know you don't have to impress anyone! Who's going to care?
Throw a compliment or two around. Sure the waitress'll think you're hitting on her, but so what. You might make her day, and she might forget to charge you for that fourth mohito! And for god's sake, order girly drinks! Mohito's and Singapore Slings and Sex on the Beaches--find out why chicks dig them, but keep your insulin pen handy.
5. Teenage kids! I myself have an army of two. I'd like to say I have a slave army, but unless you beat the shit out of your kids (or try talking them into working for you like my poor, cheap-ass dad did) you might as well do what I do and pay them for services rendered. I haven't mowed in years. We've been moving, switching houses lately and I have box-toting fools that'll work for tacos and frappuccinos.
By god I have a chauffeur! I can bury my nose in my phone or see the sights as we whiz down the road. It's pretty great.
And, I never have to see a movie by myself--I always can get one of them to go see something with me--even if it's terrible, like say...GI-Joe.
6. Tools. By now you should have accumulated all the hand tools and power tools that you'll ever need. So when a storm rips some shingles from your roof you already have a damn coffee can full of roofin' nails, a flat bar to pry the sticky bastards apart from each other, an extension ladder to get up there and a nail apron or full-blown tool belt to look the part of Roofer.
You should have sets of sockets, SAE and metric, raring to go--of course, the down side is that you can't remember where you left them, but we're keeping it positive. You can fix a flat tire with your jack, compressor, plugs, impact driver and true grit.
If you've outlived your dad, you might even have a Shopsmith Mark V! Need I say more?
7. You've been married for twenty years to the same person and you're at that point in your marriage where, if you're in the house together for longer than say, a meal, someone is going to say, "Haven't you got somewhere else to be?" And that's called freedom.
You hear some guys say, "I can't get a kitchen pass," or whatever and you scratch your head. You can't even remember when your honey wanted you attached to her at the hip and for that you're both thankful. She gets to be a crazy cat lady, and you get to go off and tear stuff up...or fix stuff...or hide in the garage with a cigar and something to reload, or clean or take apart. Or, if you're like me, put off until never; it's only the cigar that matters.
8. Less speeding tickets. I can't figure this out. It might be that everyone else has started driving faster and has finally caught up to me, or I have found my groove and never get over sixty miles an hour. It might be that I just don't give a shit anymore. These days I'm up before the sun--well, I'm awake anyway--so I'm never lounging around in bed until the very last minute before work, so I'm never in a hurry.
I go to movies 30 minutes early.
The only time I freak out anymore is the last two or three miles when I'm just a blue hair in a Buick away from being home...and getting a shower and a big orange.
9. You never have to try on clothes anymore because you know what you like, what looks good on you and what size you've been for 20 years! My god, I can mail order my snappy Reeboks online now with confidence seeings how I've been wearing the same shoe since 1991...virtually.
I already know what I want so I don't have to fret at the store. I don't care about name-brands (except for the aforementioned and kick-ass Reeboks) anymore, just cotton content--namely, one hundred percent.
If you die tomorrow, I can walk into a Men's Warehouse store and pick out everything I need, go home, put it on, and be at the funeral home before you're cold...yeah...42 medium, neck's a 14.
10. You need less sleep! Which is good, because your bladder wants you get up earlier anyway. I get by on six and half hours of honest snooze time, but just look at my shiftless son who lounges around until the crack of noon on the weekends! And by god he needs that much or it's like living with The Cracken.
I, on the other hand, can flop down at ten, pass out shortly thereafter, wake up without an alarm clock (bladder, remember?) at 4:44am but still flop around until 5:30 just checking up on world events and facebook. I mean, we're talking day in and day out with great aplomb. It doesn't hurt that there's a coffee pot beside the bed either, but that's just wisdom (item number 2) coming into play.
Someday, when I'm living on water and light, I might be able to give up sleep all together and enjoy the crappy movies on Netflix, or go broke buying episodes of Justified on Amazon all...night...long!
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