Well, this came out of nowhere.
On Saturday, I worked at the annual baseball signup and fundraiser. Every year, it is a fun indoor event in the cold of winter, where the community comes together at the local community center to sign up the kids for baseball, eat, play, etc. I cooked for it, worked in the kitchen and behind the counter with a few other mothers serving the food.
The queen bee Claudia Perkins was there. She organized the affair, as she does every year. It is her baby. Her minions were there as well, making the rounds, and doing absolutely nothing. I think that I saw one of them throw a paper plate out once.
Halfway throughout the afternoon, Claudia came into the kitchen and wanted to talk to me about my lasagna. Needless to say, I was prepared for some kind of criticism. Claudia is a control freak, I think that I have mentioned that before. I was tired, a little sweaty and really was not in to mood for "well-intentioned suggestions". I almost told her to get lost, but being the polite little mouse that I am, I couldn't do it. I'm glad that I kept my mouth shut, because something wonderful happened.
She loved my lasagna. Gushed over it. That shocked me. I don't know why, but maybe it is because I've never heard words of encouragement from her lips before--thought that I was in the Twilight Zone, or that she was drunk. Then she asked a question that I was not expecting. She wondered if I would make a couple of trays for a family party that she was having on Sunday. She will pay me, of course, and pick them up. It didn't not take me two seconds before I said yes.
I'm wondering if this is some kind of sign. Maybe T was right about using my hobby as a business. Do what I love, and it would make me happy. I hope that this opportunity turns into something good. I don't want to get ahead of myself, though.
On Saturday, Philip and Derek are going on another trip without me. It's not an overnight trip, but it is yet another day out without me. Alone again...naturally. It happens all the time. I spend an awful lot of time alone these days. In fact, I am talking to myself. I did it again at the grocery store, and some lady looked at me like I had just come out of the insane asylum.
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| Yes, I know |
Yes, I should be happy that P spends so much quality time with Derek. He's a great father, without a doubt. There are so many children out there without an active father, and Derek is extremely lucky that his father's world revolves around him. Derek seems to be the only one who matters.
P is a great father, it's true, but he's a lousy husband. There--I've said it! He was lousy before, and he's unbearable now. If he did not take me for granted in the past, I would not have strayed. Actually, I am more comfortable without P around. The weekends with him are a chore. They are loaded with stilted conversations, uncomfortable silences, and on occasion, snide remarks. I can't stand to be around him anymore, and I'm glad when he is gone. I just wish that he did not take Derek with him.
I could talk to my friends about this, but even though they act as if they understand, I can tell that they still feel uncomfortable. They can't relate. They are both in happy marriages, after all. I can't expect them to feel what I feel. They try, and they worry about me, which is why I tell them that "Everything's fine". I don't want them to look at me with eyes of pity. That's the last thing I need. I feel lousy enough.
I guess that I'm just lonely, and I wanted to vent. Frank's passing has put me in a funk and has made me go back on my promise of no more whining. Plus, I have un-decorated the house and am going through cookie withdrawals (cookies turned into a crutch during the holidays). I went a little overboard for a month, and need to give them up to get back on track. I don't want to gain the weight back. I tried to hard to lose it.
So, I'm back to eating right, exercising and all that crap. Yippee. Well, at least I have a goal. New Year's resolution: Lose that last ten pounds (fifteen now), find a hobby, pray more, and hardest of all--get over T.
Most of all--stop whining!
Frank Tempest died on Christmas Eve.
I didn't find that out until yesterday. I visited the nursing home after almost a month away. I went to his room, as usual, but he was not there. That was when the nurse told me that he was no longer with us. Frank died of an apparent heart attack while asleep at the age of 90. Rest in Peace, my friend. I will miss you.
I must say that the news hit me between the eyes, although it was not unexpected. Frank's health had been deteriorating for the past six months, and along with the onset of Alzheimer's (or whatever it was), it was only going to get worse. It was tough seeing him losing his toughness, wit, and memory. He had become a shell of the man that I knew, and maybe it was better off that he died in his sleep. It was a peaceful way for a man of his stature to leave this world.
I wonder what I would have done if I had known about it in time. Would I have gone to the wake or funeral? Probably not. It would have been selfish to insert myself into their life, causing further grief or hardship. However much I would have wanted to see T, comfort him, and pay my respects to his grandfather, it would have been foolish to show my face there. I'm glad that the decision was made for me.
As for my wish to send condolences, I debated whether I should send a card or call. After much deliberation, I decided that sending a card would be too formal. I found Anita's Avon card (she sells it), took a deep breath, and called her. I assure you that the conversation was not comfortable, but she was polite. Eventually, I did ask how T was doing, and she said that he was "as well as could be expected". With no other questions left that I was courageous enough to ask, I said goodbye.
I came short of asking where T was, because I didn't want to put her in that position. Maybe she would not have told me, anyway. I was tempted to request that she tell him that I missed him, but I didn't do that either. It would have been stupid of me. What good would it have done? I think that he knows that I miss him. Question is...does he miss me?
I guess that I will never know.
