Remember to remind me

Has anyone ever said this to you? I find that people say this to me a lot.

Remember to remind me to bring breakfast to work tomorrow.
Remember to remind me to email my client when we get back.
Remember to remind me to mail the check.
Remember to remind me to call the store.
Remember to remind me to, blah, blah, blah, blah

I guess if I was being honest with myself I would have to take responsibility. (Well, I'm take some, but they should take some too.) I can't help it. I like being needed. I like being in control of the world around me. But, I’m also tired of it. My friends call me mothering, controlling, a worry wart, etc.

But.

Why can’t people take responsibility for their own stuff? Why can’t they follow up? Do what they say they will do? Show up when they say they will show up? I hate being put in the position of nag, checker-upper, mother. They're grown ups. They can walk themselves down to the store and buy a Post-It note. They can get a calendar and jot down a few notes. Right?!

I want to scream 'cause for how much I hate that I do this, I still follow up. Check up. Did you get this done?

I’ve come to three conclusions about this all:
1. For all my bitching and moaning, I’ll still remember to remind them.
2. I’ll continue to complain about it.
3. They’ll think they are better than me, wiser than me, more aware than me because of it, but they'll be wrong.

$9 Back

I keep racking my brain for something to say today.
I've got nothing. Nada. Zilch. Hrmph.

D. keeps telling me to just write. Even when I have nothing to say.

Just write. Just write. Just write. Just write...I worked a show last night. A benefit. We raised enough money to buy 8,000 meals for a local food shelf. Success.

Its odd you know? How we present ourselves to the world I mean. As I was standing there. Hands out.
Please donate what you can. We're matching every dollar.
A middle aged woman walked up. You've seen her. Tall. Long coat. Hair coiffed. One of those scarf things draped across one shoulder held in place by a pin. She pulled out her Louis wallet. Pulls out a $10.

Thanks so much.
Wait, that's a $10!
Yes ma'am a $10. Thank you. Its a great cause!
I would like $9 back please.
Change? Who the fuck asks for change from a donation bin?! Well, ok. I left out the last part, put I did send some bad mojo her way.

Later....

Short woman. Wearing your typical Mn garb. Synthetic material. Hippy shoes. Uncoiffed hair. Just some mascara for her.
I thought. $1 for sure. NOPE. Pulled a checkbook! Wrote a check! $300!!

There you go. Had something to say.

Burnt Grilled Cheese

I’m marrying what some would call- a guys guy. You know the type: sports-watching, beer-drinking, can figure out how to fix just about anything kind of guy. He’s a big ole thumbs up in my book.

D. got pretty sick this week. Says he’s suffering from Ebola. I tell him no, just the flu.
Back off- I’m the hypochondriac in this relationship!

He doesn’t ask for much, so when he called and said I don’t feel so good, need some tomato soup and a grilled cheese. I said.
No problem baby, anything for you.
I ran to the store and opted for the tried and true- Campbell’s soup, American cheese. Perfection.

By the end of the night D. may have been rethinking marriage to yours truly. See. I’m spoiled. I don’t cook. Have my very own private live-in chef. Seriously! It goes something like this:
I would like
2 boiled eggs in the morning- don’t forget the toast!
Lunch. Tuna salad extra pickle
Dinner? Oh, don’t worry I’ll get something while I’m out.

I failed. Miserably. Burnt the grilled cheese. TWICE! After getting explicit instructions from the other room on how to make it.

Everything ok in there?
Everything’s great sweetie!
Are you sure, it kind of smells like something's burning!
No. It’s all good!
Are you sure?
Yep!

Repeat….

Later-
Did you stir this soup?
Of course- what’s wrong?
Well, it’s kind of lumpy.
Sorry. Want me to stir it some more?
Silence
What?
Nothing…
What?!
Well. Did you use the microwave?
…yezzz. I followed the directions: 1 can of soup. 1 can of water. Stir.
Silence
What?!
You’re supposed to use milk and stir it in on the stovetop

Failure.

R.I.P

My little grandma died last week. She fell and broke her hip two weeks ago.
I loved her. She was my favorite person on earth.

It is still kind of hard to talk about. It is weird you know? I feel ok about what happened- she was sick and frail and unhappy in her body.

I move through my day thinking about her and smile.
Then. Bam! The stupidest little thing can send me off into a crying fit.

The day after she died I was fine. Sad, but no tears. We where setting out some plates and glasses and snacks for the wake when all of a sudden a basket full of cookies just about knocked me on my ass. See, when she was well, she would have gone into the kitchen boiled some water in her little pan and made herself some tea. No fancy lavender infused loose leaf tea for her. No. She was a simple woman. Lipton was her favorite. She would have loved these cookies- they are great for dunkin'. She would have taken two and no more, but I would have gone into the kitchen and gotten her a third. I can see the little smile on her face now. I miss that smile. I still see it. She had this way about her. She would cock her head to the side and give you the smallest of smiles. It always made me want to say, "I love you, yiayia"

I'm afraid of forgetting that look. I'm afraid of forgetting how her hands looked.

I kind of got blind sided last night too. Walked into my house and it was gone. Her bed I mean. We had her hospital bed in the dining room. They came and took it back. I don't like having the dining room look like a dining room. Don't like it at all.

She's been put away.

Cherakouimou, se agapo. Se peithimo. Pote then tha se xihaso! - To koukourouisou. xoxo